Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps
by F Elizabeth
Summary: Set after A Very Glee Christmas; Kurt Hummel begins the next term at Dalton Academy. Blaine, Wes, David, and a group of new faces try their best to help him settle in, but fall into booby-traps along the way.
1. Introduction

_Hello, readers! It's your author, F Elizabeth, firing back with yet another Klaine multi-chapter fanfiction. The last major production turned out to a complete dud, due to one little mistake in the writing. It sucked, so hopefully this is my way of making up for it._

_ I apologize for the amount of time I've spent away from my account here, but I assure you, it will all pay off in the end. I also apologize for the lack of attention some of my other stories I have posted on here have been getting. I'll be getting around to those soon enough. I'm asking for a little bit more time to get them starting, and they'll be up for reading. As of now, The Wizard of Windsor is under construction, seeing as I can't find the time to get a few sentences down. It will be up and running as soon as I can get it._

_Anyway, this is just an introductory paragraph for my latest twist in the Klaine fandom, Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps. The story goes further into Kurt's time at Dalton Academy and takes off right after A Very Glee Christmas. _

_New faces will appear and new enemies will be made; old friends and old memories will come back to haunt. The king will fall and secrets exposed. All the while, various competitions and performances add pressure to the Warblers. No one mentioned that attending a boys' private school would be this hard. In the words of Ernest Hemingway, we're going to have a strange life._

_With that being said, please enjoy Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps._

_(I sadly do not own Glee, or the Warblers, or Kurt, or Blaine, or Wes and David and Nick and Jon and Matt and so on and so forth. However, there are a few OCs that I claim, like cute Cody, and Thomas, and Adam, and James, and Will, and Carson, and . . . oh, you'll see soon enough.)_


	2. Defying Gravity

_Hello, readers. Sorry for the delay between the posting of the author's note and the first chapter. School has been hectic for me with all the snow and ice North Texas has been getting and I have band and other homework to deal with as well. Plus, I had to do a little bit of fixing in this chapter, so that took even longer. We almost didn't have school today, which would've moved posting until Saturday. But it's here._

_This is just to occupy my time to get away from real life because mine sucks right now. Terribly sucks and writing about Glee makes everything seem a little brighter. This is for my amusement as well as yours, so reviews are not required, but appreciated if given. :) Updating on this story will be at least once every two weeks at best. That's all I can promise until some things start to look up._

_The story takes place after A Very Glee Christmas, starting with when Blaine returns from his winter trip, and will continue on my own terms with whatever comes their way._

_Disclaimer: I do __**not **__own Glee. I don't own Kurt or Blaine or David or Wes or any of the original characters on the show. Or the song in today's feature chapter. However, I do own Cody. He's cute and my little creation :)_

_Anyway, here is the first official chapter of __Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps__! Enjoy._

* * *

**Defying Gravity**

* * *

**All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. - William Shakespeare**

* * *

_Austen – Pride and Prejudice_

_Blais – In These Girls, Hope Is a Muscle_

_Cervantes – Don Quixote_

_Conrad – Lord Jim_

_Cooper – Last of the Mohicans_

_Dickens – David Copperfield_

_Faulkner – As I Lay Dying_

_Golding – Lord of the Flies_

_Heinlein – A Stranger in a Strange Land_

_Hemingway – A Farewell to Arms_

_Homer – The Odyssey_

_Lee – To Kill a Mockingbird_

Kurt scanned the endless list of small-printed names in front of him. Each name was a last name that belonged to a first name, which granted a title to one person; that person lived to attempt jobs in his or her lifetime before finally sighing and locking themselves in a room with a hint of an idea and a sheet of paper. Whatever came published under that name had to be read by the students of Dalton Academy as part of the second-semester English syllabus. There were many more names than those in the beginning, but Kurt didn't want to begin to finish the list.

_London – The Sea Wolf_

_Miller – Death of a Salesman_

_Orwell - 1984_

_Potok – The Chosen_

_Salinger – The Catcher and The Rye_

_Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet_

_Stevenson – Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

_Tan – The Joy Luck Club_

_Thurber – My Life and Hard Times_

And yet, Kurt flipped the page to read the backside of the paper. From top to bottom it overflowed with small typed names with small typed book titles next to them. Some of them, such as Shakespeare, had more than one book next to it. Some had asterisks by them to indicate a must-read for the semester. Out of the entire back page, fifteen were starred and specially noted; there were forty novels and plays listed. That was only the back. He sighed heavily and turned it over.

Some of the works popped out to him, mostly because he'd read them in the past out of boredom or for academic purposes. _The Most Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet _was nearly stamped on the inside of his mind; _To Kill A Mockingbird _sat on his bookshelf in Lima with a million and one creases in the pages from dog-earing the corners; _Pride and Prejudice _had three strips of duct tape on the front to keep it firmly bound to the book and the back had four. Kurt had never been prone to obsessive reading, but it was a pastime he enjoyed.

The wind whistled mercilessly beyond the large pane of glass that towered over him. The orange painted sky was now washed out, completely black and dotted with faintly shining specks of light. The slight glow of the lamps strategically placed on the tables around the commons provided some sort of light. Occasionally the tips of branches from nearby trees would stretch out and tap, tap, tap chillingly against the glass to interrupt his studies. Kurt set down his pen and leaned back against the cold glass to relieve his eyes and growing migraine.

The commons of the North Wing was bustling with boys. Kurt spotted Wes and David fighting over a chair on one side of the room. They gripped game controllers in their hands and the television screen flashed with bright graphics from the video game. A few others stood by to watch. Kurt's eyes trailed over the rest of the faces that filled the room. Many of them were recognizable from the Warblers or classes, but the names didn't come to mind. He watched as some chatted at the long wooden table that stood on the other side of the room.

A boy with vibrant eyes fell under his view. His hair, the color of light copper, fell no farther than the lobes of his ears. He was sucked into an animate conversation with another student who seemed to be less than thrilled. The boy on the receiving end propped his chin on his hand, appearing to be listening intently, and tiredly swiped a chunk of deep chocolate hair from his eyes. Both were familiar to Kurt. He'd seen the redhead in the Warblers frequently and the dark-haired boy was in charge of the North Wing.

Dalton Academy offered boarding to the students who desired. To create order amongst the students, four separate wings were established, each named after one of the geographical directions. Each wing consisted of a set of dorm rooms, a basic kitchen, and a spacious common room. A student who showed outstanding results in their schoolwork and acted kindly to their classmates was cast as the Precursor, or leader, of their respective wing. He was responsible for keeping the peace within his sector and other little duties here and there. It was a lot on one's plate.

_Choose the North Wing, _Blaine had advised strongly when Kurt agreed to boarding in December. _The other wings are a little . . . different. West is home to the norms, so you don't want to go there; South is for the evil jerks. You wouldn't fit in there very easily; East houses all the brainiacs who most likely get a Nobel Peace Prize sometime in the future; and then there's North. We're the best people to be friends with. Trust me. We're not crazy, don't worry; we're just awesome._

And so that was where Kurt was staying during his time at Dalton. He'd taken Blaine's tidbit about the wings and applied for one of the last free rooms left. The North Wing was particularly nice to Kurt on his first day of classes as an official Dalton student. Wes took the time to drive half an hour to retrieve a carrier of steaming Starbucks and Blaine introduced him to most of the boys in the surrounding rooms. There were so many names to put with so many faces that it was hard to keep up with, but Kurt appreciated it all the same. They treated him genuinely and guided him in the right direction.

The howling wind outside jostled Kurt and he tore his eyes away from the rush of the commons. Nothing could be seen beyond the window, but the branched still knocked eerily on the glass to make their presence known. He looked back to the binder sitting in his lap. The book list was there and so was his pen and textbook; his leather messenger bag lay at his feet. Silence was nonexistent in the room as people talked and turned up the volume on the television. Kurt crossed his legs and tried to focus on the book list, planning for his Literature class the next day.

Slowly one of the large doors swung open. The hinges squeaked in protest and all heads rose. Even David set the game on pause to look over his shoulder and Wes grumbled, irritated. Smiles broke out on the faces of the boys as they took in the form of Blaine Anderson standing in the doorway. Some greeted him while others waved; Wes put the game back into play and called a loud welcoming, without turning his head, to his friend. David shoved him almost off the chair for starting the game without his permission. Kurt caught the boy's eye with contentment.

After a couple of words with some of the boys standing around, Blaine made his way to the windows. Kurt shuffled his textbook into his bag to make room on the seat as he sat down with a great smile. "Hey, Kurt."

"Hi, Blaine." Kurt returned the smile and tucked the list into his binder and set it aside. He examined his friend for the first time since before the Christmas break. "You look . . . warm."

Blaine raised his eyebrows and glanced down at what he was wearing. A padded skiing jacket—one that appeared to make up half his body weight—hung almost to his knees and zipped up to the hollow of his throat. A woven scarf wound itself around his neck and he removed the oven mitt-like gloves from his hands. He laughed and the action accentuated the rose color of his cheeks.

"Well, that's what you want to be when you spend Christmas and New Year's in New York, right?" He took a moment to unwrap the snake from his neck. He unzipped the enormous coat and set it behind him. Underneath he wore a snug red turtleneck and a pair of jeans.

"How was the trip, anyway?" Kurt questioned and twirled his pen between his fingers. He so desperately tried to ignore the way the turtleneck clung to Blaine's figure. "You were so excited before we left for the holidays."

Blaine sighed and leaned his hands on his knees. "Yeah, but that was before New York got bombarded with a major snow storm. It cut off power in some parts of the city, including the relative's house I was staying at. It completely dampened the mood. Everyone was really looking forward to sightseeing and shopping on Christmas Day and when that didn't happen, no one wanted to do anything except sleep and drink hot chocolate. It was a little disappointing."

"That's too bad," he said. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't have much of a Christmas, either. It was only Finn, Carole, my dad and I. Rachel showed up for dinner and stole away with Finn afterward. No other family from around the state or friends—everyone from McKinley had their hands full dealing with their own families."

Mercedes Jones had a houseful of relatives and they couldn't talk for more than a minute on the phone without being loudly interrupted; Quinn, Santana, and Brittany took the time to call Kurt, but only for a few minutes. Brittany made a confused remark about why the stockings hanging above the fireplace were so big—"How can they fit on our feet? We're supposed to be able to walk in them, right?"—Santana cackled and from the sound of it, fell over from her seat, and Quinn apologized for their friends' behavior and promised to get back as soon as they stopped being drunk on hot apple cider; Rachel Berry—he shuddered at the sound of her name—had a brief dinner with the Hudson-Hummels before embarking on an ice skating excursion with Finn. The rest, Kurt was sure, had a lovely holiday without a hitch.

Blaine traced circles in the cushion with the tip of his finger and mumbled, "That sucks. Did you do anything enjoyable for New Year's, at least?"

"Besides watching the ball drop in New York and drinking sparkling grape cider by the bottle, no." Kurt shook his head solemnly. "If you were there at the ceremony, I might've seen you on TV."

"Funny. That's one way to get on TV." His eyebrows rose inquisitively. "Did you happen to get a midnight kiss?"

Kurt's throat closed and he blinked; he was positive his face was scarlet with heat. "What?"

The older boy laughed with a wide grin. "I'm kidding. I just wanted to see your reaction." He paused. "Unless . . ."

"No!" Kurt squeaked. "Of course not! It was just a quiet little night. Nothing happened. Besides, I couldn't imagine who would want to kiss_me, _of all people."

Blaine shrugged in what was either agreement or merely contemplating the thought. Kurt sighed inwardly and slowly the warmth began to fade from his face. The lump in his throat disappeared and he could swallow. The air rushed seemed to rush back into his lungs as if he'd spent the last thirty seconds holding his breath. _Maybe that wasn't the right phrase, _he thought as he watched a few boys come up to them to talk with Blaine. _I could replace it with 'drowning' or 'suffocating.' But even those wouldn't do the feeling justice._

Things were different between he and Blaine. First, it was the getting-to-know-him part of the package. Basic questions—"What's your favorite book?" "Favorite color?"—bounced back and forth between the duo. Slowly the questions ricocheted less frequently and Kurt struggled to recall who stopped asking first. Everything that defined Blaine, Kurt believed he knew, and vice versa. Then, his heart had twitched and talking around the elder became the most difficult of tasks.

Kurt's pulse raced at the moment he saw Blaine at the end of the corridor between classes, or when they sat beside each other during Warbler rehearsal and they bumped shoulders. Possible lines, like a script, pulled together in Kurt's mind when they talked. _If I meet him outside, do I talk about the weather? If we have time to talk during rehearsal, do I bring up music in general or songs for the next performance?_Outcomes planned themselves out of a nervous habit. Every little movement he made he checked over repeatedly. _Were my ankles showing under my pants when I crossed my legs just then? Is my tie hanging out of my blazer? What if I wake up and my hair doesn't part like it normally does? What if I say something stupid or stutter? Do I look happy?_

Kurt skidded to a half at the fragment. _Do I look happy? _What was the meaning of 'being happy?' It meant one thing to one person, but another to someone else. To Kurt, it was radiating a glow of pleasure or achievement. It was falling heavily for someone and floating on Cloud Nine, thinking it could possibly turn out. It was emptying out a stocking on Christmas morning to find it filled with little things that made him smile; to Blaine, according to the number of times he asked weekly, it was getting used to the new surroundings or people or class music or the twin bed that wasn't his. It was checking to make sure there weren't purple smears under Kurt's eyes from sleepless nights. It was asking about his grades to see that he was up to the challenging set of courses Dalton provided.

In comparison, the makeup of happiness was diverse.

He watched his friend now as he dismissed a few boys and fiddled absentmindedly with something wrapped around his wrist. It was a small woven bracelet made of bright colors. It was the kind girls made for their best friends that was impossible to remove without cutting it with something sharp. Three strands of thread dangled from a point on the band. Clay beads hung from the strings like a scaled-down wind chime. Blaine lifted his head to meet Kurt's curious gaze, locked on the accessory.

"My cousin made it for me as a Christmas gift," he explained and held it up. The strands of thread swayed from the motion. "She says each bead means something. Like the white one"—he tapped the top one, alone on the farthest left—"means pure and perfect. She didn't put anything else with it because it represents my relationship status, which is single." He stopped and his eyes darted to the bead. "My cousin believes in ghosts and spiritual encounters and reading tea leaves at the bottom of the cup. This is just one way she shows her supernatural interests."

Kurt reached out hesitantly to touch the green bead. "What does this one mean?"

"Jealousy," he said simply.

"And the black one?"

"Power and death."

Kurt gave him a trouble glance, lifting his eyes from the colorful armlet. "Then why are they on the same string if they both have bad intentions?"

Blaine lowered his arm to his lap and looked down at his wrist. "Jealousy doesn't always have bad intentions. It happens when people want what they can't or don't have. It doesn't necessarily mean the feeling itself is bad."

"But it doesn't mean it's good, either," the younger pointed out and folded his hands together, fingers intertwining.

"It's only an emotion people feel, and they use it however they wish to use it. Jealousy itself isn't horrible or angelic in the end," Blaine replied. "It reflects the individual's personality."

Kurt stayed silent.

"And I assume you have something to say about death?" Blaine flicked the bead softly with his finger.

"Not at all."

"Aren't you wondering why they're on the same string?" he asked.

Kurt pursed his lips. "Now I am."

"My cousin thinks it's like a paranormal device," Blaine mused. They both leaned forward to examine the intricate weaving on the band around his wrist. Diamonds of blues and whites and blacks created a pattern. "If two things are placed together on a bracelet like this, it's telling me something really important or really stupid. She wouldn't tell me what any of this means and that I had to figure it out on my own. She told me not to move any of the beads around, even if I just put one on top of the other, or else the universe would collapse and the Fates would step in to make my life a living hell."

". . . I must meet this cousin of yours," Kurt concluded adamantly with a chuckle and leaned back. The wind had melted into the night, no longer wailing outside the window; the branches ceased the uncanny tapping. The fireplace by the table effervesced, the light of the flames dancing on the floor and throwing shadows against the walls.

"You will," Blaine insisted and stood up. He stretched his arms over his head and popped his knuckles. Kurt's eyes trailed the beads as they were tossed back and forth. "My aunt is flying with her from New York to see us perform at Regionals. Then you'll be able to experience her clairvoyant powers."

"Is she really that bad?"

"She's not _bad_. She's fifty-two inches of pure mystical energy with the ability to get under your skin." He paused to shudder, but smiled after. "Enough about my freaky relative. Aren't you excited for Regionals? It _is _next month, after all."

Kurt let the words sink in before nodding. In truth, the thought hadn't crossed his mind until Blaine said it. He didn't want to think about Regionals. The idea turned his stomach inside out with a nauseous feeling. It wasn't performing under blinding spotlights in front of hundreds of people and a table of judges that worried him to the point of chewing his nails off. It was seeing the New Directions again. Kurt still felt the flutter of his heart as it had raced during the awards ceremony at Sectionals and that was enough for awhile. They, as well as the Warblers, moved on to Regionals, and Kurt couldn't take seeing Rachel or Finn or any of the club after that. He barely made it through Christmas dinner with the both of them sitting across the table.

"I think the counsel and Ms. Lovett have got a few good numbers picked out this time," Blaine continued. He reached for his coat and wadded it together in his arms. "I'm glad they're picking out something new, because 'Hey, Soul Sister' was not really my forte. Wes told me he talked to her lately about the music choices. Turns out there's something better than Train planned, thank goodness."

"Do you think she'll take suggestions?" Kurt wondered and watched the two boys grapple over a seat and the video game. He grabbed his back and rummaged through it without need. His papers and folders were in place and he positioned the bag next to him.

The curly haired boy shrugged. "It's worth a shot. I don't know if she'd like your . . . taste in music, but what did you have in mind?"

Kurt's eyebrows rose and he got to his feet as well. "You talk about my taste like it's a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with Broadway or Elton John. I find classics very bold."

"Yeah, I think I, along with everyone else in the North Wing, know that," Blaine chuckled as a wide smile spread across his face. His friend gave him a narrow glare. "I mean, not that we can hear it coming from your room, or anything. It's not like Adam can hear it across the building, even when he's wearing earmuffs. He's complained about it sometimes, you know. That reminds me: I found a way to keep most of the sound out of my room by barricading the door with a few pillows—"

"I get it already! I kind of understand that I play my music a bit too loud!" Kurt exclaimed and huffed. He crossed his arms and bit his lower lip to keep a straight face, but after a moment he let out a laugh.

Blaine struggled with the oversized coat in his arms. "A bit? What an understatement. I've never seen such an understatement in my _life_before and—"

"I will smother you in the middle of the night with that . . . that . . ." Kurt stuttered and jabbed a finger at the padded jacket. "That_marshmallow. _I will smother you with that marshmallow if you keep talking."

"Ooh, threatening." He rolled his hazel eyes.

"Yes, it should be. I had a reputation at McKinley for jamming of articles of clothing in peoples' mouth, in fact." The promise of stuffing a sock into Rachel Berry's mouth emphasized his statement. "If I were you, I'd burn that hideous thing. It's a disgrace to your style as well as mine."

"But you're not going to wear it," Blaine pointed out.

"My point exactly. Now, I'm sure if we ask Wes nicely, he'll conjure up a nice little bonfire outside for us." Blaine removed one hand from the coat to cover his mouth in laughter. "What? What's so funny? It's not like he wouldn't do it."

"No, I'm not laughing about Wes. I'm sure he'd do it without a second thought," he said as soon as the chuckle died down. He arranged the jacket in his arms again. "You said he would start a fire to burn this thing. Well, that's a little against the rules now. Way before you transferred, Wes and two of the East students got in trouble for throwing a party outside around the south side of the school, where it disturbed Simon and his wing. Dean Markus caught them and since then, there's been a strict rule against burning things for religious, superstitious or pleasurable reasons. The only exception is starting one in the fireplace during the winter." He gestured to the brilliant flame that leapt behind the iron gate.

"Who else was with him?" Kurt asked.

"I dare not speak their names," he answered in a hushed tone. "They are the worst boys to ever attend Dalton in the history of the school, probably."

"What's so bad about them? I mean, from what I understand, everyone does something practical around here once in a while. It's not like these two are different, right?"

Blaine ground his teeth. "They're evil, and they're conniving and nosy and make fun of all the wings, including their own." He gestured for Kurt to follow as he headed for the common room doors. "They like to pull jokes on everyone in the entire boarding house. Once, they smeared super glue on David's toilet seat. Not fun. Don't ask how it ended."

"I've been here for a while. Why haven't I met them?" Kurt asked as he and Blaine left the commons to file down the long corridor, lined with windows. He clutched his binder to his chest at the sight of pure black night on his right. It brought images back to the inside of his eyes: running through the darkness of his house at midnight, passing the windows, always waiting for something out of the ordinary to appear on the other side of the glass. He shook away the awful memories.

"Be thankful you haven't met them yet," he grumbled and let the coat drag along the floor behind them. "Dex and Leo have been up around the Ivy Leagues researching colleges. Their IQs are through the roof and the fourth year stuff isn't challenging enough for them. And get this: they're both only sophomores here."

"And Markus allows them to take fourth year classes?" Kurt repeated in awe.

Blaine nodded reluctantly. He reached forward to pull one of the wooden doors open. Inside, two walls of doors greeted them. At the end of the hall, it turned to continue with rooms. The North Wing dorms were almost dead silent with the exception of the air conditioner humming constantly. The two passed a collection of doors before turning the corner. Kurt recognized his dorm number and slipped inside to get rid of his binder and schoolwork, which left him with his phone. Blaine unlocked the door on the other side of the hall. He propped open the door and tossed the jacket inside, closing it again. They started back the way they came when Kurt appeared.

"The two are extremely smart," Blaine said. "They're applicable for any of the exclusive colleges up North."

"If that's the case," Kurt wondered, "then why are they enrolled at Dalton right now? Shouldn't they go to school somewhere that might be able to suit them better? I can think of plenty of other schools that provide much more advanced curriculums."

Blaine snorted and they reentered the main corridor. "Yeah, right. Good one. Markus is the only head administrator who accepted the challenge. None of the other schools like Dalton the boys applied for wanted to have to deal with their dictionary of messy permanent records. Markus only allowed them in the building because the parents were paying big bucks. I think it was more than the actual coast of boarding and tuition, now that I think of it."

"Are the parents rich?" A small group of boys passed them in the opposite direction, and he and Blaine received several greetings and friendly waves. Since his transfer, Kurt had experience what Blaine had said about the Warblers posing as the rock stars of the school. The little yellow canary pin that decorated the lapel of his blazer identified him as a Warbler and because of that, he was the recipient of many pats on the back and warm salutations.

Blaine waved back and turned to Kurt. "Just Dex. They're not related, if you were thinking they were twins. Dex's parents are very fond of Leo and offered to pay for his tuition."

"That's got to cost thousands of dollars for the both of them," Kurt gasped. "Are his parents the secret service for the president or something?" The thought of money dropped in his stomach like a lead weight. It reminded him of the honeymoon money that was put for Kurt's ticket to Dalton by Burt and Carole. That thought still haunted him with guilt.

Blaine and Kurt reached the North common room and Kurt tugged one of the heavy doors open.

"Close. Try television producers."

When they entered the commons, they found the television still roaring with the sounds of Halo and David and Wes battled it out. Other boys were standing by to watch. Wes cried out in victory and jumped to his feet with the controller in his hands. The screen displayed brightly colored graphics.

"I win!" he declared. He whipped to David and held out his hand. "Now pay up!"

"We didn't bet anything!" David protested and shoved his controller into the hands of another North student. Wes handed his to a boy next to him and the new pair started a game. Wes and David moved away from the gaming system and toward the window seats, still bickering about the undecided bet. Kurt and Blaine started to approach them when suddenly, a pixie-like boy darted through the doorway and in front of them, his brown hair soaking wet.

"Sorry, Blaine!" the boy apologized and scurried to the window seat beside David. "I'm being hunted! Quick, hide me!" He tucked his face behind David's shoulder.

"What's going on?" Kurt murmured.

"I hate Dex and Leo _so much_," the boy said through gritted teeth when Blaine and Kurt moved across the room to them.

"What?" Blaine asked and fear struck his face. Kurt sat down in a nearby chair and crossed his legs and watched them with narrowed eyes, lost in the conversation. "They're back already?"

The boy nodded fearfully and drops of water flew off the ends of his hair.

"Those idiots told me they wouldn't be back for another week!" Wes exclaimed and clenched his fists. "Cody, are you sure they're back?"

The question received an _are you kidding me look _and he pointed to his dripping hair. "I'm absolutely sure. They are prone to lying a lot in the first place. Besides, I don't think I would choose to walk around the dorms with wet hair. Get real, Wesley."

Wes leaned against the window and stared at the ceiling. "I wish they would just stay in East like they're supposed to. Adam's pretty smart, right? He should be able to figure out some kind of high-tech lock that would stop them from getting out so easily."

"You talk about them like they're dogs," Kurt stated and looked to each of the boys.

"Dogs would be easier to take care of," Cody quipped and flinched as water dripped down his neck. Cody Michaels was at least a head shorter than the rest of the students at Dalton. Kurt recognized him to be the first student to introduce himself on his first day of classes. He had the frame of a pixie, but the heart of a lion.

"What _did _they do to you?" Blaine asked. He perched on one of the large armrests on the sofa.

"It looks like they dunked you in a washing machine," said David.

"Oh, they did _much _worse," Cody said with an exaggeration to his voice. His hands moved animatedly as he talked. "I was just minding my own business, walking from the kitchen to the common room to see Wes and David playing Halo, like usual"—David grumbled and Wes smirked—"and bam! Out of nowhere comes this huge water balloon. It hits me on the back of the head. It was obviously them, because who_does _that, anyway? I turned around and they were gone."

"Sounds hilarious," Wes said. "I wish I would have been there to see your face."

Cody pointed a thin finger at him. "Just wait until the roles are switched. I'll be the one laughing and not helping when they decide to target you next."

"How do they get water balloons into the school in the first place?" Blaine interjected. "I thought that kind of stuff was banned in here."

"That's the rule," David confirmed. But then again, the lunch staff allows us to use plastic spoons at lunch. Don't they know those things could gouge an eye out?"

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "That is revolting. Thanks for giving me that amazing mental picture."

"I didn't mean you had to make one," he retorted. He sunk into silence with his arms crossed over his chest.

"It reminds me of Ke$ha's _Cannibal._"

"You listen to that crap?" Wes asked suspiciously.

His pale face colored light pink. "No. It's on the radio all the time and it's oddly catchy for a piece about eating people. Like I would waste my valuable time listening to poorly-written trash when there are better things out there."

"Like Broadway?" Blaine beamed. The quick remark earned an eye roll. He turned to Wes, Cody and David excitedly. "He wants to do Broadway for Regionals." Wes and David struggled to keep back smiles, but Cody seemed to contemplate it.

"I think it's a possibility," he admitted. Kurt sat up straighter and a smile crossed his face. "Broadway would be good for our vocal ranges. I don't see why we shouldn't consider it, at least. But I don't know what Ms. Lovett would say about it."

"Then I propose _Wicked _or _Chicago_," Kurt pitched in happily. "Those would be the two perfect musicals. I'll start compiling numbers tonight, if you'll let me."

"Kurt, I think it's a great idea," Wes trailed off, "but I recommend waiting to bring up the idea during class. Some of the others might not be too thrilled with your style in music. I don't want what I'm saying to be a disappointment or anything, don't wake me wrong—" He was cut off by a warning glance from Blaine.

"I understand," Kurt replied and managed to keep part of the smile on his face. He glanced down at his hands. "Besides, if we covered anything from _Wicked, _I would have to sing the solos. Sorry, Blaine, but I don't think you could cover 'Defying Gravity' quite like I can." Silence overtook the conversation and he looked up. The three Warblers gazed at him with curiosity and interest. The expressions made Kurt's blood run cold and he shifted his eyes between the trio. "What?"

"You never told us you could sing 'Defying Gravity'," Wes explained giddily.

"You never told _me _you could sing 'Defying Gravity'," Blaine corrected quietly with the raise of one eyebrow. The day Kurt was caught red handed for spying so long ago, hundreds of things had spilled out of him in the span of ten minutes or less. Blaine was positive he knew Kurt better then he himself did. But out of the details that were gushed over text messages and hours of Skype, nothing was revealed to Blaine about the countertenor's _Wicked _solo.

"It never came up," Kurt pointed out.

"Well, are you going to sing it for us or not?" asked Cody after a minute of silence.

His face turned a deeper shade of pink. "What? _Hell_, no!"

"Oh, come on," Wes whined and sat back against the cushions. "I've never heard a guy sing it before. Please, enlighten us with the joyful talent we heard at your audition. I'm all ears." Blaine and David nodded keenly.

"I-I'm sure if you look up the original song on YouTube, it'll sound just like me," he stammered as an excuse to get out of the whole ordeal. He dug in his pockets for his phone to keep his hands busy. No new messages or e-mails appeared and he huffed inwardly. "No need to go making a fool out of myself in front of everyone."

Blaine stood and examined his uniform for specks of lint. "Like you, of all people, would do that. You're making a fool of yourself by _not _singing. Why have that amazing voice if you're not going to use it?" To Kurt's horror, he gravitated around the room, shifting chairs and small tables to create an empty circle in the middle of the room. The buzz of chatter died slowly when boys turned their heads to investigate.

Kurt's face could not get any redder as he watched Blaine produce the stage. "No, no, I can't possibly. I haven't warmed up properly, and there isn't any music playing, and—"

"Wing it," suggested Wes. He snatched the iPhone from Kurt's jittery hands and opened up his music collection. He thumbed through the list of songs as he talked. "You'll do fine even when you haven't prepared. Get up there and show everyone who's boss. See, look? You have the song right here. Actually, you have the karaoke version, and the original Broadway version, and even the piano arrangement . . . Just stick your earphones in and _sing_."

The newest Warbler jumped when Blaine placed his hands on his shoulders from behind.

"You'll be thanking us later," he said dramatically and hoisted his friend onto his feet. He reached over to take the phone from Wes and clicked up the volume as high as it would go. "You know you're not getting out this, right?"

"What if I bribe you?" Kurt tempted as Blaine ushered him into the middle of the room. He glanced hurriedly around. Several heads were turned in his direction and all conversations had been stopped. He opted for staring straight at his friend. "I'll pay you all money, or tutor you in French. David, you know your grade is sinking in that class."

He wasn't fazed. "If I get a solid B by the end of the semester, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"Wes, I'll coach you for your upcoming track meet!"

"You know as well as I do that you can't run worth a damn," he stated frankly and folded one of the cuffs on his blazer.

"Cody, I'll let you borrow _Friends, _seasons one, two and three!"

"Please, you do that already."

"Blaine, I'll buy you lattés for a week!"

The curly-haired boy shook his head with a broad smile and tapped the screen once. Music crackled from the tiny speaker at the bottom of the phone, but it gained clarity. By now, the room was silent. Kurt might as well have been on a stage to perform. "That won't work. Good try, though."

The piano entrance had Kurt stunned still. His throat closed as quickly as the shutter on a camera and he was aware of the many eyes watching him. Blaine made the motion with his hand for him to continue. The cue came and Kurt parted his lips.

_Something has changed within me, something is not the same,_

_I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game,_

_Too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep,_

_It's time to trust my instincts,_

_Close my eyes and leap!_

The red and gold and blue of the room melted away in front of Kurt's eyes. The stiff blazer was no more and the soft material of that blue-striped sweater rubbed against his arms. Lights blinded him and nerves stabbed menacingly at his stomach like knives. He tapped his toe alone to the beat and pushed along.

_It's time to try defying gravity, I think I'll try defying gravity,_

_Kiss me goodbye, I am defying gravity,_

_And you won't bring me down!_

_I'm through accepting limits, 'cause someone says they're so,_

_Some things I cannot change, but till I try, I'll never know._

The boys of the North Wing watched one another. Some bobbed their heads to the beat while others smiled in sweet surprise. Blaine looked back at Wes and David with a boastful grin, who had abandoned fussing with Wes' ice packs.

_Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I've lost,_

_Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost!_

_I'd sooner buy, defying gravity,_

_Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity,_

_I think I'll try defying gravity, and you won't bring me down!_

Kurt's heart hammered wildly in his chest as the song flowed together. He brushed back a lock of hair that fell in his eyes and raised his head._It's the diva-off all over again. I'll drop the high F again and Rachel will get the solo. She always does, _his conscience whispered tauntingly. He shook his head. Images of the lit choir room, the pained look on his father's face, Rachel's victorious win, filled his eyes. His hands twitched at his side as the piano grew in volume and he took a rushed breath.

_I'm defying gravity, I think I'll try defying gravity,_

_And you won't bring me down!_

_Bring me down!_

The sudden roar of applause caused Kurt's eyes to flutter open. The commons surrounded him once again and he sighed in relief. His chest was tight with tension. Boys were crammed on the couches and crowded the wide entryway, clapping noisily. Wes had to reach over and pop David's jaw up, as the performance caused it to drop. Blaine leapt to his feet from the chair he was sitting in to rush to the center of the room.

"What happened?" Kurt asked in panic.

"You were astounding!" he exclaimed over the new hum of voices. "You even called over some of the South people!" He pointed a finger in the direction of the doorway. Both recognized Simon Dougray from the Warblers, short and brown-haired, clapping amongst the others.

"Is that good?"

"Well, duh! They never want anything to do with the North! That's _really _good!" Blaine clapped Kurt on the shoulder excitedly. "You did a great job, Kurt! I've never heard you sing like that before."

"But did I get the high note?" Kurt wondered in a voice soft enough for his friend to hear.

"Which one? There were a lot of high notes in the song."

Kurt's heart ceased fluttering and dropped. His smile faded with it and his gaze fell to the floor. He suddenly wanted the applauding to stop._Did I crack the high F? Oh, no, please tell me that didn't happen! But why is everyone clapping if I missed it?_

"Hey, what's the matter?" asked Blaine with one look at him.

Kurt lifted his shoulders dully and asked, "Did I sing any high notes at the very end?"

"There was one, around the 'bring me down' part. Nothing too abnormally high for you."

He shook his head and clarified, "Did I crack a note anytime?"

"No." Blaine turned his head to observe as some of the boys filtered out, muttering with their heads low and together. "I'm sure Wes or David took a video. That song is _so _YouTube worthy. Expect it to go viral by tonight, at best."

He led the flushed starlet out of the center to the window seat, where Wes and David and Cody leaned over something with wide eyes. The earphones were in, so no sound was heard. Blaine yanked on one of the cords and Wes winced and looked up.

"Ouch," he grumbled. To Kurt, "That was unbelievable! Here! I hope you don't mind, but we used your phone to take a video. Mine's just a crappy LG. Won't do anything for the money I paid for it." He handed him the small electronic.

Kurt looked down at the screen. In the frozen picture behind the glass, he saw himself standing on the Oriental rug, one hand on his hip, his lips parted. He tapped the play button with his thumb and removed the earphones. The music to the song could be heard far off in the background; Kurt's voice triumphed, clear as a bell. They were in the middle of the song and he found himself mouthing the words as they came up. He gripped the phone and stopped moving his lips to listen carefully. Then . . . it was over. There was no cracked note or hesitation in the end. Only him singing.

Long after the video had ended, Kurt was still staring at the screen. He recognized the audio as the version he practiced often because he couldn't quite reach that high F. It was the one he sung to himself in front of the mirror when he was home alone, when he dad hadn't arrived home from work yet. It was the one he should've sung for the diva-off instead of trying for the highest note and then backing off at the last second for his father's sake.

Making sure the video was saved to the phone, Kurt exited out of the screen and slipped the device back into his pocket. He stayed silent, which caused the others to share worried looks.

"You okay?" David asked warily.

Kurt nodded and attempted to bring a small smile to his face. "Peachy."

Without his bag he had nothing to grip. He turned to the open doors and fled.

"Kurt!" Cody cried and slid off the window seat. "Where are you going?"

Blaine shook his head and his eyes lingered on the door. "It's okay. He'll cool down soon enough. Give him a little time."

* * *

Less than thirty minutes later, there was a soft knock on Kurt's door. He sat on his bed, leaning against the wall, his knees curled up to his chest. The warmth of the sweats he'd changed into were a comfort compared to the plummeting temperature outside that almost seeped through the cracks in the windows. Singing earlier had dropped him into a bad mood, forcing him to be reacquainted with unwanted memories. He dismissed the first knock without getting up to answer it; instead, his eyes were trained on the glassy mirror hanging over the empty twin bed on the other side of the room.

It amused Kurt to bite his lip, or wiggle his toes, and see his reflection do the same. The mirror also showed the room around him. The dark crimson walls and plush carpeting weren't things he could get a feel for quickly, even though the date marked almost one month since his official transfer. The dorm was still alien to him. There was no walk-in closet—only a folding door one—or specifically laid out bathroom, or a large cage-shaped chair hanging in the corner. Sure, the numerous thread count sheets and pillowcases were a wonderful luxury he didn't have at home, but nothing could replace the snug feel of his own bed.

Boarding at Dalton was similar to spending the night at a friend's house. Kurt still had no clue where everything was or how everything operated. The rooms even donned a different smell that smelled like a hotel and made him a tad uneasy. Back in the faint part of Kurt's memory, his house smelled strongly of the metal and dust his dad tracked in with him after work. Carol would mask it with the aroma of sweet, floral perfume. Finn brought it . . . well, he basically brought in Rachel Berry with him, seeing as they were attached to the hip. Stepping into the house made Kurt crinkle his nose in distaste.

Two hasty knocks this time.

Kurt stretched across the headboard to his bedside table and sat back with an industrial-sized Yankee candle in his hands. He cradled it in his lap and set the glass cover aside. He lifted the enormous candle to his nose and inhaled a whiff of gardenias and warm vanilla. Kurt quickly replaced the lid and gently placed it by his side.

It was his mother's favorite fragrance and there were always small jars of it dotting the house when she was still with him. After her passing, Burt always neglected to buy a few more and soon, the house was empty. Having some part of her with him set Kurt at ease. Gradually he noticed parts of his memory fading away. He had woken with a start three months after her death to find that he couldn't remember what side her hair was parted on. Through the shadows and darkness of the house, he had stumbled to his father's room, flung open the door and grabbed the picture propped on Burt's bedside table. It was the one of her standing in front of the house in the summer with her arms spread wide, a white smile on her face. Tears had fallen shortly after that and he spent the night in the comforting embrace of Burt, tucked under a woven afghan.

_"It's okay, Kurt," the father whispered soothingly. "You won't forget."_

_"But what if I do?" the boy whimpered and tucked his face against Burt's shoulder._

_"You won't," he repeated firmly._

A loud knock. "Kurt, are you in there? It's just me."

_It's always just him_, the younger boy thought as he slipped off the bed and moved to answer the door. His feet sunk nearly an inch into the lavish carpet and for a moment, he forgot why he was so upset. Then he heard Blaine pacing outside the door and his lips fell into a flat line on his face. _It's always been just him._

Blaine raised his head when the door opened. He removed his hands from his pockets and stood straighter. He opened his mouth to speak. "So how's everything?"

"You're funny. Come in," Kurt sighed and retreated into the room, leaving the door open for him. He tucked his hands in the pockets at the front of his sweatshirt.

Blaine glanced down the hall once before following. He closed the door behind him. Kurt's assigned room was pin straight on both sides. The right was barren and showed no signs at all of possible life. Kurt's side, the left, was organized. The bookshelf on the back wall held several volumes of an encyclopedia brand and few school issued textbooks; a stack of _Vogue, Cosmopolitan, _and _Entertainment Weekly _joined the academic books. His bed was made with precision and nothing was left on the floor. Blaine slipped off his loafers at the door in fear of bringing in dirt.

"I hear Angelina's pissed that Brad's seeing Jennifer," he said and treaded across the room to sit in the desk chair. The desk was placed between two ceiling-to-floor windows, both of which were concealed with heavy drapery. "The tabloids said she found Brad's copy of Jennifer on _Allure_ and claimed it was evidence of their secret relationship." He was careful with his words. Blaine knew that talking about things happening in the celebrity world or the fashion bubble set him at ease.

"I can't blame her," Kurt said rather sharply and climbed back onto his bed. He reached for a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Jennifer's a no-good lying bitch."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, vulgar language. I thought you loved _Friends_?"

"I do. I just don't like Jennifer Aniston's acting."

"Oh, yeah. Me neither."

"Blaine, you don't watch _Friends _with me when I have my monthly television marathons. That's Cody. And you are horrible at making conversation." Kurt crossed his arms underneath the tent of blankets and stared crossly at his friend.

Blaine nodded. "Was singing back there uncomfortable? You seemed fine until the end, when you looked like you were going green." He turned to face the corkboard. Photos, newspaper clippings, and several violently neon sticky notes covered it from top to bottom. The Post-It notes described little reminders about who to call and when and why he needed to get in touch with the person in the first place. He read one about calling Mercedes, and another to check up on his dad.

"If you haven't guessed already, yes. It was extremely uncomfortable singing in front of everyone when I had no idea what I was about to do," Kurt snapped and propped his chin on his knees. "I have to plan for it and at least warm up. Not to mention be _okay_ with what I'm doing."

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered. "You could've said something."

"_I did!"_

"Well, you did a great job anyway!" Blaine pointed out. He turned in the seat to face his friend. "I know you're pissed off with us about making you sing, but you did such a fantastic job. I've never heard you sing like that before. It was like a completely different you. I think that gave Wes and David the idea to tell Ms. Lovett about it. Tomorrow you could wind up with a solo for Regionals."

"That I may be a little excited about," he said and he let a small smile slip onto his face.

Blaine examined him with a feeling of doubt before speaking again. ". . . Is that the only reason you're upset?"

"As horrible as I feel about the singing," he sighed and the grin faded quickly, "it's not it completely it. You can probably guess what it is."

Right off the bat, Blaine assured, "It'll work out, Kurt. You'll get used to it all. I felt the same way you did when I transferred here a couple years ago. It's going to be okay."

"What if it's not okay?" Kurt suddenly asked and clutched the blanket in his hands. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes and he forced them back. "What if I never get used to it? What if Dalton is always foreign to me?"

"Kurt, don't worry about it—"

"I can't stop worrying! It's always on the back of my mind and I can never seem to forget about it! On top of that, the homesickness is killing me! You know it's hard for me to sleep in a bed that's not mine to start with!"

"Just stop yelling—"

"I'm not yelling!"

This time, Blaine didn't argue, which left a gaping hole in the conversation. "I think you were," he spoke eventually, his tone quiet, and stood up from the chair. He down on the edge of the bed and the mattress slightly shifted downward under his weight. "Look. Don't freak out and you'll be okay. You just need to calm down. If the bees come at you, don't swat."

"Bees?" Kurt raised his head apprehensively.

"Metaphor!" he assured. "What I mean by that is problems. If something rough comes your way, don't fuss at it. It'll only make the problem worse. Everything's going to be okay soon enough. I promise."

Kurt reached his hand to his mouth and chewed lightly on his thumb nail. "What if something bigger comes?" he asked around his nail. "I don't mean like Regionals or tests or projects. Something bigger than me?"

The question caught Blaine. He shrugged after a minute and looked down at his hands. "I don't know what could be bigger than you, but I'll be there when you need me. You have Wes and David, too; they've been known to have their supportive moments every now and then. You're free to ask any of the others for help, if you can't get to me or Wes or David." He patted his friend on the shoulder gingerly. "Don't worry yourself too much, okay? It's only our first week back from the break. I don't want you having an aneurism."

Kurt nodded with a short chuckle, but didn't respond verbally.

"You'll be fine," he said to add onto his statements. "Don't study too hard, take a break once in a while, have fun. We all want what's best for you. You'll make it through. Believe me, if you could make it until now, you can last until the end of the school year."

"I just . . ." Kurt licked his lips and rephrased. He looked up to see his friend watching him curiously. "I don't want to feel alone."

Blaine looked at him with his brows furrowed. "Why would you feel that way? You've got everyone here, me, your parents are a phone call away—"

"I don't know." He shook his head in dismissal. "Something tells me I'm the only one here dealing with the things I'm dealing with."

"What exactly are you dealing with that everyone else doesn't have to bother with?"

Kurt felt his friend's hazel eyes watching him intently and continued to stare at the shiny mirror on the wall. His appearance was almost ragged, with flushed skin and swallowed in sweats. "You know what I mean."

"Everyone's been bullied once in their life. You know I have," Blaine said softly. He pursed his lips in thought of what to say next. "Everyone around you has had some trouble with fitting in or making friends. David was the star of his basketball team at his old school before the others turned on him for joining the choir. Wes chose playing the French horn at his middle school over coming to football practice every day for a little while and got tormented for that. He joined the choir later and that was asking for more trouble. Ask anyone else and they'll tell you about someone who put them down before Dalton. You'll never be alone in that field."

Utter silence.

"It gets better."

"You've told that me a million times in a row, but if it hasn't happened already," he mumbled and yanked the blanket over his shoulders tighter, "I'm not sure it will happen at all."

"Maybe if your attitude was a little brighter, it would happen," Blaine answered, then instantly regretted the tone with which he spoke; it softened when he opened his mouth again. "Just . . . don't be such a sour puss, okay?"

Kurt only shrugged.

"Your parents are a phone call away," he reminded and let his feet hang over the side of the bed. They touched the floor and he brushed off his blazer, looking back at Kurt. "I should probably go. Not because I want to. I mean, I want to start on that book list we got before the break. Plus, I've got other homework I neglected to do while in New York." He bent to be a Kurt's eye level. "You'll be okay, Kurt. Everything will turn out okay. Soon, you'll feel right at home." He offered the boy a charming smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder before making his way to the door. It clicked shut and Kurt leaned to the side to collapse against his pillow. His eyes shut and he drew the blanket over his face, letting the tears spill onto his cheeks.

* * *

_On the next chapter: Kurt feels better the next morning, but meets two students of Dalton that he wishes would fall off the face of the planet. He gets into a little trouble in the first week back because of the said two students and serenades the Hall with the glory that is Katy Perry._


	3. Double Trouble

_Hello, readers! Happy Valentine's Day Eve! I hope most of you have a wonderful day, and a wonderful holiday tomorrow! I'm currently sick right now, which is why I'm updating the story. I should probably be doing homework or practicing my clarinet, but I'll put it off until later._

_I finally finished Driver's ED in class, which means I'll have more time to write! :) Which also means more time to update and come up with new ideas! Yay. This chapter explores two characters of my own creation, inspired by two of my friends at my school, Taylor and Amanda. Actually, all of my created characters are based off people in my life. You'll meet them all sooner or later in the story and come to know them._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter two of __Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps__!_

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, David, or the Warblers. I do own Dex and Leo and Adam and Simon and the rest of my original characters. The plot is mine, as well. And Katy Perry. I don't own her and one of her most popular songs either, which is featured in this chapter as a stunning duet._

* * *

**Double Trouble**

* * *

**It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes, but the mode of thought of others. - Marquis de Sade**

* * *

The morning was far from the expected. Blaine sat at the bar in the main kitchen with a mug of coffee tucked into his hands. Steam ghosted from the rim and wafted in front of his face, white and wispy. The windows behind him let light flood in and it splashed against the tiled floors in shades of gold. As he sipped the caffeinated drink, thoughts raced through his mind like bullets.

The night before was on the edge of unbearable for him. Seeing Kurt distraught to the point of shredding his nails in anxiety made him guilty. The picture was similar to that of the first night he spent in his room, alone, at Dalton. Blaine's memories of the boy, huddled in a thin blanket on the new bed, were vivid. It took so much to coax him out of the dorm room, not mentioning the struggle to get him off the bed to start with. Kurt had refused the offer Ms. Lovett had made about an audition for the Warblers and moved it to the week after to prepare. Blaine could only relate the words 'fashionable' and 'marvelous starlet' to the newest Warbler, yet the latter proved false. He had only asked so much as permission to grab a tissue and that was all. Come to think of it, Kurt said nothing more than that for the remainder of the first day. How he managed that feat, Blaine wasn't sure.

Blaine brought the edge of the cup to his lips to drink when the doors swung open in a flash. A scrawny boy with unkempt brown hair, aviator distance glasses lopsided on his face and slipping down his freckled nose, stood in the doorway. His pale hazel eyes were wide as dinner plates.

"Adam?" Blaine asked with an edge of nerves. Students never infiltrated other wings unless there was a damn good reason for it. He got down from his seat at the bar and moved to the other side of the counter. "What's going on?"

The East Wing Precursor held up a finger to silence him as he took a few well-deserved breaths. "The pipsqueaks . . . are missing . . . know where they are . . . by any chance?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had them chained up?" he questioned in humor.

"Yeah, well, I guess even my advanced brand of technology can't keep them restrained," Adam said stiffly and caught his breath finally.

"How do you know they're missing, exactly? Do you have a tracking chip implanted under their skin or something?"

"Don't tell Markus, okay? I don't know how many more suspensions I can get before I'm out of this place for good."

Blaine's comical grin faded. "Are you serious?"

Adam Harvey tugged at his tie and let his eyes trail around the room almost casually. "It was just an experiment, that's all. I was fooling around with a few wires and some surgical instruments, and they were getting on my nerves and attempted to steal some of the video games from my room, and . . ." He shrugged sheepishly. "I consider it as a favor to the entire student body."

He stared blankly at the East student. "Do you have an operating table in your room?"

"That's another thing you shouldn't tell Markus," he said firmly.

"Now I know why you didn't request a roommate."

He clapped his hands in approval. "More room for my hardware and less people to mess with it. Now, enough about my progressing lab. Have you seen Leo and Dex at all?"

"Why do you need them, anyway? Usually when I see you, you're trying to get _away _from them." Blaine reached over the counter and retrieved his mug of coffee. Steam still rose from the top. He touched his lips to the surface and pulled back right after, seeing as it was still above a suitable temperature.

"I was minding my own business, checking the radars . . ." Adam caught Blaine's wary eyes. "Don't ask. Moving on. I was checking the screen that locked in on them, in particular, and noticed they weren't showing up. Normally, that wouldn't be much of a problem, since I haven't figured out how to extend the wireless capability farther than a fifty-mile radius and frequently they leave in the middle of the night. In my car." He ground his teeth. "But now, it's completely jacked up. Their monitor doesn't work like it usually does. When it turns on, it just goes blank. None of the other screens do that."

"And you think they're behind this all?" Blaine questioned.

"Yes! They're always behind _everything _that happens at Dalton, even if it has vaguely nothing to do with them!" He threw his hands up in the air. "They influence everything!"

"You're letting it get to your head, Adam," Blaine cautioned and rotated the mug in his hands. "They're just annoying students who won't keep their hands to themselves."

"I am most certainly not going crazy! You have no proof!"

Under his breath, he mumbled, "I think I have a little." Out loud, "I'm starting to doubt you have as much sanity as you say you do," he admitted and dumped the rest of the drink in the sinks.

Adam narrowed his eyes and the hazel were molten in the morning sun. "Just you wait, Anderson. Someday, I'll be the only one around here with the slightest bit of sanity left and you'll be sorry. Just you wait."

"Okay, enough about me. Back to the idiots," he advised and washed the ceramic before setting it carefully in the stainless steel wash bin. "Where did they go?"

"That's that I'm trying to figure out." The tech crossed his arms with a huff. "They sabotaged my system, like I said before. Probably tried to cut the chips out of the other or disable the radar. I should reinforce that when I catch them."

"Where did you put the chips exactly?"

"Nowhere you should know. You ask a lot of questions, Blaine. Simply pointing that out."

"Like you don't?"

"Ooh, touché. Just help me with this, okay?" Adam pleaded. "If Markus finds something destroyed and covered in marshmallow jet puff or paintball residue or soaking in car soap, he'll blame me right off the top since I'm supposed to be in charge of them. I've already got enough problems with this school. Might as well add 'can't take care of young teenagers' while I'm at it. That'll look _so _good on my college application in a year or so."

Blaine leaned against the rounded edge of the linoleum and sighed. He let his head fall back so his eyes focused on the low, darkly painted ceiling. "I have no idea where they could be. Have you checked the South Wing? They like to annoy Simon."

Adam laughed shortly in a way that reminded Blaine of Kurt when he got nervous or didn't want to admit anything. "That was my first stop this morning. Interrupted their breakfast and almost got a hot frying pan to the face, courtesy of Carson."

"West?"

"Stephen says he hasn't seen them and doesn't want to."

"Choir room?"

"Not in there. Nothing there was damaged beyond repair, at least from what I saw, and Pavarotti is still alive, feathers and all."

"Any of the classrooms?"

"Psht. Like they'd enter a room of learning without being forced in."

Blaine pursed his lips. "Have you checked any of the Biology rooms, in particular? There's all sorts of animals and chemicals in there. Don't laugh. I'm trying to think like them."

After a moment, the East Precursor's face dropped. "It's a possibility. But Waldgrave hasn't brought in any animals recently, so I think it's safe to say they're somewhere else."

"Have you checked the North dorms?"

Adam tapped his foot impatiently. "That's why I came down here. I can't find Diego, so you're my next choice. I have a feeling they're tormenting some poor guy out of his mind."

Blaine's mind instantly flashed to Kurt. "I can already guess."

"Then will you help me with this one little favor?" He threaded his fingers together in a begging pose.

"This is a little favor?" Blaine repeated in bewilderment. "What's a big favor?"

"Preventing them from planting an experimental bomb underneath the sports field," the boy answered with a straight face. "Now help me. I'll pay you, if you wish. I have the money. Name your price." He started to reach for his back pocket.

"I don't need any money, Adam," Blaine answered and brushed past him through the door. He glanced back over his shoulder. "The net is in the supply closet, right?"

* * *

Kurt stood in the bathroom, examining his skin in the mirror. Purple bruises smeared faintly under his eyes from late nights. Since the moment Blaine had left his room the night before, the entire conversation had played itself over and over in his head. _I shouldn't have yelled at him, _he thought gravely and pushed a stray hair into place. _That was my first mistake._

He checked the time on his phone and left the bathroom to gather the things he needed for his first class. He bent over to grab his Literature binder when a hurried knock on the door caught his attention. With his bag over his shoulder, he peeled the door open and looked down.

Two boys, dressed alike in navy blue uniforms and striped ties, stood in the doorway with their hands crossed behind their backs. One was the opposite of the other. The student on the left shook his head; his short, spiky cut of platinum blonde hair gleamed in the florescent lighting. His eyes were wide and blue and stood out against his nearly white complexion. The boy on the right donned dark cherry locks that hung in front of his face. In comparison to the other, his skin was a shade or two darker with a few freckles here and there. He brushed back his hair and revealed pale green eyes; the hair fell quickly back into place.

"Hello . . . ?" Kurt trailed off.

"Hi!" the blonde squeaked and Kurt jumped back. They erupted in laughter.

"Welcome to Dalton! Sorry for the late welcoming ceremony!" the redhead greeted brightly. "We've heard a lot about you!"

He winced when the other jabbed him in the ribs.

"You idiot!" the blonde screeched. "That wasn't in the script! Get it together, man!"

"What script?" the other shot back. "We never put together a script! What are you talking about?"

"You're supposed to have telepathy powers, aren't you? Then you should've been able to read my mind and figure out what to say at the right time! Sheesh!"

"I never told you I had telepathy powers!"

"You're a liar, then!"

"_You're _the liar! I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You'd know if you had your telepathy powers!"

"I'm still here," Kurt squeaked and pried his hands from their grip on the door frame.

"Right!" they chorused. "We're you're new paparazzi!"

Kurt had enough time to give them a questioning glance before two figures moved into his line of sight. He glanced up to see Blaine hurrying down the hall with a long pole gripped in his hands, followed by another boy with glasses falling off his face. "Blaine, what are you—"

"Blaine!" the boys cheered excitedly and whipped around.

They screeched when he brought the ropes of the wide net down over the two and stood on the handle with a deep breath. The other boy jammed his glasses farther up his nose and looked down haughtily at the pair.

"Morning, Kurt," Blaine mumbled in irritation and tried to compose himself. "I see you've met Dex and Leo already. Lovely, aren't they?"

"Morning," he replied numbly with his gaze locked on the two boys crouched in the tangle of the net. His expression was similar to that of a deer in headlights.

Blaine laughed. "Don't worry. Just a protocol to ensure the safety of everyone in this school. They don't bite."

"Much," the boy added under his breath and adjusted his blazer. "Hi, Kurt. I don't know if we've been introduced properly. I'm Adam Harvey, the Precursor for Dalton's East Wing." He stuck out a thin hand. Kurt met it with his own and they shook. "I'm in charge of these bozos, unfortunately."

"But you love us!" the blonde interjected with a cheery grin.

"They are that bad," Kurt breathed. The net acted like a cage and gave him the feeling of standing in the aviary of a zoo.

"We heard you got back, Blaine! How was New York?" the redhead asked impatiently. "Did it snow?"

"Of course, it snowed, you idiot!" The blonde rolled his huge eyes and shoved the other. "It's New York City in December, for crying out loud! Why wouldn't it snow even a little?"

"Well, I'm sorry, for not going to New York in the winter to see what it looks like!"

"You don't have to go there to know it snows. It's called common sense, which is something you obviously don't have." He had trouble crossing his arms in the small space.

"Well, at least I have straight A's in all my classes!" the redhead sneered triumphantly.

The other gasped. "You take that back right now!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"That was _one _paper that brought it down a point! It was Mr. T's fault for disapproving of my writing prompt!"

The redhead cackled squeakily. "Yeah, right! I bet you that everyone who reads it wouldn't like it one bit! The prompt was completely inappropriate for the lesson!"

"It's not like it was sexual or anything! Just because I wrote a whole ten-page essay on cloning myself so I could make a 'beside myself' joke—"

"Hey!" Adam disrupted vociferously and the two boys froze, their lips parted in argument. "We're still here, just so you know."

Their faces, seeming far too young for high school, wore sheepish masks. They shrunk and sat cross-legged. "Sorry."

"Are you sure they aren't in middle school?" Kurt checked in barely a whisper. As soon as he spoke, two pairs of eyes snapped to his face.

"I see you've been recruiting while we were gone, Blaine," the redhead said and grinned chillingly. "Good work."

Kurt blinked in worry and confusion.

Ignoring the two boys, Blaine explained quickly, "Sorry about this. They get a little too excited about new people. The redhead's Dex and the blonde's name is Leo. They respond to Thing 1 and Thing 2 as well as their actual birth names, so feel free to call them whatever you want."

"Good to know?" Kurt answered uneasily.

"I'm glad you've been enlisting for us, Blaine," Dex picked up where he left off earlier. He peeked at Kurt between the weaving of the net. "He looks strong."

"Indeed," Leo concurred. He looked at his friend. "Do you think he'll be able to perform a ninja drop roll while carrying a five-pound weapon in his hands with at least fifteen pounds of gear on under the circumstances that he's being hunted by seventeen other people wishing to drink his blood like Voldemort drank the unicorn in _The Sorcerer's Stone_?"

Kurt gulped audibly. Blaine sighed and Adam rubbed his temples.

"What are they talking about?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Either paintball tournaments, water balloon combat or marshmallow gun wars. I can't remember which they're most interested in at this point," Adam answered unenthusiastically.

Dex put a hand to his chin in thought and glanced up at Kurt with narrowed eyes, studying the newest Warbler. "I don't know. His frame doesn't seem sturdy enough. At best, he'll be able to swing upside down from a tree branch and fire blindly at the impending doom that awaits him in the pitch black of the forest, given the fact that the branch doesn't snap under his weight. I'll calculate that later, but it could be a definite possibility."

Before Leo could add anything, Adam stopped them with, "Alright, you two. Seriously, stop. You're kind of freaking out Kurt right now."

Dex perked up. "That's his name?"

"Does he have a last name, too?" Leo demanded eagerly.

"You've started the plague!" Blaine hissed to the East Head.

"He reminds me of one of those kids from _The Sound of Music_, right?" Dex understood with a grin.

"My God! It cannot be unseen!"

_"It's the apocalypse!"_

_"It's finally come!"_

"But what about 2012? What happens if this apocalypse ends the world first?"

Leo gasped. "I don't know! But wait, if 2012 really ended the world, wouldn't one part of the world end before the other parts? Because the time zones, you know?"

"Good point! But what if it's the first day of 2012 in one country? Would the entire world just collapse on itself, not waiting for the rest of the globe to catch up in the time zone differences? Hm? What then?"

"I don't know. There's no explanation for this. I'll sleep on it and tell you later." For a moment that shocked Blaine, Adam and Kurt, Leo resided into silence. They shared shell-shocked glances. When they thought it was too good to be true, he exclaimed, "It's like _Inception_!"

"No, it's not! I only said 'to sleep on it' because that means I'll think about it! _Inception_ was about a bunch of different dreams, you imbecile. I don't see how this whole debate about the new apocalypse ending the world before 2012 is even vaguely similar to a motion picture with Leonardo DiCaprio in it."

"Is too!"

"You just like that movie because one of the actors shares your name!"

"Not true! He was in the modern _Romeo and Juliet, _and _The Titanic, _and a bunch of other films that I can't remember off the top of my head without my computer. He's quite famous for many roles. That just proves that I like the movie for reasons other than him!"

"No, it doesn't. And what you said made no sense at all."

". . . Okay, yeah, you are right."

"I need to write that one down. Leo Kingsley, admitting that Dex Greene is correct. That'll never happen _ever again._"

"Shut up."

Dex stuck his tongue out childishly.

"But don't you think Leonardo DiCaprio is devilishly handsome?"

"I'm not going to comment on that."

"I think he's gorgeous," sighed Leo. "What do you think, Blaine?"

"I think you both should go back to your own wing," he suggested strongly. "Adam and the others can handle you better than I can. You're not even supposed to be in here in the first place."

"But it's boring in there!" Dex whined. "The North Wing is fun! I mean, look at last night. We hit Cody with a water balloon—"

"He's not hurt, I swear!" Leo added.

"—and we got away before he could threaten to strangle us! The boys in East would usually throw something at us, right off the bat."

"That's what I'm threatening to do," Adam grumbled and grabbed the handle of the net. He lifted it up cautiously. "Now, come on, you idiots. Leave Kurt and Blaine alone. Need I remind you we all have class in half an hour?"

"I hate class!" Leo groused.

"Except when we blow stuff up behind Waldgrave's back!" Dex put in, which brought a smile to the other boy's face. Blaine closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the side of his head.

Adam slung the net over his shoulder and the roping hung to the floor. "Don't blow up anything today, or cause a massive, school-wide meltdown, okay? I'd like to have a little less complicated day than I normally do."

Dex and Leo raced down the hall, calling, "No promises!" Within seconds, they vanished, followed by a door slamming.

The East Precursor let out a breath. "I'll see you guys later."

Blaine and Kurt nodded and they watched him slump down the hall and around the corner.

"Now you've met them," Blaine concluded grimly.

"And I wish I hadn't," Kurt finished fixedly. His hands tightened around the strap on his bag. "I would expect them to blow something up."

"Been there, done that," he sacked. "They've blown up the toilets in the main school twice, put something explosive in the fireplaces last winter, and arranged several bottles of Coke and Mentos around the building during last year's Super Bowl party. I think they've got blowing stuff up down to a tee. So, ready for class?"

"Possibly. Though I may be a little stunned from the incident just now," Kurt commented and let his hands fall to his sides, one digging out his iPhone. He carefully unwrapped the head phones and stuck one bud in his ear with the volume on one of the louder settings. Without waiting, he started off.

Blaine laughed and followed Kurt down the hall. "They have that effect sometimes. Hey, can you hear me with that music in your ear?" He yanked tenderly on one of the cords. "If you keep it that loud, you'll go deaf after awhile."

"Is it so loud that you can hear it? Or do you just have really good ears?"

But Blaine was too preoccupied with the song trickling from the earphones. He held it up and caught onto the tune quickly, a broad smile crossing his face. They pushed through the doors and entered the North Hall. From the side doors they began the trek from the dormitories to the main school building, which was only a few minutes away on foot.

Kurt gave him a quizzical look as they strolled along the paved sidewalk. Small flats of exotic flowers and greenery bordered the walkway. "What?"

They reached the main doors and Kurt tugged it open. The school building was not unlike the dormitories: the same wallpaper covered everything but the floors and ceiling; the diamond pattern of tile was present in both buildings; even the potted plants gave some of the students déjà vu. Cherry wooden doors lined the walls, all with small plaques presenting its own room number.

"Your music's so loud that I can hear you blasting Katy Perry," Blaine explained and dropped the earphone. It swung limply between them.

"Just because you like her style of music doesn't mean I can't," Kurt defended. He waited for another quick remark, but there was none.

The boy had gone nearly silent, only humming softly under his breath. The pitch jumped up and down musically and Kurt instantly related it to something popular that played on the radio often. As of now, it blasted through his ear phones.

"Blaine," he warned as he clicked the volume down.

"_You've gotta help me out,"_ he sung in response, a grin on his face. _"It's all a blur last night."_

"Blaine!" Kurt whipped his head around to scan the surroundings. Class was to start soon and the central hall began to fill with boys in uniforms. "Don't you dare start singing right now!"

_"We need a taxi, 'cause you're hung over, and I'm broke," _Blaine chorused, only louder. In a spoken voice, he asked, "Oh, come on. What's wrong with a little caroling before we start the day?"

Then he pulled Kurt into the middle of the hallway, abandoning their bags against the wall, and started to sing.

* * *

Her slight heels clicked against the tile flooring sharply as she paced the length of the hall. Folders and countless books lay in her arms, spewing with papers, and she swiped back a lock of dark hair from her eyes to see. Hair slipped from the messy bun at the back of her head and stuck up as if the air was dry. Despite the school dress code for teaching staff, she donned blue jeans and a cotton tee shirt; a warm jacket was thrown over the ensemble.

As the main coordinator and director for the Dalton Academy Warblers, young Ms. Clarisse Lovett had many things going on in her mind beside what she was wearing. Several song possibilities for Regionals were scrawled on the side of the top folder and if she thought of any more, it was put down with the rest; some titles were crossed out. No need to worry about the outfits; the uniforms were distinguishing enough for the boys. It was all about the voice, anyway. Underneath the folders were music books Clarisse had scavenged together out of curiosity. Some contained pop songs while others hip hop and country; earlier she had picked up one with a few musical numbers for the newest bird in her nest.

She was present in the choir room for the five days that made up the school week. Standing in the corner or sitting behind the desk often, she allowed Wes or David to step forward and conduct the practice. But four times out of the whole, she took the rehearsal into her own hands.

"What to do, what to do," she mumbled under her breath as she walked, scanning the side of the folder. "I guess we could cut the Plain White T's from the set list; they wouldn't mind that at all . . . Maybe there's another Trainsong out there . . . or maybe something from The Beatles . . ."

Two harmonizing voices floated down the hall, bouncing against the walls, and Ms. Lovett raised her head in interest. She dissected the sound and instantly recognized one color. She wasn't surprised in the least to hear her star pupil singing his heart out. A smile curved on her face and she continued forward in hopes of finding the source. The partner tone was unidentifiable, and she singled it out as one of the others from the group; she sorted out a few out by their slightly differentiating style. This unfamiliar one practically had its own zip code in terms of being dissimilar.

The cohort melody was much too high on the staff to possibly be Wesley or David. The dwindling numbers of names and faces in her head only strengthened her curiosity.

_Shut up and put your money where your mouth is,_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas,_

_Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now,_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas._

Clarisse rounded the corner to be blinded by moving masses of blue and red. She pushed past some of the students to get a better look at the two boys busting a move in the center of the hall. Silently she witnessed two figures twirling in the center of the hall to an inaudible beat.

* * *

_You got me into this, situation overload, situation lost control,_

_Send out and SOS,_

_Ha, and get some cash out, we're gonna tear up the town,_

_No, don't be a baby, remember what you told me._

Kurt paused in the song to take a breath, only to see most of the student body packed into the main hallway. Their wandering eyes fell to he and Blaine and for a moment, he thought of letting Blaine go solo, but his friend pulled him back in by the hand. The grin on Blaine's face was contagious and soon Kurt felt his own lips turning up.

_Remember what you told me, remember what you told me, told me, told me, yeah,_

_Shut up and put your money where your mouth is,_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas,_

_Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now,_

_That's what you get for waking up in Vegas,_

_That's what you get, baby,_

In the far edge of the crowd, out of the star's line of view, Clarisse Lovett hugged the folders and music books to her chest as she witnessed them jumping and singing in near perfect tune. One's voice complimented the other and she saw her newest bird dancing with the beat._Wonderful voice_, she scribbled down next to the song ideas on the folder. _Very wonderful voice._

_Shake the glitter, shake, shake, shake the glitter,_

_Gimme some cash out, baby,_

_Gimme some cash out, baby!_

The duo ended the energetic number with hands clasped and in a wave of applause from the surrounding student body. Then Kurt was aware of the fingers intertwining with his and he glanced away, his face reddening. He caught sight of Wes and David nodding to each other with satisfied looks, clapping appreciatively. Blaine bumped his shoulder.

"So, how about singing every day like this?" he asked.

"The audience _is _nice . . ." Kurt trailed off before it hit him. "Wait, you're considering doing this daily before first period?"

Blaine snorted. "Are you afraid we're going to run out of music?"

Overhead, the bell chimed and was barely perceptible through the loud chatter of the Hall. Kurt was about to answer when a elegant voice commanded,

"Okay, everyone get to class! Don't stand around with your mouths open like that: flies will nest. I understand it was a thrilling performance, but you should all skedaddle before you're all late! I'm not afraid to write a few detentions myself!"

Ms. Lovett broke through the crowd of boys with papers slipping out of the edges of the folders. Kurt and Blaine separated instantly at the sight of her, both taking back their hands. She pushed flyaway hair from her glowing face and approached them. Gradually the spectators disappeared.

"_Skedaddle_, Ms. Lovett?" Blaine questioned with a smirk as he and Kurt reached for their bags at the side of the hall.

She shrugged and jammed loose papers into the folders. "It's Webster's word of the day. There's an app for that, just so you know. Now, never mind my use of growing vocabulary. I'd like to talk about that little concert you two just put on."

"We're not in trouble, are we?" Kurt asked hesitantly.

This caused her to laugh and drop a few music books. They landed on the floor with a _smack, _and she didn't stoop to pick them up. "Trouble? Kurt Hummel"—he jumped at the way his name sounded in her voice—"you're too much of a goody two-shoes to get into any sort of trouble. Now, Blaine, on the other hand . . ." She chuckled and while Blaine rolled his eyes, Kurt hid a smile.

Kurt had only seen the director on a few occasions, one of which was his first day in the school. She had posed behind the mahogany desk with her legs crossed, supervising the rehearsal, not once asking the little bird to sing a few verses by himself. He saw her on numerous accounts throughout the school and they exchanged quick greetings. Clarisse had also been there to see Kurt audition for a spot in the Warblers before his term started, for which he prepared a catchy Lady Gaga ballad.

"But you're not going to turn us in, right?" Kurt clarified and the smile dropped.

"Of course not," Clarisse assured him and regarded the fallen books. She took a moment to pick them up in silence. The two boys waited for an addition to her speech. Ms. Lovett shuffled the books and folders in her arms carefully and picked up a soft tune under her breath as she did so. With the action finished, she looked up. "Oh, did you want me to say something else? Then, on that rendition of Katy Perry, you both could've—"

"I think we need to get to class before we're late," Blaine interjected politely and began to backpedal, "but we'd be thrilled to hear it sometime during rehearsal today. See you later, Ms. L."

"Well, okay, then," she sighed and waved them off. They turned their backs to her and paced the hall. Both sighed in relief as they came upon the corner. As they vanished, she called, "Blaine, you could've used more pizzazz during that number! Just saying!"

* * *

David dropped his lunch tray on the table with a smack. Wes, Blaine, and Simon looked up and gasped. Cody squeaked and dropped his fork and Adam covered his mouth to prevent laughter. David's face was dripping with a sticky red liquid and Wes stuffed a napkin in his hand without saying anything. He blotted off the drink and sat down, little spots of pink showing on the white of his uniform.

"We've got a problem," he stated simply and crumpled the napkin on his tray.

"The fact that you don't know how to drink properly?" Adam chuckled and bit off the end of a carrot stick.

"One, that was the corniest joke you've ever made," David shot back and plopped down in his seat, "and two, Dex and Leo sprayed me with cherry soda in the lunch line just now. I think you should do more than lock them in a room without windows for a few hours. It doesn't look like they're getting the picture."

"It's not my fault they're always hyper," he snapped. "I'm not the one feeding them black coffee and straight sugar out of the bag."

"You're supposed to be the Precursor for East. They live in that wing. The least you could do is knock a little sense into them."

Adam merely shrugged and jammed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I've already done all I can do without them attempting to kill me. I've barricaded their door several times, turned them into Markus constantly, everything. I don't know what else I could do that I haven't already done."

"That's just _awesome_," he sighed and propped his chin on his elbow.

"I don't want them keeping this up," complained Wes. "For all I know, they could have the track rigged with all kinds of explosives. Do you want me to die while I'm running a sixteen-hundred?"

"What?" Kurt sputtered, horrified, as he sat down between Cody and Blaine with his lunch tray. Both boys gave him a warm smile. "I heard something about running and dying. Whatever you're planning, I want no part."

Wes glanced up at him sadly. "Then you're not going to cheer me on for my upcoming track meet?"

"Oh! Of course, I will."

"Good, because didn't you say you'd train me for it?" He grinned and took a bite of a granola bar.

"Yes, but that was only if you got me out of singing in the commons," Kurt reminded lightly. "Which didn't happen." Wes shrugged.

"I heard about that," Adam mentioned around a mouthful. "Simon told me everyone forced you into singing in front of your entire wing."

Kurt's neck and face flushed. He stirred the pasta on his plate in a circle. "Let's hope it wasn't in front of the _entire_ wing, but yes, they did force me into it." He shot daggers at Blaine, Wes and David.

"And some of the South Wing came, didn't they?"

Kurt watched Simon closely, but spoke to Adam. "From what I saw, yes."

"It was after hours!" Simon defended. "We're allowed to go to other wings as long as it's after hours."

"That's not the official rule," Blaine explained to Kurt in a whisper, "but it's our rule. According to us, you're allowed to leave your wing to visit others after school hours end, but if Markus decides to make an appearance in the dorms, you're toast."

"But from what I got to see, Kurt," Simon continued, "it was really good. I didn't know a guy could sing that high."

Kurt offered him a smile before looking down. Blaine shot him a warning glance, to which he answered with a confused shrug.

"So, we have another problem and it concerns the Warblers. Ms. Lovett told me about it the other day," David brought up. All but Adam leaned forward to listen closely; he continued to pop the tab on his can of Sprite and took a long sip. "At first, I thought of telling everyone during class, but this couldn't wait. We have some competition in line for Regionals, and I'm not talking about the New Directions." He paused to let any interjections in, but none came, allowing him to continue. "Vocal Adrenaline isn't competing with us this year for unknown reasons. My guess is bigger and better opportunities in the high school show choir world. With them out of the way, there's New Directions."

"That's a piece of cake, right?" Simon asked and pushed his lunch tray in front of him, completely engrossed with the conversation instead of the food. "We did tie with them at Sectionals. What's the big deal?"

"We're not competing solely against them," David said slowly. "There'll be others at the show. I'm not really worried about the New Directions one bit"—Kurt felt his face drop—"considering we've got some of the best singers I've ever seen." He stopped to glance at Kurt with a warm smile. "But there's another school I don't think many of us have heard of."

"We know all the schools in the region, though," Blaine interrupted quickly. "I don't see how we don't know any of them."

"_Most_," David accentuated. "We know _most _of them. Which means not all of them. Ms. Lovett was kind enough to tell me. The only other school that applied to show up to the competition in a month is the—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your riveting tale," Adam said in between his words and leaned forward, "but we've got a bit of an emergency."

"Can't it wait?"

He waved his hand. "Unless you want a face of poorly-made mashed potatoes and a full-blown cafeteria riot, then be my guest."

"What do you mean by that?" Kurt squeaked instantly and his voice raised almost an octave.

_"Food fight!"_

Two simple words were all it took to make every head in the spacious lunch room to turn. All conversations vanished and most stopped eating. Only the buzz of the large appliances was audible. Far off, in the back of the room along the windows, two figures stood tall on one of the condiment tables.

Blaine's stomach dropped and he untangled his legs from the chair, pushing away from the table; Adam and Simon followed in suit. The trio scrambled around tables and dodged boys standing up to get a better look. David groaned and put his head in his hands. Wes deposited his food onto Adam's abandoned tray and held up his in front of his face.

"Who is that?" Kurt demanded and squinted. "Oh, God, is that Leo and Dex? Did they really just call for a food fight? Wait, Wes, why are you doing that?"

He said something, but the plastic muffled his words.

"You'll need something to make sure you aren't too scarred by the end of this," David clarified and offered Kurt his tray.

He took the tray with trembling hands. "You mean this has happened before?"

"Only once," Cody explained, "and that was the first day they started classes here. Yes, they started it and yes, they got two weeks of suspension from Markus for it, as well as kitchen duty for a month. You'd think they'd learn after that, but it's Dex and Leo: what can you assume?"

Kurt opened his mouth to speak but Blaine's voice rang out across the cafeteria.

"_Dammit! Get down from the table!"_

Then Simon's shrill voice: _"Put down the ketchup bottles!"_

Adam finished it off with, _"Do you _want _this to go on your permanent records?"_

"Should we help them?" Kurt asked and started to get to his feet, but David and Cody pulled him back down.

"Go ahead, but you'll get that pretty little uniform covered in mustard and meatloaf for sure," David promised.

Kurt sat down and scooted up to the table.

Across the room, Blaine was busy scraping a dollop of thick ranch dressing from his face in disgust. It dribbled down the sides of his neck and seeped between the white button-down shirt he wore and the blazer. Most of it stayed on his head, where it flattened his slight curls.

"Do you want Markus on your asses for this?" Simon yelled piercingly. "You're going to get in so much trouble for—"

He was cut off by a tray of white mashed potatoes that connected with his face. Leo clapped his hands together as if to brush off dust and admired his work. Simon jumped back and rubbed the food out of his eyes.

"Not if he doesn't find out!" Dex derided and reached back to grip a fat orange in one hand. He repeatedly tossed it in the air, followed by catching it easily. "Guys, give it a rest already. You're just going to get hurt in the process."

"As the Head of East, I order you to get down and stop acting like complete idiots!" Adam commanded.

The two boys looked at each other before breaking into laughter. "Good one, Harvey! Like that'll happen!"

Dex slung his arm back and launched the fruit across the room where it landed with a _splat! _on one of the tables. The boys sitting there turned around apprehensively. One of them, tall with bright orange hair, stood, his eyes dull and tired. He moved to the condiment tables with ease and in silence. He slipped between Blaine and Simon and stopped in front of the two culprits.

"Hello, Thomas," Dex greeted.

"Come to help?" Leo asked optimistically.

"Nice try," Thomas Reid said coolly and a sleek smile appeared on his face. "I want you both to get down from the table and we'll pretend like this never happened. I won't turn you in to Markus if you cooperate. Do we have a deal?"

Dex pursed his lips in thought and Jack jammed his hands into his pants pockets. Both were silent.

"What's going on?" Kurt hissed at the change of voice levels. Everything was silent and he noticed a tall student talking with Leo and Dex. "What are they doing?"

"Usually, the way it plays out," David explained and leaned back in his chair, "is that they try to start something, Blaine and the others try to end it, Thomas shows up and tries to coax them down without a fight, he ends up getting mad, the whole place goes insane and that's when Markus makes him big entrance."

"Should we help?" he asked.

"You can if you want," Wes offered and lowered his defense mechanism. "I think it's safe to say they're not throwing anything edible for awhile. But it's Dex and Leo. Who knows what could happen?"

With a deep breath, Kurt pushed his chair back and the legs made horrifying squealing noises as they scraped against the tile floor. The attention in the room was directed to him and his face colored to a deep scarlet. Hurriedly he pushed the chair back up to the table without much complaint. That's when Thomas let out a yell.

Something icy and cold covered the back of his head. Bits of the frozen ice cream slithered down the nape of his neck and trickled down his back. He gnashed his teeth together and his hands formed tight fists. Thomas whipped around to face them and lunged.

"That's it!" he shouted. "I've had enough!"

The lunch room turned from motionless to rambunctious in seconds.

Blinking, Adam sprung forward and latched his arms around Thomas' waist to keep him from reaching out. The two boys on the table leaped back until their backs pressed against the windows. With hands still soaked in salad dressing, Blaine wrapped one arm around Thomas' torso in attempt to help keep him back.

Around the fight to hold Thomas back, a riot had broken out between the students. Anything that could be swallowed and digested shot through the air like projectiles. Cartons of milk broke open in midair, drenching anyone who happened to stand in its range. Small fruits and large ones, too, became weapons when they were launched from boys' hands. The room had morphed into a war zone.

Panting was heard behind the group and Kurt appeared, doubling over with his hands on his knees.

"What . . . do you want . . . me to do?" he asked in short breaths. He squeaked when something wet splattered across his back and stood ramrod straight. Daringly he reached back, only for his fingertips to touch a mass of ketchup. "I thought this was a school for _disciplined _boys," he muttered in repugnance and wiped his hand on the front of his slacks. "I guess I missed the memo."

"Nothing!" answered Simon as he joined the first two. "Just stay back and maybe you won't get in trouble!"

The door swung open and bumped against the wall.

"Too late!" Dex squeaked.

* * *

The man behind the desk smiled humbly in a kind of way that showed you were most definitely in trouble. His hands folded together on the table top and he studied the papers spread out in front of him. There were just enough chairs to supply the seven boys, however three had to be taken from the front office. One of the students nervously tugged at his collar and another crossed his legs without worry.

"Welcome, boys. Look who we have with us here today," Dean Markus said in a softer tone. He cleared his throat and began to read from the first page. "It seems we have Adam Harvey, our resident star of the East Wing. Head, in fact." The boy flinched as his name was called and the administrator continued to read. "You have a foggy record, sadly, but you're keeping up with your grades. Stay out of that trouble you cause yourself, okay? I'd rather not receive such a high bill every month for all the late nights you spend with that laptop of yours."

Adam nodded quickly, his face going red, and put his hands in his lap.

"And Simon Dougray. What a treat." The Dean smiled when he reached Simon's records. "Spotless account here at Dalton. In the top fifteen percent of his class and Professor Anna's favorite student in Trigonometry. Head of the South Wing and doing a mighty good job at that, I might add." Simon started to smile, but it faded with the next sentence. "Though, you seem to have let a few mishaps go by without notification. Do keep me updated with all of the happenings. That will help that mathematics scholarship you're aiming for."

Simon ducked his head and let the man move on.

Markus shuffled the papers around slowly. "Blaine Anderson. It's been awhile since I've seen you in the office. Saddening and gleeful at the same time. Lead singer of the Warblers, making semi-passable grades in all classes. Just watch out for those Geometry marks and you'll pass the semester for sure. Get a tutor, maybe? Perhaps Adam would like to be of assistance?"

The East Head looked up and Blaine nodded in understanding.

Markus passed Blaine's record and came upon a clean folder without smudges or stains or marks. "Kurt Hummel. I've heard lovely things about your from your previous principal at William McKinley High School. Glad you're staying with us. Congratulations on being accepted into the Warblers, by the way. I can already see good things coming out of you as long as you set your heart to it."

The description was short and sweet and Kurt sniffed. He crossed his left leg over the right instead of the other way around.

The Dean sighed heavily and flipped the next page over. He looked over the top of the paper at the redhead sitting in front of him. "Thomas Reid. My, isn't this a surprise. I couldn't possibly imagine you sitting in here."

Thomas smiled coolly and was the only boy to speak. "Is that sarcasm, sir?"

"Every time. Now, you're in here for conflict. Shame, isn't it?" He planned to move on, but turned back to add, "And make sure you keep a close eye on your English grade. It dropped a point since yesterday." Thomas' expression flipped from collected to surprised and mistaken in an instant.

Markus didn't speak again for what seemed like hours. Kurt's foot gradually grew numb and he placed both on the floor, watching Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Blaine absent mindedly nibbled on his pinky nail and Adam squinted to read the small print on one of the diplomas that littered the walls in black frames.

The office was small, with only a mahogany desk and a few chairs. A wide file cabinet held up the back wall next to a fake potted plant, its green limbs spewing over the edge and touching the floor. Dark frames lined the walls until most of the wallpaper wasn't even visible anymore. Scrap photos and newspaper clippings were pressed underneath the glass desk blotter. One window on the right let in a bit of light; the floor lamp in the corner supplied the rest.

He pushed back in his chair and wandered to the file cabinet, thumbing through manila folders. He chose one, then a minute passed until he chose another. The silence with which he moved caused the seven boys to become antsy, squirming in their seats in anticipation. Finally Markus sat back down and let two folders smack onto the glass surface. He raised his eyes.

"Leonardo Kingsley and Dexter Greene," he stated in a soft tone. "I think you may have chairs reserved here. I might as well just put your last names on the backs." Then his voice raised a notch. "Do you know how many times you've been sent to this office?"

He took another breath to continue, but Leo cut in with, "Approximately five hundred, seventy-seven times since the day we got here."

"I think that was a rhetorical question," Dex whispered frantically and tried not to move his lips. He picked up his legs to tuck them against his chest like a small child; his arms wrapped around his knees.

"Let's just say _a lot_," Markus continued, ignoring the number amount. "And let's about talk today's instance, shall we? From what I walked in on today, I saw it as an attempt to start a food fight. Is that what I saw?" He looked to the other five and they made some sort of positive gesture. He turned back to the pair. "Do you remember the first day you started classes here? I do. That was the day Dalton experienced its first-ever cafeteria riot in twelve years. That was not a fun day for anyone, boys, especially me. This isn't middle school anymore. I don't care when you say you're young and you don't know anything: we've got other young students here, too. Do they feel the need to cause disaster because this school gets too 'boring' for them? No, they don't."

Kurt watched the blonde and redhead for some sort of outburst or complaint, but they gave neither. Dex let his legs tumble off the chair and his feet swung an inch from the floor.

Dex piped up with, "No one was hurt, sir."

"But there could have been good chance," he immediately shot back and pinned the testimony to the wall. "Thank goodness some of the students here know the difference between right and wrong, and it wasn't a big of a disaster as I thought. Three weeks of detention for the two of you and no leaving the grounds for any circumstances."

"What?" they shrieked and jumped like squirrels.

The Dean waved a hand without looking at them. "I'm not changing it. If you get accepted by one of the colleges you applied to over the break, great. But I'm sending everything to the administrator of the new school so he or she can figure out consequences for you. There are so many things I've let slip by here, but when you get to the real world, that's not how it's going to be." He plucked a pen and a pink pad from a drawer and scribbled something down once, tore the paper and repeated the action. He slid the two notes across the desk to them and Leo and Dex collected them reluctantly.

By then, Kurt was holding his wrists to keep his hands from shaking. He had only been in the principal's office once or twice at McKinley, and none of the reasons for school disruption. Blaine, Simon and Adam appeared used to the feeling, but still showed signs of nerves. Even Thomas, who sat cool and calm, was fiddling with a stray line of thread coming from the bottom of his blazer.

It relieved them all when Markus chuckled. "You five are allowed to leave. The food stains on your uniforms tell me you tried to help with this situation. This is a warning, though. Try not to get caught up in any more of their shenanigans. Leonardo, Dexter . . . I guess I can let you go. Just make sure to report to your detention rooms tonight."

With a gesture from him, the seven students stood, Thomas towering over them all by at least three or four inches. They filed out in silence.

As soon as they made it to the main office, however, Leo and Dex zipped through the doors and into the hall. Thomas sighed and walked ahead with his hands clasped behind his back. Blaine held back for Kurt to catch up and Simon trailed behind, talking with Adam.

"You've got a little white . . ." Kurt gestured to the ranch dressing on Blaine's cheek with a laugh.

"You've got red all over your back," Blaine retorted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought it was blood."

Kurt struggled to look over his shoulder at the stain he'd created before the Dean walked in on the food riot. "Is it really that bad?"

"It'll need dry cleaning, that's for sure," he decided grimly.

"Oh, goody."

* * *

_In the next chapter: The Warblers learn more about their competition for Regionals, including a new school of faces and a group of old friends; Dex and Leo cause a little more trouble in an attempt to get out of detention, but only damages something that changes the Warblers' site of rehearsal; Wes prepares for his track meet that pits him against two of the cockiest-and fastest-students in South; and a new bird come to makes his home in the nest._


	4. Starting Point

_Hello, readers. I've had three days off so far! Because of that, I've been hard at work on this story, especially this chapter. This is personally one of my favorite chapters out of the ones I've written (and I've written far into the future of this story). I hope you all find it enjoyable!_

_There's not much I can add right now because nothing's really happening in my oh-so-boring life, except that I will most definitely update next week around Saturday or Sunday. I hope you all enjoy the third chapter of __Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps__!_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Glee, Blaine, Kurt, Wes, David, or the Warblers. I do, however, own Will, Carson, Cody, Stephen, Simon and the rest of the characters of my own creation. The plot is also mine._

* * *

**Starting Point**

* * *

**Look at this face. Do you see my foolish hope? - The Joy Luck Club**

* * *

"Attention, boys!" Ms. Lovett cried over the rumble of voices and held up her hands. "Attention! I have news to share!"

The bright afternoon sun painted light spots on the floor from where it passed through the glass of the intricate windows. It had been seven days since the return of school from the holiday break and four since the food fight during the first lunch hour. Unknown to the others, Leo and Dex had been given extra days of kitchen clean-up, as well as a few additional detention sessions to be served immediately after class every day.

Kurt looked down joyfully at his pristine uniform. Right after school the day of the riot, he took his uniform in to be cleaned. The staff who worked there wasn't very appreciative, but grumbled through it. He eventually made back to the school by eleven that night, only to get three hours of needed sleep. He held back a yawn and raised his eyes to the director.

Finally the room softened enough for Clarisse to get a few words out.

"Thank you!" she sighed heavily. "I swear, you all talk like your lives depend on it . . . Anyway, I have important news to share regarding the Regionals performance coming up in the third week of February."

Some of the group sighed and moaned while the other half cheered somewhat enthusiastically.

"I know, I know. I'm not that thrilled about it, to be frank. It seems like a long ways away right now, but if we all slack off, it'll pop us right in the face, and we don't want that, do we?" No response this time, and she shuffled papers on the table. She cleared her throat.

"First on the Regionals agenda are the competition and the set list. I'm pretty sure a few of you have leaked that out to the rest, right David?" Clarisse pinned her glare on the boy, who shifted his eyes and fiddled with his fingernails. "Don't be ashamed, I would've done the same thing if I were in that position. The first school in our region that will compete against us is the New Directions."

She finished her sentence and utter silence throbbed in Kurt's head. He felt his face flushing and watched a blank spot on the wall to avoid the obvious stares from the others. It seemed everyone in the Warblers knew where he attended school previously and he could guess the culprit without a second thought. Beside him Blaine looked at his hands.

"They'll definitely put up a fight this time," she commented and sat down behind the desk. "Considering we tied with them at Sectionals, I'm positive they'll do anything to beat us out for a chance to go to Nationals. Which means from this point out, weekend rehearsals are a _must_and attendance is mandatory. They're not the normal stool choir, obviously."A glimpse of the intricate acrobatic moves from Brittany and Mike flashed in front Kurt's eyes. The music still thumped in his ears.

"I'll try to add a bit more motion into this set list. If any of you have experience with back hand springs and basket tosses, see me after class ends." She laughed when half the boys paled and the other half looked at her oddly; two boys in the back, however, glanced at each other with interest. "We'll work on it, don't worry. Moving on.

"Now, I've had many of you asking about Vocal Adrenaline and no, they won't be competing this year. It turns out that the group was chosen to sing at an exclusive concert in Los Angeles, which means they won't be joining us."

A collective sigh emanated from the group and pushed that to the backs of their minds. There was no doubt that VA was good. Good enough to reduce the Warblers to nothing at Regionals. With them out of the way, their chances of winning increased a tad.

". . . But that doesn't mean there's not another school," Ms. Lovett finished. The boys cast her questioning looks. "We have one more school to join us in Regionals besides the Lima crew." She lifted a piece of paper to read the name, then let it fall back to the desk. "The Chamberlain Institute for Young Ladies."

One of the boys in the back jammed his fingers in his mouth and let out a drawling whistle. Some of the tension in the room was taken away when the others chuckled, but a few bars of patience were lost from Clarisse.

"Nice one, William," she commented, sarcasm dripping from her voice like syrup, and rolled her eyes. "Try that one again and I'll give you a referral. The Institute is a relatively new private school in the region. It opened about four years ago to the public, though the director decided to put the choir into competition starting this year. The school is located somewhere south of here in Florence. I guess the region expands farther than I originally thought."

"Are we seriously singing against a _girls' _school?" William asked in disbelief.

"You better believe it," she snapped. "Expect to be working three times harder than you are now to even get a _chance _at making it past Regionals. I've heard things about this school from other directors in the area and they are, as you say, _the bomb._" A few shared humored glances.

"So what are we going to do?" asked another boy.

"We're going to _sing_, obviously. Why else would you be in a high school glee club? Now everyone on their feet. Come on, now. We're burning daylight." She rose from the table with her hands suspended, studying the count. She matched each face with a name. "Glad we're all here today. Everyone give me one group note. Make it good."

Not even five seconds had passed before the space above them groaned and creaked. They looked up, startled. Kurt shared a worried glance with Blaine and then the ceiling fell.

Not fell. _Exploded._

Bits of plaster and chips of paint rained down on the room. Ms. Lovett cried out and shot away from the desk. Kurt jumped out of his skin and knocked into Blaine, who kept him standing. High-pitched screams entered the room, then ended abruptly with a _thump. _Clouds of white powder and dust filled the air. Deep coughing followed and someone whimpered,

"That hurt."

Then, "It was your idea, stupid! I told you we shouldn't have tried crawling through the vents to get out of detention!"

"Then why did you tell me it would work?"

"Because you're gullible, that's why!"

The dust vanished after a few minutes of recollection. The choir room looked like the site of construction, with gray powder blanketing most of the surfaces in the room. The Warblers found Dex and Leo sprawled across the large desk, limbs hanging over the edges. They spewed plaster from their mouths and attempted to wipe off the dust that coated them from head to toe. Clarisse leaned forward and nudged Leo's foot off the table disdainfully; her face was caked with a thin layer of white and her dark clothing looked a shade lighter.

"You two are incredible," she muttered irritably as she helped them to their feet. She propped her hands on her hips as she examined them. To the group, she called, "I'll be back shortly! I have to make a run to the Dean's office with these two"—she gave the boys a small push in the direction of the door—"and clean up. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves, sing, restrain each other from strangling each other. The usual."

With another push, Leo and Dex were escorted from the messy room, bickering and shoving the other.

As soon as the doors clicked shut, David moved forward and peered upward. The ceiling had broken cleanly to leave a nice hole. From where he and a few others stood, they could barely make out the inside of the vent system and a few wires. A grate had come loose, apparently, seeing as it swung freely back and forth. Something bright reflected off the shiny interior of the vents and Wes climbed onto the desk. After a few ungraceful leaps, he looked back to the Warblers.

"It's just a flashlight," he reported and hopped down from the table. He thoroughly brushed off his blazer. "I'm starting to think they have a routine of doing this."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they had the entire school mapped out," commented Simon with his arms crossed. "They've been through this place so many times, they were bound to make a record of it sometime or another."

Wes nodded in agreement. "But hopefully, some place will give in and accept them and they'll be out of this place before we know it."

"If only, if only," Blaine hummed under his breath.

This caused a few boys to cheer tiredly. At least half or most of the Warblers, along with the rest of the school, had been personally targeted by the pranksters in one form or fashion. During the Holiday Festival the previous year, Leo jacked the lighting on one of the spotlights during Blaine's solo, causing it to change colors before the wiring failed. It crashed where Blaine had been standing in moments earlier and nearly caught fire. Three weeks detention and one heck of an intermission.

The last science lab of the semester was a total failure when Dex added a little too much of a certain white powder to a concoction that caused it to bubble and combust. The resulting product ate away at the linoleum counter tops and dissolved Thomas' pencil down to the eraser. Two weeks detention and payment to replace the counters.

Nine week exams were ruined when the pair jacked the grading machines that scored the answer sheets. They screwed up the answer key for their Literature class and Adam nearly had a heart attack when he saw the failing marks on his test. A month of suspension and the machines had to be completely rewired.

With the experiences that were racked on their records, Dex and Leo were popular in all the wrong ways.

Blaine jammed his hands in his pockets and wandered to the couch to take a place beside Kurt, who still seemed shell shocked from the ceiling break-through.

"That's one way to make an entrance, I guess," Kurt said as Blaine sat next to him.

"I'll say. Usually they use the window and, once in a blue moon, the door." He watched as Simon came back into the room with two brooms and a dust pan in his hands. He handed one to David and the other to Wes to assist in cleaning up most of the mess before the janitors arrived. Thomas swept his hand across the numerous book shelves behind the table; his hand came away gray and powdery.

"If you've gone to school with them for a whole year," Kurt wondered, "how are you still alive? Shouldn't you have strangled yourself by now?"

Blaine laughed and leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "I think I just have a high tolerance for annoying people."

"Good," Wes commented as he passed with the broom, "or else I wouldn't be here right now."

"Don't worry; I'll probably trip you during the meet today."

Wes leaned the cleaner against the wall by the door and joined the two. "Funny, Blaine. You should have your own talk show about how funny you are."

"I thought your track meet wasn't until next week?" asked Kurt.

"It got moved up to today after school because of weather purposes. It's supposed to rain next week on the original day of the meet," he sighed. "It's North against South this time. I'm not looking forward to it at all." Seeing Kurt's confused expression, he added, "South isn't much of a challenge, though they do have a few strong runners. Take William Fitzroy for example." He kept his voice low and gestured behind them to a boy with smooth blonde hair and sharp features. "Complete jackass when you get to know him and not the sharpest tool in the shed, but one hell of a runner. He nearly broke my record for the sixteen-hundred in the offseason. I'm glad he didn't."

"Didn't Will break his ankle from when Leo 'shoved' him down the main stairway?" Cody asked as he plopped down beside Kurt.

Wes shrugged sadly and reported, "It was only a sprain. I saw him out on the track for warm-up a week after the incident."

"Good luck, then. You'll need it."

"But I don't think he should worry," David chipped in as he completed sweeping the floor under the gaping hole. "Wes has already got his name down under plenty of titles: fastest time in the one hundred-sprints, the sixteen-hundred, and the four hundred. The only thing Will can run decently is the eight hundred, and you're not running that today, right?"

Wes nodded in relief. "Jacob is. I wish him luck. Hopefully I'll keep my titles for a little while longer."

"That'd be nice," Blaine agreed.

"So, are you coming to the meet after fourth period to support North?" he asked the group. David gave a quick, positive response before snatching the second broom to return them to the utility closet. Blaine replied with the promise to be there before the first starting gun was fired. However, Cody shook his head and no questions were asked. They looked to Kurt for the final answer.

"Why not?" He shrugged and Wes' face lit. "Are any of the other wings coming?"

Wes shook his head. "Usually if a person from a specific wing is competing, the rest come to support. If not, they don't really care. So today it'll just be everyone in North and all the South people."

"Will Leo and Dex be there?" Blaine asked right away.

"They're in East, though."

"So?"

Wes stared at him in confusion. "How would they be able to come even if they wanted to? Didn't Markus give them detention?"

"Yeah, but I bet you they'll find a way to get out of it," he said. "Like the time we were in the middle of a parent showcase last year and they dropped the curtains on us in the middle of the song when they were _supposed _to be cleaning the classrooms as part of their detention."

"Who knew curtains could be so heavy?" David murmured.

Miraculously the wiring to the speaker system had not been damaged in the fall from the ceiling, because moments later the bell chimed overhead, signaling the end of class. Some of the Warblers took a last glance at the wreckage before going on their way. The choir room emptied soon and Kurt stood up; the others got to their feet as well.

As they moved to the doors, one swung back open. Ms. Lovett ran a brush through the ends of her hair; her face was no longer chalky and pale. She had also changed into a different shirt and a skirt that flowed to the floor and danced around her ankles when she moved. She sighed disappointedly.

"Well, that was a waste of class time," she said and glided past them into the room. "I was going to announce what we were going to sing for Regionals, but seeing as most of the boys are gone . . ."

The five stopped in their tracks and looked back, their interest peaked.

"Would you be kind enough to tell us?" Wes asked hopefully. "After all, you did appoint David and I to chairmen. We have a right to know."

The term 'chairman' was used loosely. Very loosely. At this point in time, David, Wes and Simon stood as the three chairmen of the Warblers. The title didn't mean they were in charge of choosing what songs to sing, or mapping out the choreography to accompany the number. Ms. Lovett was still in charge of those things, but it meant the three boys were the ones she trusted the most. Why Blaine wasn't elected, she never said.

Clarisse's laughter echoed through the room like wind chimes. "I love your sense of humor, Wesley."

"I'll take that as a no."

"No for now," she corrected. "Speaking of the set list, this gives me an opportunity to change my mind about the numbers. Who knows? Right now, I have The Scriptas our opener, but tomorrow it could end up being Green Day or Coldplay."

"Could you give us a hint?" Cody questioned and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Genre, at least?"

Ms. Lovett pursed her lips. "Either classic rock or new age pop for the opener. That's all I'm saying and I'm keeping my mouth shut until I'm firm on the set list. Don't you have class you should be getting to?"

The five nodded and left Clarisse in the wrecked choir room. Her voice lingered in the doorway as they departed, mumbling something about how glad she was that Dex and Leo didn't land on the piano. The Hall they entered was scarce and empty. Cody and Wes bid their farewells and started off in the opposite direction. The clock hanging on the wall above the spiral staircase ticked boomingly and Kurt matched his footsteps to the beat of the second hand.

"What do you think she's going to have us sing anyway?" he wondered and studied the faces of the others.

"Hopefully not anything too cheesy," Blaine answered. "If she gives us the sheet music to a song written by The Police, I think I just might explode."

"I'm still scarred from that phase," David moaned. "'Every Breath You Take' is still stuck in my head from last year's Spring Festival."

"And don't even get me started on 'Roxanne'," Blaine added tiredly. He turned to Kurt. "She took us all out of class to rehearse that song for three weeks straight, and then decided to switch it up to something else."

"What did she pick?"

"'Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic.'" Kurt made a face and David followed with, "Yeah, I know."

"If she grabs something out of the eighties again, I might have to pick something out myself," Blaine said.

"Ms. Lovett sounds a lot like Mr. Schue in personality," Kurt said. To clarify, he continued, "Mr. Schue was the director at McKinley. It seemed almost every day he would hand out a new Journey song. In fact, we sung 'Don't Stop Believin' as our first group ensemble, a few times after, and finished Regionals with it. We didn't place then, if you wanted to know."

"I wouldn't blame the judges for not placing you," Blaine said and stared forward. He blinked and backtracked on what had come out of his mouth. "I mean, I'm sure your choir was great and everything, but Journey is on the radio a lot and sometimes you get sick of hearing a certain song after awhile. No offense."

"Absolutely none taken. I was getting sick of it myself," Kurt laughed and hugged his binder to his chest; his messenger bag bumped against his hip as he walked. "I'm happy that the Warblers have song variety. From The Police to Katy Perry, it seems like you sing everything."

The two boys shared a humored glance as they rounded the corner. "You have _no _idea."

* * *

Adam Harvey fiddled with his fingernails in the Dean's office. The air conditioner hummed faintly and the clock hanging above the desk ticked ever so slowly. The Dean sat behind his desk with a pen in his hand, scribbling furiously on a pad of yellow paper. The tip of the pen scratched against the pad for a few moments before he ripped the paper from the whole, swiveling in his chair to pin it on the corkboard. When he turned around, he was faced with a pair of worried eyes.

Adam licked his lips before he spoke. "Um, sir? Why am I here? I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

Markus shook his head. "No, not at all."

He waited for an addition to the explanation but got only silence. "Then why am I here?"

"Your sister called today."

The four words caused the boy to knit his eyebrows, confused. He said, "But I don't want to talk to her."

"You should."

"I don't."

"She's your sister."

"She could be Jesus Christ for all I care."

"She's your_ sister,_" Markus repeated.

Adam sat back with a sad look upon his face and crossed his legs. "She's never been there for me. Why should I be there to answer her calls?"

"She loves you."

"She's a liar."

* * *

"Why on earth is there a track meet in the middle of January? It's freezing!" Kurt protested and snuggled deeper inside the thick coat around him. As he brought his head down, his nose was filled with a heavy pine scent. Blaine had lent him the same jacket he wore on his trip to New York, grabbing another instead. _I'm wearing his jacket, _his mind mumbled nervously, _I'm wearing his jacket. Don't freak out, it's just an article of clothing. Just a warm gesture by a friend. Nothing big._

"I never figured that out," Blaine said on his right. Simon nodded in agreement and wrapped a scarf tightly around his neck.

The time was 4:30 in the afternoon and the location was the field between the school and the dorm building. It was similar in appearance to the regulation high school football field, with its rows upon rows of elevated bleachers facing each other. A wide track divided into six lanes circled the grassy, brown-tinged field. A barren announcer's box topped the set of bleachers. The main level of bleachers was lifted at least ten feet from the ground the athletes stood on. The sky above was painted in smoky gray clouds and hinted a chance of rain. The field was packed with boys donning dark sweats and a few coaches in sleek wind breakers.

Kurt picked Wes' dark hair and thin frame out of the many competitors milling around. He made his way to the sidelines, bending down to pull his sweat ensemble off. Underneath he wore a pair of black mesh shorts and a bright blue shirt that represented the North Wing. The only other color that popped out on the field was the deep green of South; several wore that color.

Gradually the field cleared and a few lined up behind a bold white line that was painted into the track. Kurt watched as Wes picked a seat on the benches instead of joining the others.

"Isn't Wes running in this?" he asked. He tried desperately to speak without his chattering teeth interfering, but with no avail.

"Not the first one," David answered from on Kurt's left and sat back in his seat. "This is the one-hundred sprints. We have I think four more races until the sixteen-hundred. That's what he's running in."

"This will take forever," Kurt sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"You wanted to come, remember?" he reminded him.

"I could be starting on the book list we were given before the break," Kurt mentioned and wound the scarf tighter around his neck. The wind bit at the exposed skin on his face. "I would probably be sitting in the library, checking out books."

David shrugged in response. "Where's Cody? It's really quiet."

"He opted out today, remember?" Simon said. "He said he wanted to finish up on homework and a few other things."

The boy sitting in front of them turned his head slightly and watched the trio out of the corner of his eye before completely looking over his shoulder. The lack of light dulled his dark hair, which was cut short. He gazed up at the two wide shimmering eyes and greeted,

"Hey, guys. You ready to get whooped today?"

The counter was a playful kick in the back and Blaine said, "Like that'll happen, Gregory. Have you _seen _Wes run? I don't think so."

The boy shrugged with a chuckle. "You never know. He could lose his touch today."

David leaned forward. "And you want William to win?"

"Because he's not in North," the boy said, "yes, I do. Not because I think he deserves to, but just so it'll add something to South. If Dougray hasn't told you yet"—he gestured to the South Precursor—"his wing is a little plain, besides the titles in fencing."

He laughed. "Good luck. No one's ever broken Wes' record for the sixteen-hundred since the day he set it."

"Again, you never know." His eyes darted to Kurt, as if finally realizing his presence. "Is this our newest Warbler?"

"In the flesh," Blaine said almost boastfully.

The boy stuck out a gloved hand with a friendly smile. "I'm Stephen Gregory, the Precursor for the West Wing. I'm also in the Warblers."

Kurt shook it quickly and returned his hand to the warmth of the coat. It was longer than he'd thought and he was able to tuck it over his knees. "Kurt Hummel. I've seen you around before, but it's nice to meet you officially."

"Likewise." He paused to check the condition of the field before turning back. "You sing well. Your performance in the Hall the other morning was very . . . different, I have to say. Though I think you did Katy Perry's song more justice than the actual artist."

Kurt felt his face grow warm and Blaine nudged his shoulder. "It was all Blaine's idea, really. I had nothing to do with it."

"Either way, you both got a lot of attention," Stephen commented. He adjusted his gloves and looked back at the field again. "This _is _taking forever, isn't it?"

Simon yanked the scarf away. "So why are you here? Your wing isn't competing in this."

He shrugged. "Just wanted to see how this would play out. I'd say that's everyone's excuse for coming. Wes is one of the fastest runners at Dalton and compared with Will, it should be quite a show."

"Wait, Will is running the sixteen-hundred against Wes?" Simon repeated in awe. "Since when?"

Stephen laughed. "Since the offseason. I hear he's been training one-on-one with the coach after school on odd days. I would've though you of all people knew what his own students are participating in. Looks like you're slipping up there, Dougray." He turned around almost with a boastful air, leaving the four students shocked.

Down by the track, Wes shrugged his hoodie on again to keep warm and tapped his toe as the referee arranged to start the one-hundred meter sprints. He sat on the edge of the bench with four others wearing the same blue shirt; their eyes were locked on the two that represented their Wing. They were poised on the white line, ready to leave the opposing team in the dust. The referee, who was clad in the classic black and white, raised his hand to call attention to the total of four participating in the first set of event. The simple motion caused a hush to fall over the crowd. In his other hand, he gripped a small black firing pistol and he called basic rules to the runners.

"We'll talk later," Stephen whispered hurriedly over his shoulder.

The sudden gunshot pierced the air and Kurt jerked in his seat. The instant the trigger had been pressed, the four boys pushed away from the white line. A muffled cheer began and blue and green flashed by. The race lasted long enough for Kurt to bat an eye lash and then Blaine and David were hollering loudly. They clapped wildly, but their gloves muted the noise. In front of them, Stephen had his head in his hands.

"Did we win?" Kurt asked with uncertainty.

"I'm pretty sure we did!" Blaine called over the roar of the crowd surrounding them. He cockily tapped Stephen on the shoulder. "Having fun?"

"Shut it, Blaine," both Simon and Stephen replied. It was Stephen who continued with, "We still have three more races left before we can call anything win or lose."

The track meet progressed at a slow pace. After the one-hundred meter sprints were the three-hundred meter high hurdles. Kurt took in each obstacle in amazement. Stephen and Simon bolted to their feet, cheering, as one of the runners in green crossed the finish line seconds before the others. The three opponents completed the race one after the other and each bore some mark of stumbling or tripping over one of the hurdles. Blaine, David and Kurt watched with unamused expressions.

They stayed quiet as they watched North's chances of winning the track meet shrunk when South claimed the victory in the eight-hundred meter relay race by a landslide. The relay ended in less than five minutes and left the competing runners staggering to the benches for water. The three North students perked up when they picked out Wes making his way to the starting line for the final event: the sixteen-hundred meter run.

"Come on, Wes!" David shouted ardently. The runner perked at the sound of his name and whipped around. He gave them a weak thumbs up before being ushered onto the track by the referee. There was only one other student from the North Wing taking part in the sixteen-hundred and he took his place in lane one.

It seemed like the entire right side of the bleachers erupted in hoots and hollers when a tall boy in green yanked his hoodie off and stretched his arms over his head. David and Blaine sunk into silence on either side of Kurt while Simon and Stephen hollered once more.

On the track, the boy with honey blonde hair strode to the starting line. The second member of his team, Carson White, followed in suit. The frosty wind bit at every part of exposed skin on the runners, but the blonde South competitor seemed almost unaffected. He bent down to double knot the laces on his shoes and glanced up at Wes.

"Ready?" he asked with a smirk. He stood and stepped into the fourth lane.

Wes stared at him with wide eyes. "Are you in the wrong race or what?"

"Nope." He popped the _p _and stood up. "I'm officially running the sixteen-hundred for South now."

The news confounded Wes into silence and he turned away. The official gave him a gesture and he stepped up to the third lane. The other North contender, Jacob, stretched his legs in the first lane and Carson the second. Four heart beats ran their own race as the boys awaited the mark from the ref.

William Fitzroy chuckled and stared down the narrow strip marked with white paint. He turned to him and held out his hand. "Good luck."

Wes took a step back. "If you're trying to—"

"No, I'm not," he butted in. "I'm trying to play fair. I am the newbie in this sector of the meet. I might as well act on my best behavior."

"_Fair? _Are you joking?" Wes choked out after the statement sunk in. His words came out between fits of laughter. "What are you, a saint now?"

"Watch it, Moore," Will snarled and straightened his shirt. He made the motion to step forward. As he took a breath to fire another warning, the official waved his hand upward. He shut his mouth and stared forward once more.

William and Wes, in unison with the remaining two, reluctantly crouched into the proper running position. Wes dug the toe of his athletic shoes into the firm material that made up the track and focused down his lane. Until now his heart hadn't been thumping heavily. It hammered against his chest and he felt winded. He found himself taking a large breath. William narrowed his eyes and noted each curve and bump and dip in the track before he had even taken a step away from the starting line.

A gust of winter wind rushed through. It stole the breath out of the crowd, ceasing the talking, and gave the runner goose bumps. The hair on the nape of Wes' neck stood on end and he thought that if they waited any longer, he would be frozen on the spot.

"Runners," the arbiter barked and the quartet jumped at the sound of his voice breaking the silence, "take your marks."

Wes dared not to look anywhere other than straight ahead of him.

_Ignore the idiots in lanes on either side of me. Watch my speed on the curves and accelerate coming out of them. Take even breaths and don't start out so fast; I'll get tired if take on the race at one really fast speed. Just run._

In the stands, David had removed his gloves to nibble on one of his nails; Kurt had his gloves pressed to his mouth in anticipation; Blaine sat a statue, not moving; and Simon was nearly turning blue from either the freezing temperatures or from holding his breath too long.

Then the gun fired.

Compared to the deep silence it was the equivalent of a nuclear explosion. Wes forced himself away from the bold white line and took off down the narrow, marked lane. The soles of his shoes slapped against the ground like a constant heart beat. The brisk air braced his face and arms and legs with each step. His heart rate skyrocketed as he started in on the first curve. William and the others trailed not far behind.

"Come on, Wes," David muttered and bit his lip. "Don't let Will get in front of you."

Stephen snorted once in front of them and sat up straighter to watch. Kurt's eyes followed the four moving figures as they fluidly sped around the wide oval. For a moment, his attention was stolen from the race as Blaine leaned forward with his chin resting in his hands. Their shoulders brushed and Kurt looked to the side briefly before glancing back to the track to see Wes ending the first lap.

Wes passed the starting line to complete the first lap and cheers filled the air, though they were far off and distant. One of the only things his ears didn't block out were the sound of his breathing, rushing in and out of his chest, and the sound of each step against the ground. An emerald green tone entered his line of sight and he made the mistake of taking a second to look to the side.

William passed him up easily and though his face was on the way to being worn, it still displayed a trace of a smirk. Sweat was beginning to build around his hairline and he brushed hair away from his eyes.

In incredulity, the North runner witnessed William moving ahead and starting the curve before him.

The stands had grown to a riot. The right half of the bleachers, mostly donning some amount of green, was awake and lively. Several were on their feet with hands cupped around their mouths. Kurt sighed crossly when Stephen sprung up clapping. He leaned around his bouncing figure and sucked in his breath when he found his lips inches from Blaine's. He swallowed past the lump in throat to focus on the race.

In the span of two minutes, William and Wes were neck and neck with the others falling behind halfway through the third lap. Wes ground his teeth and attempted to pull forward, but Will sped up slightly. Distance gradually appeared between he and Wes. Will rounded the corner and passed over the bold white line and Wes followed shortly after. The ref made a signal with his hand to begin the fourth and final lap of the race. Kurt felt his breath trapped in his chest and Blaine nudged him in the shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked with a worried tone of voice. "You're turning purple."

Kurt released the breath in a whoosh of air and his head spun. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy from all the excitement."

He smiled warmly to add something, but on Kurt's other side, David leapt to his feet with his hands in the air. The pair's eyes darted back to the track. Wes had gained speed and was practically on Will's heels. Blaine abandoned his seat and tugged Kurt up with him, their arms linked.

"Come on, Wes!" Blaine cheered loudly and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Last lap, last lap!"

"I can see you're not eager or anything," Kurt said jokingly.

"How can you not be?" he asked and looked at his friend. "He's winning!"

At the last corner of the track, the crowd hushed with baited breath. Even students in the back of the bleachers could hear the slap of soles and the runners' heavy panting, their breath puffing from their mouths like dragon's smoke. At this point everyone was on their feet. A sharp pain struck Wes in the side and he gasped. In the adjacent lane, Will was struggling for a gulp of chilly air; his hands were clenched in fists as he ran.

At the sight of the line, they leapt forward and the toe of Wes' shoe snagged the concrete. He stumbled for half a second before regaining his balance and speeding forward. The remaining distance disappeared. The hand pistol rang through the air only once and sent the attending student body on the edge.

The moment they crossed the finishing line, Wes and William skidded to a stop. Wes raised his arms over his head and little spots appeared in his vision. He blinked several times before the last two runners ended the sixteen-hundred meter run. Will had his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath he took. Sweat matted down his blonde hair and plastered a few locks to his forehead. His pale cheeks were blotted with pink and red topped his nose.

"Nice race," he sputtered and approached Wes. "You run fast."

"Obviously, or else I wouldn't be the record holder for the sixteen-hundred," Wes replied slowly and laughed. His heart ached after every gulp of air. "Good job. You nearly had me there."

"How do you know you won?" His blonde brows rose in inquisitively. "We ended at the same time. It was a photo finish, if you ask me."

Wes watched the referee press a few buttons on the stopwatch in his hands. "Just a feeling."

The undecided outcome left the crowd speechless and wondering. Even the students that had competed in other events were mumbling amongst each other, trying to come to a definite winner despite their respective houses.

"What just happened?" David stammered and turned to Blaine and Kurt. In front of them, Stephen was silent.

"I don't know," Blaine breathed. He observed Wes making small talk with Will not far from the start and finish line. "It . . . ended. It was hard to see who won."

Confused murmuring in the mass around them arose. It was a disappointing outcome, no doubt, and the official made no gesture to the winner. Wes brought the lip of a cup of water to his lips and the contents were the same temperature of the surrounding air. He leaned against the concrete wall by the benches and downed half the cup in a few gulps. Footsteps pounded against the metal behind him and he looked upward. David's head appeared over the railing.

"Nice job, man," he congratulated appreciatively. "Do you know who won?"

Wes swallowed the remainder of his water. "Not yet. We're waiting on the results."

"That was pretty intense."

"Tell me about it," he laughed. "I thought I was going to trip right before the finish line."

"Still, you did good."

Wes smiled and the referee caught his attention. He beckoned him forward with the wave of his hand. Wes excused himself for a moment, discarding of the empty bottle on the bench, and slowly jogged out to the place where the other runners stood. Will greeted him with a straight face and he turned back to the official. Wes' heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear the results. 'Winner' and 'new record time' passed through the blockage and his face lit. He turned back to the bleachers with a thrilled grin and David matched it.

"Suck it, South!" he cried to the crowd.

At that, the North Wing students stood out with cheering and calling. Blaine shouted something loudly and proceeded to jump up and down. Simon huffed, but smiled for Wes' sake. Stephen Gregory plopped down in his seat unhappily and watched the party unfold around him. Kurt ginned and clapped his hands appreciatively. Blaine tugged on his arm and he found himself nearly toppling down the flight of stairs after the boy as they fought for a way down to the track.

Blaine slipped his arm from Kurt's only to grasp his hand tightly. Simon jumped after them and David followed as soon as they reached the main level. The four slipped in through the open gate and hurried to the benches. When they arrived Wes was too occupied with spinning happily in circles as a few others congratulated him.

Blaine smiled and his eyes trailed to the other hand holding hands. He and Kurt pulled away awkwardly and put a foot of distance between them.

Kurt crossed his arms and squeaked, "Wes! Watch out!"

The reply was several obnoxious attempts to shush him. Unknown to the giddy first place runner, the rest of his team juggled a heavy red cooler and one peeled off the plastic lid. The loud countdown started. When they reached one, they launched the icy water at Wes and he shrieked. It was a shock of ice to the system; Kurt saw it as another form of a slushie. Liquid soaked into his hair and clothes and streamed down his face.

"Very funny! I'll get every single one of you back for that!" he called shrilly as they scurried away snickering. He set the discarded cooler upright, shivering, and turned to his friends. The temperature seemed low enough to freeze the water that covered his body.

"So you _did _win?" David asked as Wes approached them.

"Thankfully, yes," he sighed with relief and chattering teeth. He wrapped his arms around his torso. "To add on this momentous victory, I set a new record for myself as well as everyone else."

"Was there much of a difference?" Blaine wondered. He tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.

Wes shrugged disappointedly. "Only four and a half seconds, according to the stopwatch. At least I set a new record. That's the big thing."

"That is the big thing," William Fitzroy and Carson White confirmed in unison as they joined the five boys. Towels were slung around their shoulders and they gripped an empty Styrofoam cups in their hands. Will followed up with, "Congrats about the win, Moore. You deserved it."

The trio shook hands once more and Wes laughed, "I don't know about that, but thanks. Maybe next time you'll beat me."

"I nearly did this time," he pointed out. "I don't see why I couldn't at the next meet."

"You'll have to work for it, then," Wes said sternly. "I intend on winning every meet for North if I can."

"If you can," Will said in a sing song-y voice as he floated away. The students watched the South competitors walk away with curious gazes.

"Told you he's weird," Wes muttered. "So, what are we doing after this?"

David rejected, "No parties. Remember when Blaine won his fencing meet against East?" He, Blaine, Simon and Wes shuddered at the apparently regretful memory, leaving Kurt standing there, wondering.

"You fence?" Kurt questioned.

Blaine shrugged. "Only in the spring. So parties are definitely out of the question because of last time." He shifted his weight onto his other foot in thought. "We could always start a Halo marathon?"

Wes grinned widely. "I'm in with you on that one." He ran back to collect his sweats and joined them a moment later. With one last glance at the track, he walked away with his friends, beaming.

* * *

The Warblers' choir room was as calm as the eye of a storm. There were no disturbances or sudden, sharp noises to break the silence. Ms. Lovett reveled in the glorious feeling as she pushed away set list choices and leaned back in the plush leather chair. So many things to plan, so little time. There was the set list and choreography for upcoming Regionals, and she didn't want to think about anything farther than that. There was also getting on the phone and hiring a contractor to fix the gap in the ceiling. In the distance, doors were heard opening and shutting and the Hall was filled with the chatter of boys as they came back from the track meet. Clarisse would eventually hear the results through passing students the next morning on the way to class.

Ms. Lovett checked the clock hanging at the back of the room. Almost five-thirty. She leaned forward to collect the papers scattered across the desk when the door creaked open.

Clarisse glanced up, expecting to see one of her students. Instead, she took in the figure of a stick-thin boy, dressed in cold weather clothing. His jeans, the color of sand, bore slight rips in the knees and dark leather boots laced up to almost the tears in his pants. A striped, neutral shirt and a chocolate overcoat hung on his slender frame; a professional leather handbag was clutched in one of his hands and hair the color of dark ash fell in front of his eyes.

"May I help you?" she asked warily and slipped the papers in a folder quickly. The boy offered a quick smile as he treaded into the room. He dropped the bag by one of the sofas and perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking up at her.

"As of today, I'm new at Dalton," he explained in a clear voice, "and I'd like to audition for the Warblers."

* * *

_In the next chapter: a new student joins the nest and makes it official with his audition that thrills the group; and Kurt receives unbelievable news about Regionals that sends him on a rollar coaster ride._


	5. Dark Blue

_Hello again, readers! I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend, unlike me, who has been waking up every day for the past two weeks at five-thirty for band related issues. But now it's all over and I can write without any interruption!_

_It's amazing that I can keep updating weekly like this. Usually I'm unreliable in posting, as I either can't get the chapter finished or I don't have time :( But now, I do have time! Currently I'm editing the chapters I've written for future parts in the story to make sure they're ready to go for when I post them._

_There's not really much I have to say, so here is the next chapter! :)_

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, David, the Warblers, etc. I do own my OCs, like Simon, Adam, and Cody._

* * *

**Dark Blue**

* * *

**The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed. - Carl Gustav Jung**

* * *

Kurt shook his head adamantly on the brisk walk to rehearsal the next day. Blaine trailed behind him, struggling to keep his bag from bouncing against his hip.

"Oh, come on," Blaine pleaded and leaped into step with the younger boy. "I need to get an A in Math by the end of the week after next in order to keep eligibility for the Warblers. You know, Regionals! You've got to help me out here."

Kurt chuckled as he dodged the flow of traffic coming from the lunch room. "I still cannot believe you are failing Geometry. Aren't you the one who helped me ace my World History midterm before the break?"

"Yeah, but that was History, not Math," he pointed out as they strode across the parquet floor, weaving in and out of students. "I'm actually decent at that particular subject, which is surprising. Anyway, it should be an even trade, right? I helped you pass your History midterm, you tutor me in Geometry. I've got to get a little something in return for my academic services earlier in the year."

Kurt adjusted his bag and teased, "Please. All you did for two weeks was hand me a text book and a pile of notes and told me to study."

"They were the notes that got me a perfect score on my midterm!" Blaine claimed.

"Whatever."

"They did help, didn't they?"

"Yes, they did."

"Ha! So are you going to help me?"

"I'll think about it."

Kurt looked forward again, only to slow his pace. A large crowd of boys stood in front of the double doors to the choir room, mumbling to each other. One reached out and tried to wiggle one of the doors open but to no prevail. They were locked tightly. Kurt and Blaine shared a confused glance before approaching the mass. Taped on the doors was a large sheet of white paper. In thick black Sharpie, Ms. Lovett had written in her loopy scrawl:

_Sorry about the inconvenience, boys! We're in the auditorium until further notice!_

"Well, this is different," Wes stated as he appeared from the center of the group. David followed close behind. "We've never been in the auditorium before with the exception of dress rehearsals."

"It's probably because of the ceiling," Blaine replied in a monotone. "Remember?"

"How could anyone forget?" Simon grumbled as he appeared by Blaine's side. He shrugged and began walking down the hall. The others followed in silence, each thinking different things. The next track meet was already racing through Wes' mind and he hoped he and Will wouldn't end up in the same event again; David mumbled French under his breath to prepare for the oral exam fourth period; Blaine matched a song in his head to the pulse of his footsteps as the echoed against the floor; and Kurt focused on how not to accidently bump into Blaine without his face going almost beet red.

As they passed the floor-to-ceiling windows, they saw stormy skies and no sunlight was to be found. The clouds rumbled and small droplets of water began to slip between the cracks in the sky. The windows were dotted with liquid by the time they slipped farther into the corridor. Finally the boys came to an open sanctuary topped with a dome of stained glass. There were two sets of double doors that led into the auditorium.

A wall, covered in snapshots of the Warblers at Sectionals and of the drama club's various performances, separated the entrances. Across from the album was a round desk used for admission to plays or choir-related shows and another group of doors that led outside to the back of the school.

Cody walked forward and tugged on one of the doors. He might as well have opened a music box.

Intricate, tinkly piano chords greeted them. The higher register of the instrument was being played, and the boys stuck their heads in, lured by the flowing notes. Spotlights beamed down across the stage and shined off the raised lid of the piano.

Kurt filtered in to get a better look, and the others stuck close to him. Ms. Lovett was pacing across the stage and her talking about a musical error cut off the piano melody violently; her heels clicked against the wood and slightly echoed as she glided to the upright. A boy donning a uniform dropped his hands from the keys and they fell in his lap. He looked up at her, somewhat annoyed with her interruption. Murmuring voices became louder as the rest of the Warblers arrived outside the auditorium.

"You forgot to get softer here. You could never play a double forte and then switch to triple. There'd be barely a difference. Get softer next time," Clarisse told him and pointed to a part on one of the several sheets of music that were set up on the stand. As she backed away, the sheet slipped from the stand and the boy made a hasty grab for it. She turned back around. He leaned over the keyboard and began to pound away at the keys.

Blaine had a difficult time keeping track of the different rhythms and accidentals as the boy plowed through measure by measure. Then the music was cut off and the boy looked back at Ms. Lovett.

"Better?" he asked, his voice as clear as a bell, but with some frustration mixed in.

She smiled faintly. "Better, but make it more prominent next time." The boy nodded in exasperation and tucked his hands in his lap. He stared at the music, which was spotted almost completely black by the notes and ledger lines and markings. Clarisse wheeled around to face the doors. "Come in, boys, come in! Sorry about this! Set your things anywhere and we'll start as soon as we can!"

Kurt and Blaine shared a quick glance before depositing their bags in empty seats in the front row. They filed up the steps and onto the brightly lit stage. Risers were already set up in three levels across the way from the polished piano. Kurt breathed in the heavy scent of wood varnish and it tickled the back of his throat; he swallowed quickly. Blaine guided him to the first flat of risers and together they sat down.

One by one, the remaining Warblers climbed the steps and took their respective places around he and Kurt. Once they were all cross-legged and silent, Ms. Lovett turned to them with her hands clasped.

"I'm awfully sorry about this," she said again and strode back and forth in front of them. "The Dean has marked the choir room off-limits until he can get someone in to fix the hole in the ceiling, but no harm done. We're allowed to use the auditorium instead, which makes me wish Dex and Leo would make a smashing entrance more often."

She paused to laugh at her own joke and when she found no one found it funny, she cleared her throat and continued awkwardly. "Anyway, I think most of you are going to be pleased to hear what I have in store for the opener for Regionals!" She turned to fetch a black leather bag that leaned against the leg of the piano.

Blaine nudged Kurt in the shoulder excitedly and leaned back to share grins with Wes and David. William's arrogant tone mingled with Carson's in conversation and filtered down to the front row. Their voices rose to the ceiling as they talked to one another about the possible song choices. Kurt caught a few words about what they hoped the number would be, but his curious eyes were locked on the figure looming over the piano.

A hand was lifted and it ghosted over the ivory, tempted to make a sound. A foot was moved to one of the three pedals and pressed it evenly, repeatedly; it made a faint noise. The sheet music was shifted to study the ending phrase and a pencil was reached for to mark a flat and circle a rhythm. A body stepped in Kurt's line of view and he looked up to see Ms. Lovett holding out a packet of papers to him. He took them with a smile and heard the cheers around him.

"Congratulations, boys," she beamed over the growing voices, "we're doing Kings of Leon! I hope this is mainstream enough for everyone."

Kurt flipped through his packet of music and found it to be part of the background vocals of 'Use Somebody.' Unsurprised, he set it on the riser next to him and looked to see the others' reactions. All the pieces that were handed out during class had two parts—the lead vocals and the background vocals. After a few rehearsals with the Warblers, it became routine for Blaine to receive the lead and for everyone else to hum underneath his voice. He didn't mind . . . much.

Sectionals had followed that path, and they had scraped by with a ticket to Regionals. As much as he was okay with Blaine's singing, Kurt wondered what the rest of the group sounded like; he hadn't even heard Wes or David sing without accompaniment.

"Let's not get too excited," Ms. Lovett called and raised her hands to lower the volume. When everyone was quiet, she spoke again. "I'm glad you're all happy with my selection for our opener, and I'm sure all of you want to start in on it right away, but before we do, I'd like to introduce our newest student, Mr. James Montgomery." She gestured to the piano.

The figure jumped slightly at the sound of the name and looked over his shoulder. He swung his feet around to the other side of the bench and watched the group with interest. His glimmering sapphire eyes studied the Warblers as if trying to memorize their exact features, assessing them, almost. Kurt found himself reaching to straighten a cufflink. James pressed his lips into a thin line and didn't speak.

The simple introductory moment turned from pleasant to awkward in seconds. No one seemed to quite know what to say, including Clarisse. She only stood there with her eyes darting between her students and the new one.

"Am I going to audition now or later?" James asked quietly and leaned the palms of his hands on his knees.

The question caught the choir director. "Oh, um, you can now, if you don't mind having an audience. I was thinking to do it after class for more privacy, but whichever works for you is fine."

He shrugged and a curl of dark gray hair swept in front of his eyes. "I might as well get it over with now. Would you rather me play and sing or only do vocals?"

"I've already heard you play, which was gorgeous by the way," she mused as she rummaged through her bag for a note pad and a pen. She yanked off the cap and plopped down next to Blaine on the front riser. "Do what you feel most comfortable with and we'll go from there."

James sighed and spun around to face the black instrument once more. With the sweep of his hand, he cleared the stand of music and shuffled the papers neatly into a folder. He tossed it to the floor, where he snatched another one quite similar in appearance. The only difference was the writing in cursive on the front that was horribly illegible.

He pulled the papers out and glanced over the print before arranging it on the stand. Seven pages barely fit and half of the last one hung over. He sat there for a moment, his fingers twitching in the air as if playing an invisible keyboard; his foot tapped to a mute pulse and his jaw moved as he mouthed words.

Across the stage, the Warblers glanced at one another in confusion, others in impatience. Blaine leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees while Kurt crossed his legs at the ankles, watching closely for any other signs of movement. The illumination on the stage hit the boy's hair just so that it reflected light and cast a white glow over his skin. At the precise moment the attention of the choir was slipping away, James struck the piano. The melody was fast paced. Several of the boys jolted up and blinked. Kurt merely raised his eyebrows and listened. The boy opened his mouth and sung.

_I have (I have) you breathing down my neck, (breathing down my neck),_

_I don't, (don't know) what you could possibly expect under this condition,_

_I'll wait, (I'll wait) for the ambulance to come, ambulance to come,_

_Pick us up off the floor, what did you possibly expect under this condition, so slow down,_

_This night's a perfect shade of dark blue, dark blue_

The moment something musical came from James' mouth, no one dared to move or cause unnecessary noises. Kurt sat up a bit straighter and Blaine reached a finger to his lips to nibble on a hangnail; Wes and David were astounded from the moment he touched the piano. All while James sung in a crystal clear voice, his fingers scaled up and down the keys to create a harmony.

_Have you ever been alone in a crowded room when I'm here with you, I said the world could be burning down,_

_Dark blue, dark blue, have you ever been alone in a crowded room, well I'm here with you,_

_I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue, just dark blue_

From his position at the back of the risers, William tilted his head to the side and drummed his fingers on the side of his leg, matching with the beat the player produced. He looked to Carson, who merely showed awareness by a faint shrug. They both turned back to the show.

_This flood, this flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground beneath my feet,_

_Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so I'll swim, (I'll swim),_

_As the water rises up, the sun is sinking down and now all I can see are the planets in a row,_

_Suggesting it's best that I slow down_

James snuck in a breath to refill his lungs before jumping back into the vocals. Every slip on a note, no matter how slight it was, was counted. All the keys his fingers missed were numbered, but he pushed further into the song, repeating the chorus. He continued on with the feeling of eyes on his back and the nerves in his stomach grew.

_We were boxing, we were boxing the stars, we were boxing, we were boxing,_

_You were swinging for Mars, and then the water reached the west coast,_

_And took the power lines, the power lines, and it was me and you,_

_This could last forever, and the whole town under water,_

_There was nothing we could do, it was dark blue_

The song flowed on and sounded purely like a recording of the audio. Kurt found himself mouthing the words numbly and he matched them with the voice of the new Warbler. The sheets of music perched on the stand above the keyboard, abandoned, as the player appeared to have no need for them. There were no breaks in his voice or any gaps between the notes in the instrumental melody.

_I said the room could be burning, now there's nothing but dark blue,_

_If you've ever been alone in the dark blue,_

_If you've ever been alone, you'll know, you'll know._

The vocals ended and left the piano to play. The song came to a close with a string of short notes by the right hand and James pressed the pedal to hold out the final pitch. Silence came shortly after and a few boys prepared to clap politely, but were cut off by an abrupt mess of lower notes. The sound rebounded off the walls in the auditorium and echoed in everyone's heads. The lack of noise that followed caused James to whip around, checking if the choir was still sitting on the risers.

"Did I do okay?" he asked apprehensively.

Suddenly William hopped to his feet and clapped his hands together, a sleek smile on his face. Carson joined in suit. The way he did things always in sync with his friend made Kurt think they were fraternal twins, though the only thing similar was their hair color. Blaine grumbled under his breath, annoyed with the blonde.

"Amazing," Will gushed. "Simply amazing."

The pianist flushed a shade of light red and rubbed the back of his neck as the rest of the Warblers awkwardly added to the started applause. Ms. Lovett set down her empty pad to clap appreciatively and nodded to the boys in interest. Blaine appeared uneasy, but clapped anyway, and he glanced to Kurt, who smiled pleasantly.

The boy caught Kurt's eye and he smiled back: a simple, smooth grin.

"That was some performance, huh, boys?" Clarisse asked breathlessly as she swept to her feet. There was a murmur of response and she turned to James. As she spoke, she dug through her bag for an extra copy of 'Use Somebody.' "Fabulous, no doubt. I think there's a place for you in this glee club, James. Welcome to the Warblers."

The boy let a smile onto his face and his skin faded back to that almost white tone. He got up from the bench and took a moment to gather the music folders that were scattered around the base of the piano. With his hands full, he grabbed his bag and looked toward the risers, unknowing in where to sit. William and Carson instantly waved him back to the last elevation and scooted over to make a space on the end. He set his things down carefully and took a seat to study the competition music.

Instead of starting right off, like Clarisse had wanted, heads turned and several questions were asked by the group. Startled, James raised his head, unable to stammer out even a few words.

"Please, please," Ms. Lovett sighed. "Can you do your little induction ceremony later? We're wasting class time, which is not what we want to do, considering we have the auditorium for our rehearsals. You're free to crowd James after we're done." She watched the new boy with humor when his eyes widened. "I'm kidding; I wouldn't let them do that. Now, everyone up for a group note."

She raised her hands and the rehearsal began.

* * *

The practice had gone well. The acoustics in the grand auditorium worked well with the boys' voices. When worked with by himself, James proved to be excellent. In the warm-up he sung a snippet of 'Mr. Cellophane' from Chicago and Kurt was forced to perform a double take. When the notes had jumped higher, James' voice followed fluidly.

Kurt was sure Ms. Lovett would've continued examining her newest bird's voice, but she moved on just as there was fifteen minutes left in class. 'Use Somebody' was a song that most everyone knew, causing the run-through to be exceptionally angelic in the vocal sense. The dancing, on the other hand, was a train wreck that needed to be fixed. The director let them pack up their things a few minutes before the bell supposedly rang.

As expected, the moment Ms. Lovett stepped away, James was bombarded by some of the surrounding Warblers. Most got their fill by asking where he moved from, if he had siblings, etc, and were content with the answers they received. It was William and Carson who stuck around on the stage as most left.

"Do you need any help with your folders?" Will asked nicely and adjusted his bag. Carson stood by his side with a pleasant smile.

Without looking up, James replied, "No, I think I can get it all. Thank you, though."

With the excuse of helping the newer boy out, the blondes looked at each other before trying a different approach. "What wing are you in?"

"South," he answered shortly, almost irritably, and slipped the music folders into an open section in his bag.

The two boys grinned widely. "So are we. We'll show you around, if you'd like."

James paused. He watched them in disbelief as he shouldered his bag. "Really."

"I'm William Fitzroy."

"I'm Carson White."

Together, "Welcome to the Dalton Academy."

On the risers still, Wes watched the three Warblers crossly. "Those good for nothing idiots," he mumbled. "My bet's that they'll mess up everything before the end of the month."

David grunted in agreement and rested his head in his hands; Blaine nodded and rolled his eyes, flipping to the third page of the Kings of Leon ensemble. Kurt stared at them, easily confused.

"I thought you only talked about Dex and Leo like that," he mused and took another look at James. A thick gray curl swung down on his forehead in a Superman style and the spotlights highlighted waves throughout his light hair. When he looked up the light divided his eyes into several shades of blue, like a kaleidoscope. "He seems fine to me."

Blaine raised his head from the new music and stopped flipping the pages. "They're talking about Will and Carson. They're both all-around jerks and that statement alone just proves that everyone in South is a complete asshole."

"What about Simon?" Kurt questioned and scanned the emptying auditorium for the short haired Precursor. "He is the Head of the South Wing, right?"

"He doesn't count," David explained. "In everyone's opinion, he should be in North or West. He's not mean enough to hurt a fly, let alone put someone down."

"So it's just Will and Carson that are the assholes?"

"As far as we know." Blaine chuckled pettily at the sound of Kurt swearing before retreating back to the music in his hands. "If you get to meet them personally, and I hope you don't, you'll find that both of them are the cruelest people to walk these halls. I'm not talking bad like Dex and Leo bad. Bad, like evil villain bad. Chances are they'll have you over on the dark side before your first week is up. And if you're in their wing, that increases your chances ten-fold."

"I think I'll turn out just fine," Kurt assured and stood up to stretch. "I did survive all through December without encountering them until now, right?"

"Just make sure they don't get interested in you," David muttered, "or I might have to punch something."

"As far as I know, I only have rehearsal with them. I haven't seen them in any of my classes."

"Thank God. Avoid the evil blonde creeps at all times," Wes insisted. He and David headed for the stairs.

Kurt bit his lip at the new information and waited for Blaine before leaving the risers. They passed James and the blonde South students, catching a few words:

". . . if you have time, we can show you around the South Wing. It's not so hard to navigate after a few times around," Carson was saying helpfully.

"That would be nice," James answered, but he didn't seem too interested in what was being said. He continued to pack his bag with sheets of music as they talked on.

"You're going to love it here at Dalton," William assured with a grin. "Especially being in the Warblers. We do all sorts of competitions and festivals. Sometimes we even go on trips out of state. It's quite fun."

Blaine couldn't help himself. He stopped in his tracks, which caused Kurt to hang back. "Really? Fun?" he repeated and stepped into the triangle to make another point. "The only time you use that word is when you're pushing someone down the grand staircase before first period."

Instead remarking with a snide comment, William only laughed. "That was middle school, Blaine, if you don't remember."

"I don't see how I would forget, considering I was the one you were pushing."

"Did I ever tell you I was sorry?"

"Nope."

"Then I'm sorry."

"I ended up with a broken arm and a sprained ankle, Will."

"They healed, didn't they?"

Blaine stared at him with narrowed eyes. Before he could speak any more, the ending bell chimed overhead. The doors to the auditorium opened and closed repeatedly with the departing of the other Warblers, on the way to their final class of the day. Soon the room was emptied, with the exception of the five Warblers; even Ms. Lovett had taken her leave with the rest of the group. The spotlights still beamed on full blast from the audio-visual room above and cast a glow on the polished stage.

"I think I should get to class. Big Physics test next period. Don't want to be late for that," Kurt interjected into the stillness and backed away toward the stairs. He hurried down them and paced up the aisle to grab his bag, then headed toward the doors.

"I recommend we all get to class," Blaine agreed with a sharp glare at William and Carson. He turned to James, who was busy playing with the cuffs on his blazer. "Do you need any help finding a room?"

"We've got it covered," Carson said before James could get an answer out and slung his arm around his shoulders. "He's in our wing anyway."

Blaine held his hands up in defense. "Just trying to help."

Will scoffed, "You _always _try to help. Lay off a bit, okay? If anyone seriously needs help, they'll come to you, not the other way around."

The curly-haired soloist turned his back to the three and started off down the stairs. The metal buckles clinked together when he pulled open the main flap on his bag. "I don't need any advice from you, Fitzroy."

"Take it, Blaine." Will's voice was softer as he led James and Carson down the steps. They passed by him, walking up the aisle. "You'll need sometime before the year's over."

He watched the blonde suspiciously as they left, the doors closed with a soft thud behind them.

* * *

James Montgomery barely had a chance to breathe when he stepped out of his fourth period class after the final bell. Two boys with honey blonde hair, one shaggy and the other styled smooth, took a large step forward with warm smiles. Their appearances rung a bell in the back of his mind until he recalled them from the Warblers, though he could not match any names with the faces.

"Hi, James," one said coolly. "How was class?"

"Fine," he answered and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He moved out of the way of the door so others could flow into the hall and the two blondes mimicked the motion in sync with each other. It was an odd sight to see, considering they looked nothing alike.

"That's good to hear," the other said, relieved. "Do you have any homework?"

"No, but—"

"Good!" both said and took a place on either side of James. They linked arms with the new boy and watched as the amount of students in the hallway dwindled quickly, most likely retreating back to their respective dorms. "We'll take you on a tour of the school before we head back to the dorms. Show you the ropes, you know?"

"Okay," he squeaked as they guided him forward and to the right. "I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your names."

"William Fitzroy," the blonde on his right said and studied him with chocolate brown eyes.

"Carson White," the other enlightened. He stood with a lean frame, slightly taller than both James and William.

"Nice to meet you . . . again, I suppose."

The boys chuckled in the same manner and settled into a comfortable silence. James, however, frantically searched for a way out. Since the hall was nearly empty already, he thought of pulling back for elbow room and a few breaths, but with no avail. He sighed and only looked down at the parquet floors that his feet passed over.

A second trio of boys passed Will, Carson and James. Kurt Hummel was busy covering his mouth to avoid laughing at something Blaine was trying to say. The soloist huffed, flustered with the attention span of his audience, but broke into an easy smile. Wesley Moore completed the trio. He finished stuffing a lowly-graded essay into his bag and looked up, only to catch William's eye.

"Wesley," the blonde sneered and slowed his walking pace a tad.

"William," the North student retorted.

"Looking forward to the next track meet," he mentioned. "I'm sure I'll be taking home the first place time for the sixteen-hundred."

"In your dreams," Wes jeered and came to a complete halt.

Kurt and Blaine were almost too caught up in conversation that they almost didn't notice their friend fall back. But Kurt noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over his shoulder. He and Blaine quickly came to the rescue, coming to stand on either side of Wes.

At the sight of the two boys, Will smiled and untangled his arm from James'; the newbie gently pried himself away from Carson with great relief and stood back to examine the beginning quarrel. His eyes shone.

"Are you two seriously going to start something right now?" Blaine asked the running rivals. His voice carried an edge Kurt had never heard before, though it was probably quite familiar to the rest.

"Watch it, Anderson," William growled. "Do you really want another push down the stairs?"

"Do you really want another black eye?"

"Violence isn't the answer, Blaine," Carson said in a sing-songy voice and clasped his hands behind him. "Last time was a good example."

"You stay out of this, White." Wes jabbed a finger at the South Warbler.

_Last time? What happened last time? _Kurt wondered. He bit his lip, debating whether to step in or keep his distance. He watched anxiously as Wes fired another insult toward Will, and vice versa. While the track candidates were bickering, Blaine and Carson had their share of one-liners.

Through the space between the four boys, Kurt caught James' eye. The new Warbler stood there in fright and pursed his lips. His expression was bewildered and lost. The two boys shared a brief shrug as they watched the verbal fight unfold in front of them.

Kurt took a breath and stepped on the line between North and South.

Blaine's expression instantaneously softened and he stepped back. "Kurt, what are you doing?"

"I'd rather not see anyone get hurt today," he said quickly and knitted his fingers together, "and by the looks of this conversation, I'd say someone was going to get hurt."

William let a loose smile onto his face. "What makes you say that, Kurt Hummel?"

He jumped at the way his name was stretched out in Will's voice. "You told Blaine you would push him down the stairs."

"I tell him that every day. It's no big deal. Right, Anderson?" He looked past Kurt.

Blaine tilted his head to the side. "Shut up."

"Kurt is right, as usual," Wes interrupted and touched Blaine's shoulder. "Will, sorry to cut this meeting short. I'll get around to kicking your ass at practice sometime this week, don't worry."

"I should be saying the same thing to you," was his quick response. He reached up to straighten the signature pinstripe tie around his neck and stepped back to be in line with Carson. "We've got things we need to catch up on in our own wing, not to mention showing our newest member around." He jerked his chin to James. "But we'd be happy to get reacquainted at another time."

"I think we'll pass," Blaine persisted and turned away from the group. Wes gave a final nod before catching up with his friend. Kurt was left in unfamiliar territory. He licked his lips once and tried not to glare at the blondes standing so casually, it was as if no vocal brawl had ever occurred. They watched him closely with intensity of a hawk.

"Guys, wait up!" he cried the split second he turned his back to the group. He took off at a fast pace and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Kurt drummed his knuckles on the door later that evening and he stepped back. He held a folder of schoolwork in one hand and his phone in the other. A minute ticked by. As he reached forward to knock again, the door flew open and he smiled. "Hi, Blaine."

Blaine returned the smile and opened the door wider. After dinner, he'd changed into a sweater and jeans ripped at the knees. His hair was in its naturally curly state, some of it hanging in front of his eyes. The room behind him was dark, but a tiny desk lamp added a bit of orange light for visibility. "Hey. Do you want to come in?"

Kurt shook his head sadly and held up the folder. "No. I was on my way to the library to finally start on the book list we got before the break, and I just came to see if you wanted to come with me."

He leaned his weight on one foot and pressed the palm of his hand against the door. "You don't know how much I wish I could, but I have a Physics report that's killing me right now. It's due in a few days and I made the choice to procrastinate before then. Oh, come on. Don't give me that look."

"Am I not allowed to pout?" Kurt stuck his lower lip out slightly and batted his eyes.

Blaine held back a laugh. "Not anymore, you aren't."

"So is that a no to the library, too?" he questioned.

"Unfortunately."

Kurt sighed and hugged the folder to his chest. "Okay, then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast."

"Looks like it," Blaine agreed. As Kurt stepped back, he added, "Hey, I don't mean to be pushy, but could you get back at around nine-ish? I want to talk to you about something."

Kurt's heart skipped a beat. "Like what?"

He shrugged. "It's something for Regionals. Mc. Lovett talked to me today and—" He shook his head. "I'll tell you more when you get back."

He and Kurt said their goodbyes before he shut the door. Kurt stepped back into the corridor, his hands clutching the edges of the folder. With a slow breath, he set off for the library. The hall was silent and he entered the stretch of tile that led to the main sector of the North Wing; the doors opened up directly across from the common room.

As Kurt strode past the towering windows, he kept his eyes forward, not daring to take a peek at the chilling darkness. Without looking, he could already imagine the white frost building up on the other side of the glass, the tree branches bending over to scratch at the surface like nails on a chalkboard. He shook his head and broke into a near run for the doors. He opened one and slipped into the core hall of the North Wing.

Everything was warmer here. Tables were illuminated with petite lamps and there was still a bit of activity in the common room. Kurt walked across the hall and stuck his head in through the doorway. Wes and David were sharing a chair in front of the television. The screen was alive with bright graphics and they clicked rapidly at plastic controllers in their hands. Other boys who accompanied them in the room sat on the window seats or at the long table, cards or homework spread out in front of them. He gave a few of them smiles before departing.

The three minute walk to the school building was torture. The wind had picked up and scattered brown leaves in the pathway. Kurt tugged his scarf over his mouth and pressed forward. He was walking in the pitch black of night until a motion lamp above the receiving door flickered on. He slipped inside the school building and was greeted by a rush of warm air and no stray students navigating the halls. Lights were left on and Kurt was able to find the way to the library without any trouble. With a quick glance on either side of him, he pulled open one of the doors and snuck inside.

The Dalton Academy library was simple in its layout. The walls were a warm gold and the floor a deep navy and a section was put away in the far back corner for comfortable reading or studying, and including a set of plush chairs, a few tables and a sofa. The place consisted of a variety of reading material and a dome-like ceiling, but the shelves formed an inescapable maze that took more than a few minutes to pilot through.

They started at the doors and branched off with four different pathways to choose from. The first time Kurt visited the library, he got lost between the science-fiction collection and the mystery novels. He nodded to the librarian behind the desk, a middle-aged man who nodded in return, and chose the first pathway that was sure to lead to the section on classic literature. He pulled out the list and scanned the titles at the top of the page. Jane Austen was the first author listed and Kurt raised his head to scan the listing of last names on the ledges.

As he wandered between bookshelves, his mind bubbled with thoughts other than the book list. His heart dropped into his stomach at the thought of standing in Blaine's doorway. He wondered how he could've ever gotten the audacity to knock on the door and ask him to come to the library. What shocked Kurt more was his own reaction with the puppy dog face.

_That was completely stupid, _he thought. _Why did I do that? I could've just let it go without making a fool out of myself. Now he probably thinks I'm chasing after him. And why does he want to talk to me about Regionals? What did Ms. Lovett say to him?_

Kurt shook his head and looked up at the shelves. The top of the case started with the beginning of the alphabet and ended with the D's. Kurt tilted his head to scan for the title that was on the list. The novel he was searching for—_Pride and Prejudice—_was thick and he slid it off the ledge. He weighed the book in one hand and focused on the next title. After about five minutes of searching, he found that some of the novels weren't on the shelves.

With a sigh he stepped back to look at the tower of books he'd collected so far. By tower, he meant three stacked on top of one another. That would be more than enough to get him started. He folded the book list and placed it in his folder before leaning over to pick them up. As he moved around the bookcase, he bumped into someone who let out,

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

The two books on the top fell and smacked dully against the carpet and white paper formed a blizzard between them. The figure dropped to the floor, mumbling, and began to collect some of the sheets of paper that formed a white sea at their feet. Kurt felt his face heat and he could do nothing else but abandon his books to bend down.

He grabbed a few papers that had floated in his direction and studied one in his hand. The page was almost entirely black in the middle with words and notes and dotes and other markings. Kurt scrambled for another sheet and found it to be similar. Intricate rhythms covered each paper he picked up and it gave him a headache just staring at it.

All the pages seemed to have no ending bar line in the bottom right corner and Kurt picked up at least ten or so before finding one. When he extended his hand to return the music, he saw the familiar face of the newest Warbler. He was sitting back, with his legs crossed, and thumbing through the pages already in his hands. Kurt watched as the dim lighting caught a part of his hair when he shifted; his blue eyes glittered when he looked up expectantly.

"Here," Kurt said and handed the papers out to him.

"Again, I'm really sorry," James said right off and set down the stack in his hand to take the ones that were being given to him. The first thing he did was arrange them in some order that was unfathomable to Kurt.

"It's no big deal," he assured and stood up. He helped the other boy to his feet and scavenged for his library books. "I'm Kurt Hummel. We're in the Warblers together."

He clutched the music to his chest. Something lit in his mind and he said excitedly, "James Montgomery. I've heard plenty about you already."

"What about me?" Kurt stuttered.

He chuckled. "Everyone says you're a fantastic countertenor."

Kurt felt his face heat. "Did they say anything else?"

James shook his head after a moment of thought. "They also say you're fabulous, but that's about it."

He put his hand to his cheek and looked down. "Oh, my, that's embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Depends on how you take it." James shrugged and moved swiftly around the bookcase. Kurt craned his neck and followed him. A leather bag and a toppled stack of books were on the other side of the classic literature section. He kneeled down to stuff the sheet music in his bag and then started on arranging the books in a neat pile. "Personally, I'd prefer people talk about me, period. Embarrassing or not, it doesn't matter. It just shows that you stand out enough for them to notice you."

"That's one way of seeing it." Kurt nodded. _An odd way, but still a way nonetheless. _"So what brought you to the library at almost eight at night?"

"Books," James chuckled and stood up. He shouldered his knapsack before scooping the pile of hardbacks into his arms. The spines faced Kurt. They were worn and some were ripped and all displayed a title in gold or silver. "Lots and lots of books. I read probably too much in my spare time. It's hard to debate whether I spend more time reading or playing the piano." He eased around Kurt, juggling the books. The other boy trailed close behind.

"Here, let me help," Kurt muttered and added two or three of the boy's hardbacks onto his load. "How long have you been playing?" he wondered as he paced alongside James.

He pursed his lips and squinted in thought. "Nine years? Ten? It all becomes a blur after a while. Let's just say a long time."

"Gosh, I don't think I could stick with one instrument for that long," Kurt sighed in amazement. "I'd have to change some time or another to something else. Do you play anything else?"

James paused to slip the top book on his stack onto a shelf, and then another on the next ledge down. He continued forward and said, "Don't laugh, but I used to play the flute and occasionally the piccolo in middle school." Kurt bit his lip in interest. "Okay, you can laugh. Everyone does."

"I don't see why people would laugh at that," Kurt admitted. "Were you any good?"

"Believe it or not, but I was." James said with a broad smile. "First chair in my section for all three years."

"Three years?"

He and James turned back when the walls of bookcases came together in a dead end. They walked back the way they came, but took a right turn in attempt to get back to the front desk.

"I stopped playing before high school," the dark haired boy explained, "because my father was concerned it would cut into my time on the piano. Though, without him knowing, I joined the glee club a month after the new term started. I've been singing ever since freshman year."

They took another turn.

"Did your father not want you to join the glee club?" Kurt asked.

James shrugged carelessly. "He didn't want me to do much of anything besides get good grades and play the piano. He's the kind of father figure that wants the best for their kid, but it's best for themselves and not the kid. Does that make any sense?"

He nodded. "I know a few people with fathers like that. Shame, isn't it?"

"Definitely," James answered gloomily. "So, why are _you _here in the library at almost eight at night?"

Kurt stopped to dig the list out of the folder. Part of the corner had been torn off sometime between now and when he arrived in the book room. He held it up. "Literature project."

The blue eyes sparked in interest and gently placed his grouping of hardbacks on the floor. He took the list into his pale hands and scanned the front; then he flipped it over to read the back.

His sharp features softened and he said, "Ah, I love _Romeo and Juliet._" James handed the list back and cleared his throat. "'A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardoned, and some punished, for never was a story of more woe that this of Juliet and her Romeo.'"

Kurt watched him inquisitively. "So I'm guessing you've read it?"

He tapped the cover of the book on the top of his stack. "Book worm, remember? I read all kinds. _Romeo and Juliet _is one of my favorite classics. Great use of literary devices and a creative plot, but terribly stupid characters. I mean, Juliet's thirteen years old and her father goes ahead and arranges her in a marriage with Paris, who's twice her age. Then she meets Romeo, who's not much better than Paris I might add, and they get married a day later behind their family's backs. I'm not going to go into detail because I'm sure you've read it before, but in the end they all die over a little spark. Sure, it was all out of love, but everyone dies. Who wants that?"

Kurt couldn't think of a response right away. He simply nodded and picked up the stack of books again. "Well, you can't really blame Juliet, can you?"

"No, I guess you can't . . ." He trailed off and grabbed his set of books. "You have to blame Romeo as well."

Kurt chuckled as they continued to walk. "So as of now, they're both to blame. But what about the families? If the Capulets hadn't hated the Montagues and vice versa, there wouldn't have been an issue with them marrying. I say it's the family's faults for all the death in the end. The idea of forbidden love tempted them and then killed them."

"You have a point," James said. "You know, this story is the perfect example of why to not fall in love. It'll kill you in the end, so why bother?"

The book maze came to an end and the two boys were greeted by the warm glow of the lamp that sat on the front desk. The librarian gestured to them and they stacked the novels on top of one another. While the man scanned the barcodes at the back of each book, James turned to Kurt.

"Thanks for helping with that," he said. He laughed shortly, almost nervously.

"It wasn't a problem," Kurt said and his eyes found the clock above the desk: five minutes until nine o'clock. "Oh, crap. I need to get back to my dorm."

James turned to the clock before looking over his shoulder. "Why the rush? You got a date or something?" Kurt's face froze. "Kidding. Just wondering."

"One of my friends wants to talk to me about something," he explained as he brushed past the boy to hand his books to the librarian. He punched in his school ID and his account came up. "Something for Regionals."

"Am I allowed to know about it?" he asked cautiously. "I am officially part of the Warblers now, aren't I?"

"_I'm _not even sure what it is yet, but if I knew, I would tell you." As he said it, his mind exploded with the possibilities: are they performing a Broadway number after all? Is one of the other boys, besides Blaine, getting a chance at a solo? Are they being disqualified for some reason?

"Fair enough," James agreed and ran his hand through his hair.

The librarian handed Kurt his books and he tucked his folder under his arm to carry them. He slowly inched in the direction of the door. "It was nice to meet you officially, James. I guess we'll be seeing each other during rehearsal."

The boy nodded as Kurt exited the library.

* * *

Blaine fell back onto his bed, rubbing his face. His right hand ached with the task of writing a multiple-page essay for Physics and his head throbbed. But at least it sat completed on his desk, ready to turn in the next day. He thought of turning off the lamp to get a little bit of shut-eye when rapping on the door forced him on his feet. He opened the door and shared a smile with Kurt.

"What did you have to tell me?" he asked, short of breath. He reached up to swipe a lock of stray hair back into place.

Blaine stuck his head through the door and glanced from side to side before inviting him in. He closed the door. Blaine's room was one of the only ones in the North wing with one bed; most had two twins meant for two roommates. The closet was a tad bigger than the regulation ones and without the extra clutter from another person, the room seemed relatively bigger.

He looked back to find Kurt flipping on the overhead light and tsking at insecurities in his room. The bed was messily turned down; one running shoe sat on one side of the room while its partner was hidden in the closet; his desk was overflowing with school work and pencils and two textbooks; and a few shirts were wadded and thrown in the corner. His face grew warm and he could only begin to imagine the things that would come from his friend's mouth.

"You need help," was all Kurt said. He smoothed down the comforter on Blaine's bed before sitting and crossing his legs. "Okay, what did Ms. Lovett tell you that I so direly need to hear?"

Blaine's face lit up. "Remember when we sung Katy Perry in the Hall the other day?"

"How could I forget?" Kurt mumbled and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. "I sung because you forced me into it."

"You did fine. Anyway, Ms. Lovett loved the performance."

"She loves everything you sing." He picked at a hangnail cantankerously. "I don't think she would care if you sung Miley Cyrus."

"Stop interrupting or I won't tell you." Blaine crossed his arms and pulled his desk chair over to him. He sat down. "Since the news concerns you, I think you'd want to hear it. And since it's for Regionals, that makes it an even bigger of a deal."

Kurt pretended to zip his lips and tossed an imaginary key over his shoulder, smiling sweetly. He gestured with the sweep of hands for Blaine to continue.

"Thank you. Ms. Lovett told me she loved our Katy Perry performance the other day," Blaine resumed. He attempted to restrain himself from bouncing in his seat. Kurt watched him with an odd look; he'd never seen Blaine more excited than he was at this moment. "Now, Kurt Hummel, hold onto your blazer, because we—like you and me—are singing a duet together for Regionals!"

* * *

_In the next chapter: Kurt freaks out over the Regionals news and doesn't know what to do with himself, and the Warblers go into a state of lockdown when everything goes dark._


	6. Bright Idea

_Good evening! Well, it's the evening where I live, anyway. I'll say happy Friday so everyone can relate._

_Just updating a little earlier than usual, considering I have this chapter all ready to go. And the next one, so be prepared to see Chapter 6 up by Wednesday at the latest._

_This current chapter was fun for me to right, which is based off an event my friend told me about when my middle school had a blackout a couple of years ago. She was in choir and when the lights came back on, she told me about what they did without the ability to see. Thus, this chapter was born. It was too good of an idea to pass up, so here it is!_

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, or the Warblers. I also don't own Lady Gaga's unbelievably amazing songs and lyrics. But I do own Simon, Adam, Cody and Diego, with a few others. The plot is not mine, though it belongs to a friend._

* * *

**Bright Idea**

* * *

**Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness. - Chinese Proverbs**

* * *

Kurt sighed and rubbed his eyes, watching himself in the mirror. The morning had come too quickly and sleep had gone too fast. Actually, he did not sleep a wink over the course of the night.

Kurt had lain under the covers the night before for what seemed like years. But as he eventually began to doze off around six, the alarm clock on his nightstand jumped to life, beeping and flashing neon green. The sun was just rising now, letting in shreds of pink and orange and yellow into the room; the colors striped the floor and Kurt dug his toes into the plush carpet.

As chilling as it was, he wore a thin set of silk pajamas. He splashed his face with a handful of water and looked up. Purple smudges were still painted in rings under his soft murky eyes and caused his skin to look paler than it really was. His hair stuck up in the back and on the sides and he ran a wet comb through it, but to no avail; the only difference was that it was damp. He sighed and tossed the comb into the sink.

Kurt's mind raced with thoughts. It was unfathomable to him how Ms. Lovett chose he and Blaine to perform a duet at Regionals. The Blaine part was understandable for obvious reasons, but there was no excuse as to why she should choose him as the other half. Even with all objections in his head, Kurt was thrilled beyond all means to be able to sing with his friend. He let himself smile and it appeared in the shiny mirror.

Ten minutes later, he stood in the same spot in front of the mirror again, only this time to straighten any little details on his uniform. He fastened the top button of his white dress shirt and knotted his tie correctly. His pants seemed to be in order and nothing ruined the sharpness of his loafers. He fastened the bird pin on his lapel. After everything was checked and corrected, he grabbed his bag and left his room.

When he reached the North kitchen, glorious smells wafted through the open door. He poked his head in to see the usual set up: David was perched behind the bar with a mug of coffee to his lips; Blaine was leaning against the counter, talking with Thomas; Diego Blackwood, a resident North Warbler, was dealing with homework at the table behind the bar; and Cody was hunched over the wide griddle, a spatula gripped in one hand.

The only thing new was seeing Wes bang the top of a stainless steel contraption and cursing under his breath repeatedly.

"Wes, what did you order out of the catalog this time?" Kurt teased as he entered the room. He set his bag down by Diego, who greeted him with a tired smile.

"Nothing!" Wes called over his shoulder. "I mean, I didn't order it. I told David to."

"Yeah, sure. I'll believe that," he replied sarcastically and sat at a stool on the other side of the bar, next to Blaine.

Blaine smiled and Kurt felt his heart skip a beat.

"How are you?" he asked and rested his arms on the counter.

"Tired," Kurt replied and at the same time, stifled a yawn. "But nonetheless fine."

He nodded. "Me too. There doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to sleep, does there?"

"Exactly. Now, onto other matters. What in the world is Wes dealing with? I don't think I've seen anything like that before." He turned his body to look at his friend, still tinkering with the steel box.

"I have no idea," he sighed. "But whatever it is, it better be good. He's been cursing for the last ten minutes. I had no idea he had such a colorful vocabulary."

"For some reason, that doesn't surprise me. The last part, I mean."

Blaine chuckled in agreement.

Thomas left the counter and scooted Wes over to take a look at the new shiny toy. "What is it, exactly?"

"It's a coffee machine," David explained dully and sat down his mug.

"Don't we have one of those already?" Blaine asked confused and gestured to the white maker, brewing with steam and a strong scent. He picked up his mug and took a sip, sighing after he swallowed.

"It's an expresso maker," Wes corrected sharply and gave the box another bang on the top. "And it won't work. I've read the directions plenty of times and still, it won't cooperate this morning."

"Wesley Moore," Thomas gasped and stepped back, "you actually read the directions for something?"

Wes had a reputation with working things out. Whenever something new came in the mail that came from a catalog, he called dibs on it first—"Calm your balls! I got this!"—in hopes that he would figure out how to operate it before the others. Bragging rights are everything, after all. He rarely read the directions that came in the box, claiming it was too much reading and that most of it was disclaimer crap. Five minutes later he would end up surrendering the gadget to someone else, only to have them point out something crucial that was clearly stated in the instruction manual.

"Shut up." Wes gave the redhead a shove. "You want to figure this out?"

"I suppose I'll give it a whirl," Thomas sighed and Wes moved out of the way with his arms crossed.

Thomas took the box in his hands, turning it every which way in search for a button or switch. He placed it carefully on the counter top and pursed his lips. When he saw the problem, a Cheshire grin crossed his face. Smugly, he turned to Wes. He took the black cord in his hand and inserted the end into an electrical outlet on the wall. "Next time, make sure you plug it in first."

Wes went beet red and Blaine chuckled into his drink, Kurt snickered into his hands. "Well, you don't have to be so boastful about it."

"Do you know how to turn in on?" he questioned with a silly grin. "Or do you want me to do it for you?"

"I am very capable of figuring out how to turn on an expresso machine!" Wes claimed and flipped the switch. Something inside of it gurgled and sputtered and he jumped back, causing the surrounding boys to burst into laughter. His face flushed for the first time in a long time. "That wasn't supposed to happen! Stop laughing!"

When riot didn't cease, Blaine called over the group, "Alright, guys. Calm down."

And the noise level dropped so much that the only noise heard was the sizzle of batter dripping onto the hot griddle. Blaine looked to Wes and swore he saw indifference splashed across his red face, but it was quickly replaced by his interest in the machine. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet and held it under the spout, proceeding to tear open a packet of grinds and fetching water.

On the other side of the kitchen, breakfast was in the process. Cody, with an apron draped over his small frame, stepped back from the hot surface in front of him. He balanced a plate topped with golden pancakes in one hand and a stack of glassware in the other. The moment he made his way around the island, all eyes were on him. The warm, comforting aroma caused some of their mouths to water.

Cody placed the pancakes in the middle of the table and Diego all but shoved his school work onto the floor to make room in front of him. He positioned a few plates around the table and retreated back to get utensils and placemats. By the time he came back, everyone was fighting for a chair.

Kurt watched them with curiosity and stood frozen at the bar. Blaine led him to one end of the table where there were two vacant seats and they sat down.

"What's the big deal?" Kurt whispered as he watched Thomas and Wes grapple over the last chair.

"You'll see," Blaine whispered back with a grin on his face.

Cody returned with a handful of forks and placed them neatly by the pancakes. He stood back, smiling at his work. He wiped his forehead and noticed the boys staring at him eagerly.

"Okay, go ahead," he sighed and waved at hand at them. They all lunged forward at once and piled pancakes onto their plate. Diego and Thomas wrestled over the single bottle of sweet syrup that eventually made its way around the table. Kurt looked down to grab his plate, but it was gone. Confused, he raised his head, only to see Blaine slid it over to him, topped with two golden pancakes. Blaine then helped himself.

Kurt sat there with his lips pressed into a thin line and watched the boys eat. Occasionally, he stared down at his breakfast. He tucked his hands into his lap and didn't say a word. He turned to say something to Blaine, but he had a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth.

There was a collective sigh among the group.

"You make the best pancakes, Cody," Diego complimented and swallowed heavily. Syrup was smeared along his jaw line. "Have I told you that?"

"Every time I make them," the small boy sighed in return and whipped off the apron. He hung it on a peg by the door and worked with shutting off the griddle and cleaning up.

"You should make them more often," Wes suggested and tore one in half without using the fork he was given.

"That wouldn't make them very special now, would it?"

"But still."

Cody ran the empty batter bowl under the faucet. "Well, when you get the recipe from me—which will be never—then you can make all the pancakes you can eat."

"Oh, very funny."

"At least I can work an expresso machine." With a snicker he ducked behind the counter in the case of flying objects.

"Hey! I thought we were finished talking about that!" he said loudly and whipped around in his chair.

"Okay," Kurt said and pushed away from the table without touching his meal. He tucked in his chair and moved into the kitchen. "Too much yelling."

"Are you not going to eat your pancakes?" Diego asked in a whimper.

"They're free for the taking." He waved his hand and disappeared behind the door of the fridge. While he scoped the shelves, there was a bustle of plates and low voices.

Kurt closed the door with his foot to find Diego strewn across the table and he reached his fingers for the plate. Blaine sat there with an expression that said he didn't know quite what to do and David choked ungracefully on his coffee.

Kurt turned to Cody and fingered the stem of the apple in his hands. "What do you put in those things?"

The small boy shrugged and ran the dirty spatula under the water. "Nothing special. Just the basic ingredients." He leaned in and looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being overheard. "I put hibiscus syrup in the batter. It makes it naturally sweet. Don't tell them, though." He gazed over the counter at them. Diego had been pushed back into his seat by Thomas and Blaine offered the last part of his breakfast across the table to Wes.

"Don't worry," Kurt said as he watched Cody move back and forth between the griddle and the sink, "my lips are sealed." He leaned against the fridge and took a bite of his apple.

Cody barely cleared five-foot-five and the extra volume on his hair didn't add much more. He was often seen fretting over most everything, from what color the argyle socks he was wearing with his uniform were to how in tune the Warblers were during rehearsal. Kurt hadn't talked to him much since his arrival at Dalton since their introduction, but they'd traded a few quick comments every now and then.

Currently, he was tossing a rag over his shoulder and he swept to the table to collect dirty plates. In a flash of brown hair, he was back in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

"You're babying us, Cody," Thomas complained and leaned over the back of his chair. "Let us do something for once."

"You know what they say," Cody chanted and his voice rose up the C scale a few notes.

"What?"

"'If you want it done right, do it yourself,'" he recited and bumped the dishwasher door shut with his hip. He clicked a few buttons and it whirred to life, bringing the smell of hot cleansing soap into the room.

David rolled his eyes. "Please. It's not so dangerous to wash a few dishes."

Cody laughed in a high octave. His voice returned to its normal setting when he said, "Not when you attempt to do a good job and end up sticking your bare hand into a soapy sink full of steak knives."

"That was one time!" Blaine exclaimed and raised his head. He stood up from the table and tucked his chair in. "I don't think that was very fair because you never told me there were knives in there in the first place."

"You never asked." He shrugged with a small pink smile playing on his lips and rinsed his hands in the cool water.

Kurt hid his amusement by holding the half-eaten apple in front of his face. He peeked over the edge to see Blaine letting himself smile, too.

Diego smirked. "You really didn't ask, Blaine."

"Shut up," he said and looked away.

* * *

"I'm telling you, I can make breakfast," Adam persisted as he stared intently at the microwave in the East kitchen. He removed his glasses to clean them at the bottom of his shirt and jammed them on his face again. A tub of dry oatmeal sat on the counter beside him, along with a container of raisins and a shaker full of brown sugar and cinnamon. He insisted on making the morning meal, but the others thought differently.

"Without something blowing up?" Nick asked exasperated. He put his hand over his face and the other one over his growling gut.

Adam turned around sharply to face him. "That was for experimental purposes, not for edible ones, and you know it."

The black-haired Warbler shrugged his shoulders and retreated to the bar to flip through the wad of newspapers that Adam had brought in earlier that morning. Since the school board didn't allow public news feed into the building, Adam took the time every morning to drive—i.e. sneak out—thirty minutes to the nearest grocery store. There, he routinely purchased three different kinds of newspapers and sometimes treats for his friends in East. But today when he brought back the tub of oatmeal, everyone knew they were in for it.

"I don't even like oatmeal," Jonathan Hall mumbled and leafed through the papers in Nick's hands for the comics. He spread them out on the kitchen counter so his brother, Matt, could read over his shoulder.

"Deal with it," Adam replied and pressed a button. The microwave emitted a beep and he popped the door open.

"And raisins are kind of disgusting," Matt added and pointed out a hilarious strip for Jon to read. "They're all wrinkled."

"But you like grapes," Nick mentioned and looked at the pair over the top of the sports section.

"Because grapes taste better than raisins."

"They're the same thing, dude," Jon said. "The only difference is that raisins are sun-dried and they're smaller."

Matt huffed. "Raisins have all the juice sucked out of them and that's the best part. Plus, they feel weird in my mouth."

"You of all people would have texture issues," Nick mumbled and flicked the paper back up to shield his face.

"So that explains why you don't like bananas," Adam said with sudden realization. He paused to dig through a cabinet, coming up with a plastic bowl and a set of assorted measuring cups. He popped the lid off the oatmeal container and proceeded to spill half its contents on the floor and down the front of his blazer before he could reach for the half-cup. Disregarding the mess, he poured as much as he thought needed into the plastic bowl.

Too much water was added and made the concoction appear soupy. He shook in more dry oats, then overturned the box of raisins into it. Excited, Adam deposited the bowl into the microwave and punched in the right amount of time. He clicked start and jumped back. "See! I can make breakfast!"

The three Warblers turned to look him up and down.

"But you've already spilled some of it," Nick sighed heavily.

"And we'll have to wait to see the finished product before we can conclude that you actually made something edible," Jon pointed out. Matt flipped the page to examine some of the various strips.

"You can make toast and cereal, but that's about it," Matt said bluntly. "And even while making the simplest of breakfast items, you end up destroying something. It makes me wonder."

"Can we go see Blaine?" Nick asked and folded the paper in a neat square along its creases. "I can practically smell their pancakes and various edible delicacies on the other side of the building. It's like a gourmet café over there, I bet."

"There's, like, a minute left!" Adam said and pointed to the glowing numbers on the screen. "Can you not possibly wait that long?"

His question was answered by Matt's stomach growling ferociously and the owner earned a hard stare.

"Well, that settles that!" Jon clapped his hands and walked to the door. "I'm going to a land where I can get a decent meal without vomiting afterward! Feel free to join me!" He left the kitchen in a hurry.

Matt gave Adam an apologetic look before darting after his brother, calling, "Don't leave me!"

"Wow, they're asses," Adam said in a monotone as soon as the door shut completely. He stared at the door to the appliance, watching the bowl rotate on the glass plate.

"Did you just figure that out?" Nick asked with a laugh. He hopped off the bar stool and came around the counter. His voice softened. "Listen, don't get too discouraged by them. They're teenage boys and they need to be fed every two hours or they might die." Adam chuckled. "They're blunt to everyone. You'd know, of course, considering we're all in the same grade and everything. But don't feel bad. Not everyone can cook."

"You can."

"I made toast and I burned myself trying to pull it out because I didn't see the eject button. Yeah, I can cook." He rolled his eyes.

"I guess I see your point."

The microwave beeped three times behind him and he popped the door open. A semi-attractive scent washed into the room and Adam lifted the bowl out. Both boys stared down at the tan mush, making a face. Adam took a spoon from the drawer and started to stir it. The raisins surfaced and that was when Nick leaned back, covering his mouth.

"I've never seen oatmeal that bad before," he said, his voice muffled. "Plus, it smells weird."

"I think I added to much water," Adam admitted as he moved to the trash can with the bowl in hand. He scraped the ill-cooked meal into the garbage without a second thought and returned to fill the empty bowl with water. With a disappointed look, he looked back to Nick. "Now I'm starting to think Matt and Jon had the right idea. At least Cody can whip up something before class starts, right?"

"Let's hope so."

* * *

Duet. _Duet. _Duet. Oh, my god, a duet.

Kurt was ready to internally combust at the mere thought of his voice harmonizing with Blaine's onstage at Regionals. It had been three days since Blaine had told him the news, and the pair still waited for Ms. Lovett to speak them about song selections. She hadn't gotten to it yet.

That brought another reminder straight to the front of his mind.

Regionals. _Regionals. _Regionals. Oh, my god, Regionals was coming up fast.

This led to another string of repeated words, and then another, which was followed by another. Soon his head was filled with so many buzzing ideas that Blaine took time out of looking over 'Use Somebody' to watch him curiously.

"Kurt," Blaine said and nudged his shoulder carefully.

"What?" He looked up frantically.

"You're mumbling again."

"Oh. Is that a bad thing?"

"Not really. But it is kind of worrying when you talk about our duet like it's a death sentence." Blaine stared at him.

"That's a bad thing," Kurt agreed and could only stare at the floor under his feet.

"Do you not want to do it?" he asked.

Kurt looked at him anxiously. "No! I mean, yes! I want to. I'm just nervous about it, that's all."

Blaine looked like he wanted to say something more, but licked his lips and nodded, looking back to his music. Kurt let out an inward sigh of relief and shut his eyes briefly.

The auditorium was still reserved during the class period after lunch for the Warblers to practice seeing as the choir room ceiling wasn't patched up yet. Adam Harvey stopped by a few minutes before the bell rang to work his magic in the AV room above, turning on the lights and checking the sound systems and music players. Sometimes Adam waited around in the back row for Ms. Lovett to show up just to watch the group warm up. The doors would sneak shut soon after to signal his leave.

Until the ceiling in the choir room was fixed, the auditorium was their home and no one seemed to object to it; most preferred it over the choir room any day.

The group of Warblers gathered on the risers to look over the music and talk amongst each other. Wes and David were mumbling on the second level to each other about something, their heads down; on the next flat, Simon pointed out a key change to Matt and Jon in the music and Cody looked over his shoulder; James sat in his regular seat on the top riser, only this time he was sandwiched between William and Carson. They talked back and forth across him, discussing classes and late homework assignments. To ignore them, he shuffled a sheet of piano music into his lap, drumming his fingers on his knees.

"So," Blaine said and turned to Kurt. He set the music down next to him. "Going back to what we were talking about before. It looks like Ms. Lovett isn't going to give us much help on our duet. What do you want to sing?"

Kurt's heart still leapt at the word _duet. _"You're asking me?"

"You are my partner, aren't you?"

"Yes, I guess I am." He paused to think over several song choices, but the only thing that came to mind was singing with Blaine. Onstage. In front of _everyone. _At Regionals, for crying out loud. He snapped to attention. "Nothing really comes to mind. Did you have anything you wanted to look into?"

Blaine flashed him a white smile and set his bag between them. "I was thinking like a chart-topper, you know? Something everyone would be familiar with."

Kurt hid his face in his hands. "Please tell me Katy Perry didn't record a song with Bruno Mars."

"No, but I can see that happening in the future." He laughed and trailed off. "Anyway, there isn't really much for duets out there, so I was thinking about splitting up a song and singing it in two parts. Kind of like what we did with 'Waking Up in Vegas.'"

"Okay . . . Ideas?"

"None whatsoever."

"But a chart-topper."

"Yep."

"You're just a crackpot of exploding ideas, aren't you?"

Blaine brushed his knuckles against the lapel of his blazer jokingly and chuckled. "I try."

Behind them, Wes stood up and made his way in front of the risers. He raised one hand in the air to call attention, but the murmuring and talking continued without a break. When his hand was finally starting to go numb, he announced, "Guys! We're going to start. Guys? Hey!" He sighed in annoyance when only Matt and Jon turned their heads to him and shut their mouths.

Blaine cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "It would be nice if everyone would just shut up!"

Instant silence was delivered and Wes thanked the soloist almost reluctantly. "Anyway, we're going to start rehearsal a little late today, seeing as Ms. Lovett isn't here yet . . ." He craned his neck to peer out into the empty rows of chairs. "So until she gets here, David and I will be in charge." Said-student clambered from his spot onto the stage beside Wes and straightened his tie.

"First off, Regionals is about four to five weeks away. I know that seems like a light year away, but it will come up fast if we goof off until then. We've got fierce competition and we'll need all the practice we can get. From what I know already, we're performing three songs, and 'Use Somebody' is the opener. Either Ms. Lovett will choose the other two, or we'll have to come up with them ourselves."

Blaine stood up from his seat and whispered something in Wes' ear before coming to sit back down.

"Okay, make that one that we have to come up with," he corrected. "Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Simon offered, "Either the Backstreet Boys or *NSYNC." The two bands got booed by the surrounding members and both chairmen were iffy.

"Anything else?" David asked almost desperately.

"Broadway," Kurt beamed with the wave of his hand. "I could see us singing 'Rent' most definitely."

It was so quiet crickets could be heard chirping far, far away. Kurt slumped in his seat.

Just then, the lights cut and someone screamed.

Not like a pull-back-the-shower-curtain-and-stab-a-girl scream, but dozens of boys spazzing out at once; Cody's voice was the most prominent of them all. Phones were rescued from pockets and soon the stage was lit with fifteen different screens.

"Adam!" It was Simon as he called up toward the ceiling. His tone was slightly panicked, slightly aggravated. "If you're trying to freak us out, I think you missed Halloween by a landslide. Seriously, turn the lights back on before I come up to the AV room and throttle you."

No response.

"Relax, guys," David ordered in a booming, yet calm tone. The frantic murmurs died down. "It's probably a blown fuse or something. Everything's going to be okay."

"What if one of us dies?" Cody piped up on the next riser up and Kurt could hear his teeth chattering from fright.

"Cody, be quiet. I think you've been watching too many horror movies. That's not going to happen." Kurt instantly recognized William's cocky voice. "If it did, however, feel free to blame Moore. I'm sure I'm the first one to go on his 'kill and maim' list."

"You're edging your way up there," Wes growled. His face, fierce and worn, was illuminated by the blue glow of everyone's phones. The light added drama to his threat. "Don't worry."

"This is really creepy," Blaine muttered to Kurt as Wes and Will continued to fire verbally at one another.

"You're telling me," he replied. "What do you think happened?"

Blaine shrugged in the darkness. "Like David said. A blown fuse is a possibility. Or maybe the weather did something. It _is _supposed to get snowy soon. Maybe it came earlier than expected."

"What are we going to do until the lights decide to come back on?"

"Sit here? I don't know. It'd be hell to play 'Murder in the Dark' though." He chuckled once.

"Don't even start on that or I might have to slap you."

"Bring it on."

Kurt reached into the darkness and partly swatted his shoulder.

In the back of the risers, someone stood and made their way onto the stage. Fourteen startled pairs of eyes followed the glowing ball from a phone as it traveled to the piano. The bench squeaked slightly and papers were shuffled. It seemed the entire lower register of the instrument from middle C down was hit at once and the noise caused everyone to jump.

"Oh, great, now the piano's cursed," Jon exclaimed. "Thanks a lot, Nick. I told you to throw salt over your shoulder after you spilt it last night at dinner."

"That's probably why all the lights went out, too," Matt agreed.

"You guys need to stop being so superstitious," Nick advised. Then he added, "And what are you talking about? I did throw it over my shoulder like you told me to."

"You probably threw it over the wrong one," Jon said and turned promptly to face the front.

"Whatever."

"The piano's not cursed," William said. "It's just James, I'm sure."

"It's me," the new Warbler called out to confirm the statement and his voice was distant, as the piano was on the opposite side of the stage.

"Can you even play in the dark?" Wes asked.

"I have some pieces memorized. Sometimes you don't need to see for everything."

Thank goodness for the lack of light, because Wes' face went red and he felt utterly ridiculous.

* * *

On the other side of the building, far away from the horror-struck Warblers, a certain pair of boys was tinkering with a few wires when all of a sudden, they sparked and quit working.

"Great. What did you do this time?" Dex asked his friend and pulled the plastic goggles onto his forehead.

"Nothing, I'm sure." Leo pushed together the ends of the frazzled wires, but no spark appeared. The equipment around the groaned and grunted and the lights began to dim. In seconds they sat on the floor of the utility room in darkness. Without visibility, they shared a glance.

"We're doomed," they said together.

* * *

The auditorium remained pitch black and for the next forty-five minutes, everything was made ten times more difficult than it already was. The initial shock of losing the lights had worn off and most of the boys were enthralled with having class in the dark.

Though it was a challenge to rehearse dance steps to 'Use Somebody' when no one could see where their feet were landing. James, after a few riveting scales on the piano, had joined them and nearly sprained his ankle stumbling to the top riser. It was a feat to even find the risers in the first place without injury.

The song was replayed constantly from Kurt's tiny iPhone, which had a horrible speaker since they didn't bother tinkering with the AV room sound system when Adam wasn't around and when they couldn't see. The tune couldn't be heard over the sounds of their shoes shuffling back and forth, even on the highest volume. Finally, Wes and David gave up and called it quits for the day.

"We have nothing to do. This sucks," Carson declared.

"Your mom sucks."

"Oh, my god, Matt. Shut up. You're so immature."

"Your mom's so—"

"Shut up!"

Blaine, tired of hearing the boys' antics, hoisted himself to his feet with the excuse of getting a drink, if the water fountains still worked. Kurt nodded and heard his footsteps fade as he walked across the stage.

There was a sickening thump and everyone paused, even James, who stopped in the middle of a cadenza at the upright. Kurt stood up in an attempt to peer into the darkness. Blaine called back to them to say it was nothing but a fall and earned a few jeers and a snide comment from William. The doors to the auditorium opened and closed and he was gone.

Everything resumed as it was before. Matt and Carson shot remarks back and forth and William interjected when he thought necessary. Simon's voice could be heard as he talked lowly to David and Wes at the edge of the stage. Cody was preoccupied with trying to work on a History worksheet while holding his phone above the paper for light. About every thirty seconds he had to press a button to light the screen up again. The others were busy with little games installed on their phones.

James picked up where he left off in the middle of the cadenza and the sound cascaded chromatically. Kurt bit his lip and unlocked his phone. He scrolled through the numerous pages of apps and games until he found the one he was looking for. He tapped it and after it started up, a brilliant light was released from the shutter at the back of the electronic.

Holding it down, Kurt wandered carefully across the stage so as to not step on anything.

Kurt approached the piano and, with the light still shining downward, found a sea of scrambled music pages under the bench and around his feet. He waited for a break in James' playing to lift the phone. The app shined a spotlight on the music on the stand and James jumped out of his skin. He whipped his head around and shielded his eyes with his hand. When he saw that it was only Kurt, he scooted over to make a spot for him.

"You scared me for a second," he said with a tense chuckle and shuffled the papers around on the stand so it started with the beginning.

"Sorry about that. Just curious." Kurt shined the light on the front of the music, reading the title. The opening measures were dotted in black, much like the other pieces he'd seen James carry around with him.

"Have a seat," James offered without taking his eyes away from the music. His hands ghosted over the keys as he studied the notes.

Cautiously Kurt sat down on the edge of the bench. "Where do you want me to put the light?"

He took a few seconds to gather the notes in his head. Then he said, "You can turn it off now. I don't need it."

Kurt stared at him, though he was sure he couldn't see the bewildered glare. "I know you said earlier that you didn't need to see everything, but this one looks a little more than complicated."

"I have the first four pages of this piece memorized," James boasted with a grin.

He gawked at him. "How many pages are there?"

"I don't remember," he admitted and turned to him with a sheepish smile. "It stops somewhere after ten, I know that for sure."

Kurt switched off the light and cradled his phone. "Okay, then. Is it the same as what you were playing earlier?"

James nodded and lifted his hands to the starting notes. His fingertips brushed against the cool keys and before they were played he could hear them flowing through his ears like he was listening to an audio recording. He licked his lips, aware of Kurt's presence, and unsteadily launched into the piece.

The first notes tumbled and he stopped to start again with a hurried apology. The beginning was fast-paced and quickly drew the attentions of the other Warblers away from their short-lived conversations. His fingers rose up and down the keyboard, hitting the keys at just the right time to make a glorious sound.

His foot worked rapidly on the pedal and it was unfamiliar. James was using the foot that he never used for the pedal, seeing as the other one was aching from the fall off the risers. The end of the first page came. There was a small gap between the end of the first page and the starting of the second that had never been fixed. It was a glitch in his playing that happened at every page turn because he always worked each page separately.

"I don't know where she could be," Simon muttered to Wes and David as they stood behind the risers. The sound of the piano caused him to look up and disregard his previous statement.

"It seems odd for Ms. Lovett to miss a practice," Wes mused. "She is our director, after all. Simon, are you listening to me? What are you looking at?"

He turned his head and peeked through the gaps in the risers to see blackness. But from the experienced sound, his first guess was obvious; none of the Warblers could play the piano like that, let alone play an instrument that didn't include their vocal chords. He looked back to Simon, then to David, who seemed equally interested. The trio kept their place and watched in silence so as to not interrupt.

Kurt watched—more like listened—in awe. He leaned back abruptly as James reached for the lower octaves and worked his way up. _He's really good, _he thought as the sound tumbled out of the piano. He was expecting the instrument to explode from the amount of short notes and intricate rhythms and unexpected changes in key.

William punched Carson in the shoulder to get him to be quiet. He titled his head to the side, listening to James pound away on the piano without any light to let him know where his fingers were landing. The sound came out smoothly but then it choked off in a splatter of notes. The catastrophe had all the boys leaning forward in confusion and anticipation.

"Oh, darn," James mumbled and let his hands rest on the keys to hold out a messy chord. The way he said it sounded like the same incident had happened before. He removed his foot from the pedal and the sound was slashed in half.

"Is that not the end?" Kurt asked as soon as he could snap himself out of the daze the music had sucked him into.

"Far from the end," James chuckled sadly. He reached up to shuffle through the papers again. "I'm sorry that was a poor performance. I haven't looked through this piece recently until now."

"Poor performance?" Matt repeated incredulously from across the stage. His voice echoed loudly and Kurt and James looked over their shoulders. "That was awesome! That was the best I've ever heard!"

Jon's frivolous voice joined in with, "You need to teach me how to do that!"

"I don't know about that," James called back in a shaky voice. "It's taken me ten years of playing to get this far and even then I can't get a simple piece like this correct. Combined, it might take the both of you longer."

Kurt could only imagine how far their jaws dropped and chuckled with his hand over his mouth. "That was really something."

"Thanks." It was like smiling happily to himself instead of the boy sitting next to him.

"Play something else!" Jon requested.

"I'm afraid I don't have much else to play," James answered to their despair. "I didn't know I'd have such a fan club when I got here, so I left most of my music books at home."

"Can you make something up?" Matt inquired hopefully.

"I suppose, if you hum a few bars." He raised his hands to the keyboard again and waited.

The brothers conversed with their heads bent together. One offered something, which the other declined, and vice versa, until finally they decided on something. They told their choice of song to Will and Simon and the others; Will's smile practically lit the space in front of him. "Very appropriate. Does he know it?"

"We'll find out," Simon said as Matt jumped off the risers to scramble across the stage. He made it the piano without any major injuries and cleared his throat. He sung some of the verses softly and James tested a few notes. He quickly matched the pitch of Matt's alto to an octave on the piano.

Kurt grinned at the song as it came to life under James' hands. Matt had sung about one-fourth of the way into the song when Jon harmonized with him.

The keyboard melody grew louder with the two boys beginning to sing and Kurt swung around on the bench to face them. He added his own higher harmony with their low one and the words came softly from his lips.

_Baby loves to dance in the dark, 'cause when he's looking' she falls apart,_

_Baby loves to dance in the dark, baby loves to dance in the dark,_

'_Cause when he's looking she falls apart,_

_Baby loves to dance, loves to dance in the dark_

Kurt found himself swaying with the steady beat and looked back to see James absolutely absorbing with playing. Matt and Jon belted the lyrics to the Lady Gaga tune in surprisingly tasteful voices. Simon, Wes and David had appeared from behind the risers and were sitting beside Will and Carson; they also hummed along with the music.

_Run, run her kiss is a vampire grin, the moon lights away while she's howlin' at him,_

_She looks good but her boyfriend says she's a tramp,_

_She's a tramp, she's a vamp, but she still does her dance,_

_She's a tramp, she's a vamp, but she still kills the dance_

Matt grabbed Jon's hand and twirled him in a dramatic circle. It was odd not being able to see the perfomers, but the effect was still the same, and the sounds of their footsteps were enough to imagine their moves. Kurt heard quite a bit of muttered complaining from someone and guessed Cody had been shoved onto the dance floor by the others. The third pair of feet synchronized with the first two.

The song continued on with the bouncy beat and everyone, meaning every boy in the room, sang the last few verses vaguely off pitch.

_Baby loves to dance in the dark, 'cause when he's lookin' she falls apart,_

_Baby loves to dance, loves to dance in the dark, in the dark_

Though everyone stopped singing after the final verse, James continued with an obscure cadenza and ended up having to reach behind Kurt to tap the lowest note. The boys sitting on the risers stood up and clapped for those who had sung and for the marvelous pianist. He swung around on the bench, shoulder to shoulder with Kurt, a wide smile on his face. It was too dark to see what anyone looked like, but Kurt was sure they were all beaming. Simon exchanged interested looks with Wes and David and their expressions slowly lit.

Will peered through the darkness to watch the two boys sitting on the bench start to talk. He smiled and leaned back on his hands as the chatter amongst the group rose again to fill the air.

"Interesting," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

"Oh, my god," Leo flailed. "This is a disaster. This is a complete disaster."

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Dex asked almost hysterically. He paced back and forth across the small width of the utility room on the second floor of the school. Leo was crowded over a box that was attached to the wall with pliers in his hand; wires spilled out past the open door. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to check on the equipment, maybe fix something. They would be caught red-handed.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," he muttered and clipped the end of another wire. He stuck it to the end of a blue one, which produced nothing. After four failures, he sat back, his face streaked with worry. "There should be a manual on what to do when you accidently cause your school's power to go out."

"Because that would obviously be on the New York Times Best Seller list."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

"Sorry."

Leo tried one more time, touching the ends of a green wire and a purplish looking one. Nothing sparked, to his dismay, and he clipped the middle of the purple wire. Taking the red one, he connected the end of it to the green one with a strip of duct tape and went to work on the purple one once more. A few minutes later he had a jumble of multi-colored electrical strings sitting in his hands.

"What are you doing now?" Dex wondered.

"I'm baking cookies," Leo snapped over his shoulder and tried to concentrate on where he left off. "Obviously, I'm trying to fix this mess! I don't see what you're doing to help."

"I'm keeping watch so that I can tell you if anyone's coming."

"Good thinking."

"Was that sarcasm?"

Leo didn't reply. He used the natural light that filtered in from the window to guide him in the process of sticking the wires together. The only color that was left out of the bunch was the brown one; it swung freely from an outlet in the box. He made a grab for it and clipped the end, half expecting it to explode on him. When it didn't, he searched for the last wire that didn't have two recipients. The white one.

Dex materialized behind him, holding his breath and biting his thumb nail. With their hearts on overdrive in their chests, Leo connected the ends of the brown and the white.

Something hummed and Leo jumped, almost losing his grip on the tangle of cords in his hands. Dex shushed him and gradually, the air conditioner kicked back on, blowing a steady stream of warm air through the vent on the other side of the room. The equipment lurched back into order and some of their lights flashed as they turned on. Overhead the fixtures hummed and buzzed and produced light. The whir of electronics surrounded them once more.

"You did it!" Dex exclaimed. "Oh, my god, we're not toast anymore!"

The door handle jigged and they scrambled behind one of the bulky sets of equipment. Leo ended up being squished underneath Dex, who smashed his palm over his mouth to keep him quiet. The door was pushed open and footsteps entered the room.

". . . well, I guess everything seems okay now, sir," a young voice said.

"I guess so." The two boys instantly recognized the voice of their administrator. After a sigh, he continued with, "But it would make me feel better if you could check out some of the wiring to make sure it's working. I don't want to leave the room and have the lights go out again."

"I'll get right on it, sir. It won't even take more than five minutes."

"Thank you, Mr. Harvey. It pays off to have a tech-savvy student attending Dalton. Please go back to class when you get finished here."

"Yes, sir."

The door fell closed again. Shoes shuffled against the floor as the East student moved around the room, ensuring the quality of the various technologies. Leo and Dex held their breaths when his shadow loomed on the wall just above their heads. Adam tapped one of the glowing lights and nodded to himself. The boys' faces were turning a shade of light blue by the time Adam confirmed the working order of things and left the utility room.

The door clicked shut and they released a breath, falling limp against the wall.

"That was a close one," Leo panted.

"You're telling me. Let's get out of here before they decide to come back."

* * *

The doors to the auditorium burst open and shocked everyone on the stage. Kurt leapt to his feet, his hands barely trembling; James jumped and banged his knee against the piano and several of the sheets of music fluttered to the floor; Cody squeaked and hid behind Matt and Jon. The rest of the Warblers glanced up to see darkness.

The doors opening allowed a flash of light to enter before it was gone again. The room fell silent to the point where Kurt was positive he could hear the heartbeats of his friends around him.

"What's going on?" Everyone lost the tension in their shoulders at the comforting sound of Blaine's voice.

"Singing," Will answered and hopped off the last level of risers. Carson mimicked him and landed swiftly at his side.

"You missed it," Cody said proudly, peeking around Matt.

"I think it's safe to say we owned Lady Gaga," Kurt declared and received cheers of agreement.

With a smile he bent to help collect the music that had fallen to the floor. Even in the dark, he could barely see the most prominent features on James' face, like the curve of his chin and the slope of his nose. They rose from the floor when James slammed the top of his head on the underside of the piano. He grumbled something, still with a good grip on his music, and Kurt offered his hand to help him up.

Blaine found the stairs and made his way onto the stage. "Lady Gaga? Damn, I missed a lot, didn't I?"

"You have no idea," James said as he arranged the sheet music in a stack on the piano bench.

"I don't think you missed that much, seeing as we still don't have electricity," said Kurt.

Blaine opened his mouth to concur when a buzz grew above their heads. The looks in their eyes were similar to a toddler receiving a shiny new toy. The fixtures sputtered and clicked until a bulb in the far corner of the auditorium flickered on. The reaction was moths drawn to bright light.

Matt and Jon jumped and high fived each other in midair as some of the other bulbs turned on. Kurt blinked at the smallest amount of light, now able to see the Warblers around him. He instantly searched for Blaine, whose head was tilted back to watch the middle spotlight glimmer.

The speaker systems bordering the spotlights crackled and a proverbial voice pondered, "You guys okay in here?"

Simon spread his arms out, basking in the artificial radiance, and beamed up at the ceiling, "Adam, you're an angel. Did you fix all this?"

"N-no," the Head of East stammered and peeked his head through the little plate of glass, looking down at the stage. He clicked buttons as he talked. The sound was heard in the speakers. "I went to check on the utility room with the Dean and everything was working. It was like someone flipped the power switch off, then turned it back on."

"Let's hope that doesn't happen again," David muttered.

Blaine had to blink several times for his eyes to get used to the change. The first person he saw was Kurt, standing in front of the piano bench by James. His hair was a little out of place with a lock of hair hanging in his eyes and, as if he knew Blaine was watching, pushed it back.

With a content look at James, Kurt sat down and pulled sheets of what was probably music into his lap. James sat down on the other end of the bench and looked over his shoulder as he flipped pages. He pointed out things in the music and paused to explain weird markings.

The next group he saw was William and Carson. They were occupied with texting each other though they sat no more than five feet away. Blaine rolled his eyes. No surprise there.

Cody, Matt, and Jon took the center of the stage. Cody was just now standing up and brushing himself off from behind hunched behind the pair. The golden rays of the spotlight caused his already pale brown hair to be lighter; his eyes looked more green than hazel as he straightened his tie.

Matt picked a bit of lint off his shoulder and he swatted at his hand. Jon, with a grin, picked at Cody's other shoulder, which earned a swat, and the whole cycle repeated until Cody thrashed and leapt back. Jon's and Matt's faces progressively turned a shade of red from laughing at the pixie-like boy.

Simon, Wes and David were grouped in a trio on the far side of the risers with their heads low. David's voice, even when he tried to whisper, dominated. Words floated across the stage, like "soloist" and "Regionals" and "songs." Blaine started off in their direction and they immediately became silent.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to get past how they dropped the conversation so quickly.

Simon turned around to face him. "We were just talking about Ms. Lovett." The two others behind him seemed to sigh.

"Where is she?" The discussion before appeared to be nothing about the slightly insane Warbler director, but he let it go without a second thought; he'd find out later if it was important.

"We have no idea," said Wes and he tucked his hands in his pockets. "She's usually here. She doesn't miss a rehearsal for anything."

"Don't remind me," David said firmly. "Remember when the Teachers' Quarters were flooded by a pipe burst and instead of drying off, she came to class? That was weird. She was dripping water everywhere." He shuddered.

"Hey, at least she was on time," Blaine pointed out. "It's probably no big deal. Markus might have called her out for something that she couldn't refuse, like a family emergency."

The three boys nodded, considering the possibility. They watched as the group of Warblers mingled onto the stage, talking with one another. William hummed a tune that got some of them singing again and soon the auditorium was filled with a Beatles number. Simon leaned back on his heels.

"Maybe she should not come to rehearsal more often," he said and the others didn't skip a beat in agreeing.

* * *

"Clarisse, you need to go back to the Teacher's Quarters," Markus ordered as he stuck his head out his office door.

The usually energetic teacher turned back lazily and sniffed. She snatched a tissue from the front desk and held it to her nose. She tossed it in the waste paper basket by the secretary's desk before taking the entire box with her and cradling it under her arm. She moved to the office doorway.

"I'm fine," she practically slurred and just talking made her head spin. She blinked.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" The Dean sat down at his desk and held up his hand. Ms. Lovett squinted and leaned forward so far she almost toppled over if it hadn't been for the door frame.

"I thought this was about me being sick, Todd," she said, agitated, "not about my eyesight. I mean, _really_."

Markus sighed and put his hand down. "What are you doing down here anyway? You should be in bed, getting rest."

"Rest, schmest," Clarisse mocked and swung herself into a chair in front of his desk. "I don't need rest."

"You need rest," he said adamantly. "And medicine. Have you been taking any cough syrup or allergy medication?"

"Why should I? It'll blow over in a few days. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the auditorium. My birdies are probably wondering where I am." Ms. Lovett attempted to push herself out of the chair and ended up dropping the tissue box at her feet.

"Clarisse, classes ended an hour ago," Markus said. "I think they're all back in their dorms by now."

She looked crossly at him and sat back down. "Way to be the bearer of bad news."

He held up his hands and looked down at the papers scattered across his desk. "I'm just saying. You need rest and medicine, that's all. Go back to the Teacher's Quarters. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll get better."

"I'm fine," she insisted as she leaned over the pluck the tissue box from the floor. She set it in her lap. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Even if class was still going on, you couldn't teach the boys," he said slowly. "You're probably contagious and would spread whatever you have to the choir. Regionals is coming up, isn't it? You wouldn't want everyone to be sick for that, would you?"

A pondering look crossed her face. "No, but the end of January is coming up and I haven't given them the last song we're singing! I'd rather not be unprepared for the competition. You know how important that is to us, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, but—"

"No buts!"

"Clarisse!"

"What?"

"Are you drinking cough syrup by the bottle or something?" he asked bluntly.

Ms. Lovett chuckled. "If I was, I would be better right now. What do you ask?"

_You're delusional and look like you're going to fall out of your chair. _"No reason. I want you to go back to the Teacher's Quarters and get some rest. I'll call in a substitute to watch the Warblers, if you want."

She laughed again. "Psht. My boys don't need a substitute. They can teach themselves just fine. None of the teachers here can read music let alone teach a group of experienced singers about it, anyway. If you let me, I'll be better tomorrow to teach them."

"You can't get well overnight," Markus said and tapped the mouse of his laptop to illuminate the screen.

"I am Clarisse Elizabeth Lovett and I can do anything," she said with a straight face.

He stared at her before looking down at the papers on his desk. "That's it. I'm calling a sub to cover your class tomorrow. Go back to bed."

* * *

"No, you're doing it wrong. You typed it in wrong." He shook his head and took the calculator from Blaine's hands.

"I typed it in the way you told me to," Blaine argued, but let Kurt have the device.

"No," Kurt said again and stared down at the screen, "you didn't put parenthesis around the equation before you hit the solve button."

Blaine leaned over to get a better look. "I thought I did."

"Well, you didn't. The way you put it in, you would've gotten far from the right answer." Kurt disregarded the fact that Blaine was deeply invading his air space and let the calculator linger in his hands. He gave it back with the correct equation flashing on the screen. "There."

"Thank you . . . I think." Blaine studied the screen and tapped a button. The equation vanished and he looked puzzled. He showed it to Kurt. "Was that supposed to happen?"

Kurt put his head in his hands. "You pressed the erase button, you idiot." He snatched the device and copied the equation from the worksheet.

"I seriously fail at Math," Blaine moaned and shut the textbook that was propped in front of them on the table.

The commons of North was empty of students. He and Kurt were the only boys occupying the room; the others were most likely in the school building or their rooms. Thus, the two had the commons all to their selves.

"I think that's a little more than obvious," he murmured, focused on the buttons. He retyped the numbers and set it back in front of Blaine. "There. Don't mess it up this time."

"I hate tutoring." He took the calculator and hit the enter button. An answer appeared and he scribbled it down. "Only twenty nine more to go."

Kurt stared at him with an eyebrow raised. He reached into his bag for his Physics unit review and smoothed it on the table in front of him. "I am not helping you with those. I've got my own things to worry about." He gestured to the review.

The words on the pages made no sense to him. The test was scheduled for a day later on in the week and he was cramming insanely. Science was his worst subject and as much as he studied and reviewed, he couldn't bring the average up past a low B. Kurt hadn't had much trouble with the course at McKinley, but Dalton's view on the subject was higher up and required him to put in twice the amount of effort, something he wasn't used to doing.

"I can help you study for that," Blaine offered as an excuse to not deal with his troubling numbers.

"No way. You're passing that class if it's the last thing you do," Kurt denied and stared at the review.

"You're failing your class."

Kurt looked at him. "I am _not _failing Physics." Blaine gave him a flat stare. "Okay. Not yet, anyway."

"Do you want help?" Blaine asked and pushed his Math textbook out of the way.

"I'm fine. I'll deal with it myself. It's my class, not yours."

"But you're helping me with Math. How does that work out?" Blaine asked with his eyes narrowed slightly.

"It doesn't."

"So I'm not allowed to help you, but you're allowed to basically do my work for me?"

Kurt did not look up from his review. He tried to focus on the conversation and the words he was mumbling under his breath. "Basically."

"That doesn't seem fair," Blaine pointed out.

"I don't play fair."

He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "That sounds like something I would say."

"Or mainly everyone at McKinley," Kurt added. He pictured Noah Puckerman saying things of the sort on a regular basis to any number of people. Possibly Finn, or even Sam. Kurt shook his head. No, not Sam.

Blaine rested his elbows on the table, trying to find an easy way to approach the subject. He did not look at him as he asked, "Do you miss everyone?"

Kurt's throat was on the verge of closing. He bit the inside of his cheek. "I do."

"If you had a choice, would you go back?"

Kurt turned his head to stare at him incredulously. "Why would you think I would go back? Why did I come to Dalton in the first place?"

He held up his hands in defense. "I was only asking. You don't have to answer."

Kurt swallowed and sat up a little straighter. "For your information, no, I wouldn't go back."

After he said the words, silence settled over them like a thick blanket, pushing them down and pulling them under. For Blaine, it was a security blanket, to relieve him. For Kurt, it was a fire blanket, to put out the awkward and bad vibes in the room, hopefully suggesting a new topic.

Blaine bent the corner of a page in his textbook and Kurt ran numbly over the words on the review.

"And you know why," Kurt added hastily as an afterthought.

"If Karofsky wasn't there anymore. If you'd gotten him expelled," Blaine mused, "would you go back?"

"I don't know, Blaine." Kurt stood up and tucked in his chair. He swept his review into his bag and unhooked his bag from the back of the chair. "I'd rather not talk about it. I'm here at Dalton, which was my wish when Karofsky was threatening to kill me. I'd rather not go back, only to experience that again, thank you very much."

"Kurt." The single word, the name, was tired and also somewhat pleading.

"No, it's fine. I would stay at Dalton, even if Karofsky was gone," Kurt said dismissively.

Blaine licked his lips. "I'm sorry."

Kurt dropped his bag and it hit the floor with a thump. "You always apologize for everything. It's fine." He found himself retracing his steps, pulling out the chair and sitting down. His actions felt backwards from his words when he said, "I should probably go."

Blaine waited. He waited for the routine to take place. It was the routine that started with standing up and collecting his bag. He always said something after, whether it was a goodbye or the last words of a quick argument. The words were followed by sitting down again.

Kurt realized the habit off the bat and knew he was falling into it again. He'd gone through the cycle more than once, but enough to count on one hand. The surroundings at Dalton were different enough from Lima to gradually change how he acted, from the way he walked to what he said. He wasn't used to the new school quite yet.

"So," Blaine said now and pulled Kurt's bag into his lap. He fished through it for a packet of papers and held it up in front of his face. He read off the first question. "What is the definition of electromagnetism?"

Kurt forced a small smile.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Some of the Warblers, Kurt and Blaine included, are dragged down by lack of sleep; Adam is persisted by his sister's calling, caused by unknown reasons, but he has a pretty good idea; Cody finds out a little more about Kurt's life at McKinley than he wanted to; and Blaine has a secret of his own._


	7. Nightmares

_Good morning, readers! Well, it's morning where I am. Sorry for the late update. I'll be making up for that while I'm on Spring Break this entire week._

_What did everyone think of last week's Glee? It was just terrible to have to watch it with my dad sitting there. -.- Oh, my gosh. But I loved all the Klaine moments! 'Animal' was sexy enough for me!_

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David. But I do own all my OCs._

* * *

**Nightmares**

* * *

**One sleepless night last night, and there'll be another tonight. I'm not getting any sleep. - Sean Torgerson**

* * *

He stifled a yawn and glanced at the clock above the doorway. Twenty minutes left in class before they were released for the day. He looked at the surrounding class. The professor was marking papers at her desk and the boys were working quietly on a worksheet, textbooks open. He looked down at his own worksheet. The words blurred together as he yawned a second time and he pushed the paper away, setting his head on the desk.

_Maybe a little sleep would do me good right now. After all, it seems I can't get enough sleep during the night, _Kurt thought as he brought his arm up to cushion his forehead. _I'll just do the worksheet later, like after dinner, or before. _He yawned. _Or maybe before class tomorrow..._

Around him, pencils scratched against paper and pages were flipped. The boy behind him was murmuring to another across the aisle. The sounds lulled him into light state of sleep. His breathing evened out in minutes and all awareness of his surroundings melted away. It was equilibrium, tranquil.

But then he was forced jolted awake by a paper slapping onto the surface of the desk. He sat up straight, blinking groggily, and rubbed his eyes. He looked up to be confronted by the beady eyes of his Physics professor. His throat closed up and his heart almost stopped.

"Kurt," she said in a quiet, yet firm tone, "I don't know how things operated at your previous school, but I do not allow sleeping in my class under any circumstances."

He nodded nervously. "Yes, ma'am."

She forced a smile that was meant to be kind and helpful, but ended up as wicked. "Get a better good night's sleep. Maybe that will help your attentiveness in class as well as your grade," she suggested. She gestured to the paper on the desk. She licked her thumb to turn a page in the stack of tests in her arms.

"Yes, ma'am," Kurt repeated. The professor walked away and he snatched the test into his hands.

Red was marked across the page in various places. The sight of the first answer being incorrect made him almost want t burst into tears. He continued to the bottom of the page, where the total missed was tallied. Thirteen out of twenty.

He flipped to the next page of answers with his heart thumping. Not as many were marked, but it was still a sea of scarlet. The final page of the test was pleasingly blank. Kurt, blinking in utter confusion, turned back to the first page.

_No, this can't be __**my **__test, _he thought and scanned the header of the page. _She gave me the wrong test, she gave me the wrong test... No, she didn't. It's my test, all right._

There his name was, scrawled at the top in the blank in his neat handwriting. He turned the paper over angrily and, despite his professor's warning, put his head down on the desk again.

How could he have gotten such a low grade on something he studied for? It was impossible. He always studied for everything, even the minor quizzes. He wasn't incompetent; he knew what he was doing academically. Most of the time. But this time shouldn't have been the exception.

To make sure it was real and not a figment of the dream he might be still in, Kurt peeked at the paper again. It was still bleeding. He slapped it down with a heavy sigh and waited out the last minutes of class.

* * *

Markus sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, but would it kill you to talk to her? She's kind of getting on my last nerve."

Adam gave him a questioning look. "I thought I killed your last nerve when my computer system fried the main hard drive last year?"

"That was part of it. I still have the nerve, but barely. But that's beside the point." He cleared his throat. "The point is she keeps calling. Would it be possible to talk to her?"

Adam shook his head adamantly. "She hates me. In fact, she hates me so much, I don't know why she even bothers calling."

"Marissa is your sister," the Dean stated slowly. "I have no idea why she would hate you."

Adam leaned forward in his chair and gripped the armrests. "It's a personal matter."

He pushed the office phone across the desk. "Then fix the personal matter."

Adam was perched in one of the chairs in the Dean's office. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His mind was racing with the thoughts about what he was missing during fourth period History. Instead of working on a poster and finishing a textbook assignment, he had been called out of class to talk to Markus about something.

When the Professor had handed him the slip from the office, he immediately knew what was coming and considered playing sick until the day ended or until the phone stopped ringing several times a week; his plan was to hide out in the bathroom, but that was too middle school-esque. He most certainly did not want to repeat that phase of his life, even if the stalls here were nicer.

Markus sat back. "This has been going on since the beginning of the year, Mr. Harvey. Last September."

"She never calls like this," he mumbled under his breath.

His eyebrows rose. "Do you have any idea why this string of calls is so sudden?"

"Not at all, sir," Adam answered and raised his head.

Markus held the phone receiver out to him. "I want you to call her, please."

"I'm sorry, sir," he sighed and started to climb out of his chair, "but there's no possible way I can."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'd be able to talk to her without breaking something, and from the looks of your office, I'd say you have a lot of expensive things in here."

Markus set the phone back on the cradle and stared at the student, perplexed. "You really don't want to talk to her, do you?"

"Obviously," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish up a History assignment before it's sentenced as homework." The Precursor nodded once more and swept from the room before the administrator could hear him sniffle.

* * *

The last period of the day started as a total bore for the school's resident trouble makers. The last lunch hour had ended not long ago and the two boys were abandoned by the staff to clean up the kitchen. All the leftover food had been either thrown away or, if it was still edible, wrapped in saran wrap and placed into a cooler. The last part of the staff, a woman with hair piled in a bun, waved as she left the kitchen.

Dex grumbled a reply while Leo struggled to squeeze a hair net over his head. Dex snatched it out of his hands and tossed it at their feet.

"How many times have I told you? That's for when you cook, you idiot. You don't need it for cleaning," he explained and stalked off to the enormous wash bins. He peered over the edge and found he could almost fit in one of them. He reached for a rag and turned on the faucet. It sputtered once before squirting water. "I really hate this. You'd think after the first few kitchen duties that all ended the same way, Markus would give us something else to do."

Each kitchen duty they were given—eight, from the start of their classes at Dalton—had the same outcome: the dishwasher was broken, or the sinks were clogged, or the freezer was left wide open. Each incident was the product of their carelessness and ended up costing their parents money to replace what was damaged.

And each time kitchen assignments were given, the boys were sternly told to not do anything that would disrupt school life, but they were wasting their breath. It was a wonder how Dex and Leo stayed enrolled long enough to receive their three-week report cards.

"You don't have to be rude about it," Leo remarked and stood beside him at the sink. He bumped him out of the way with his hip and retrieved a wash rag. He turned and moved to the metal counters that ran along the sides of the various snack bars. He rung the rag out and soapy water leaked out. "It was partly your fault in the first place."

"Partly," Dex repeated as he mopped down the counters, "you mean like, ten percent."

He looked up from scrubbing. "Fifty is more like it. You had a part in this just as much as I did."

"Yeah, but who threw the first item of food?"

"That was you," Leo answered and flipped the rag over. It was rough and worn in his hands.

"Are you sure it was me?"

"I can't believe you don't remember squirting half a bottle of ranch on Blaine."

"Oh, yeah," Dex sighed glumly. "But that was fun. Did you see his face?"

"Yeah, I did, but it keeps costing us detentions and suspensions and helping teachers and all that crap I don't really want to do." He moved to wipe down the other side of the bar and looked up to see the time. The allotted range was three hours, one during fourth period, which they were getting pulled out of for another month, and two after classes were dismissed for the day. "Have you ever thought about trying to avoid trouble?" he asked.

Dex laughed and tossed his rag in the sink, leaning against the clean counters. "That's a good joke. What else would keep me from going insane?"

"School?" Leo reminded him, as if it were the most obvious answer. "Studying, perhaps?"

He tapped the side of his head as he moved to the refrigerator. "It's called being smart, something you and I both have. Our brains are supernaturally charged so that they retain enough information to breeze through the education system."

"And that's something I'd like to focus a little more on," Leo said.

There was a moment of silence when the fridge door opened and shut. Dex put his back to it as he peeled open a banana. "I've seen all your report cards. You've got straight A's in all your classes. What's the big deal?"

Leo dropped the rag. "The big deal? I'd like to put my super awesome brain power to good use and maybe graduate high school early instead of being held back for behavior."

"We're already ahead of the game here, man!" he exclaimed around a mouthful of yellow mush. He swallowed. "Both of us are taking classes that guys in their _senior year _are taking, and some of them are having trouble with the material! If we get held back, we've got two years until we're having classes with people our age. I don't see what you're so worried about." He jammed the last part of the fruit in his mouth.

The blonde shook his head and finished wiping the bar; he moved on to the next one. "Unlike you right now, I'm kind of worried about my future. I want to start my life ahead of everyone else. From the looks of it, your parents don't care about what you do in school; mine do, believe it or not.

"Yours will always be there to bail you out with some explanation or a wad of bills, but mine won't. They want me to get through college and be successful, but I can't do that when you're holding me back."

"Holding you back?" Dex repeated. He tossed the peel in the empty garbage can. "You're in everything that happens to us just as much as I am. You choose to do a lot of things with me that get us in trouble. I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Permanent. Record_," he said slowly. "It's something I've wanted to keep clean so I could go to a nice college. But now, if you add up all our shenanigans, I don't know if I'll get accepted anywhere, let alone Cornell!"

"Then stop hanging out with me if you don't want any more piled up on that little record of yours!"

Leo stared at him. "I'm just saying tone it down! I don't want to get in trouble as much!"

The door swung open, its hinges letting out a terrible squeal. "Why are we yelling?"

The boys jumped at least three feet at the sight of Adam standing in the doorway. He leaned against the frame and held the door open with one hand. Behind his glasses, his eyes darted between the blonde and the redhead. Leo dropped the dish rag and Dex clasped his hands behind his back.

"Why are you two yelling?" he repeated calmly, which was a sight for the two boys. Whenever the East Head appeared, he was always in some state of frustration, anger, or sadness. Seeing him calm and almost confused was new.

"No reason," Dex answered in a cheery voice. He swept to the dishwasher, fiddling with buttons. Leo shot him daggers. "We just prefer talking in loud voices."

"I should know that by now," Adam mumbled. He shook his head. "Do you need help with anything?"

Leo stooped to pick up the rag and at Adam's words, hit his head on the underside of the metal counter. He narrowed his eyes at him. "Why are you being so generous to us all of a sudden? The last few times we were given kitchen clean up, you laughed and told us to suck it up," he said.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class, too?" Dex demanded and peeked at the wall clock. The hour hand was perched on the large three.

Adam walked farther into the kitchen and let the door swing behind him. He listened to the sound of it swishing back and forth, back and forth, until it came to a rest. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Markus called me into his office and I was on my way back to History."

"Why were you in his office?" Leo wondered and tossed the rag across the kitchen; it landed squarely with a metallic thud in the metal wash bin.

Another shrug. "Academic reasons. I'm not failing a class, or anything of that sort. A few points dropped in one subject, and apparently that led to another few points dropping in another subject. But it's nothing for your poindexters to worry about. You've got your grades; I've got mine."

He hoped his lie wasn't transparent.

Dex let his jaw drop. "Adam Harvey, the smartest person I know—"

"Hey!" Leo squeaked in protest.

"—is letting his grades slip up?" He pretended to faint and grappled for a grip on the kitchen counter. "Oh my, oh my!"

"Shut up," Adam commanded in a flat voice. "You're being overdramatic."

"_You're _the one being overdramatic!" Leo claimed. "You're not angry at us for once! That's very overdramatic!"

"Are you trying to get me angry?"

"It's a likely possibility."

"I've got to get back to class," he said and dismissed the boys with the wave of his hand. He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and made a beeline for the door. "I'll see you back in the dorms when you're done playing kitchen."

Dex pushed himself back onto his feet and glared pointedly at the Precursor. "You weren't going to help us in the first place, were you?"

Adam stopped with the door halfway open. "When did you figure that one out?" With the roll of his hazel eyes, he exited the kitchen.

After the door finished swinging on its hinges, Leo and Dex looked to each other.

"You're still a worry wart," Dex claimed and tossed one of the damp wash rags at Leo.

It hit him directly in the face and he let it slip down into his hands. "And you're still annoying."

* * *

Kurt stormed out of a classroom with a paper crumpled in his hands. He brought the lowly-graded Physics exam to his face and looked over the answers that were marked wrong. Most of the first page, half the second page, and none on the third. He folded it in half, resisting the urge to rip it down the crease, and stuffed it violently in his bag. He collapsed on a bench in the hall.

Kurt had spent half an hour after class debating with his Physics professor about the less-than-stellar grade. It was his only failing grade in that course and he determined to bring the average up one way or another. He asked for the option of an extra assignment to boost the grade, but the professor rejected it point blank; she did not give extra credit.

Everything about that class was aggravating him to the point of screaming at a shrill high F: the boys in the class, the professor, the topics covered, the amount of homework each night. Even though he shouldn't have, he pulled the test paper back out and ripped it down the middle. He let the pieces fall to the floor and put his head in his hands. He studied for this test, right? Or was it the one before it? He couldn't remember.

Kurt stared at the paper on the floor through his hands. He slowly stood up and collected his bag, taking the extra time to make sure all his things were inside. He shrugged it over his shoulder and started off down the hall. He stopped. A pang of guilt struck him and he ran back to pick up the shreds of paper. He jammed them in a pocket on his bag and continued on his way.

The worst part about the failing grade wasn't the grade itself: it would be his father's face when he received the report card in the mail. If Kurt didn't pull the Physics average up soon, he would be on the other end of several phone calls back and forth from Burt and Carole. They had pulled quite a few strings to allow Kurt to attend Dalton, including giving up their honeymoon money. He did not want to take advantage of the opportunity and then let his grades slip.

Kurt ran a hand through his hair as he paced the stretch of hallway. He passed the choir room, which was still under construction after the ceiling incident. The spiral staircase came up on his right. It was currently empty. The only sound was his soles tapping against the floor as he walked.

He reached the end of the hall and pushed open one of the back doors. A cool rush of air greeted him and he strode along the curved pathway to the dorm building. A cluster of boys passed him in the opposite direction and a few waved. Kurt waved feebly back and ducked his head.

A voice called out, "Kurt!"

He turned around to see James breaking away from the group of boys. Kurt recognized it as a South Sorority, as most of the boys in North called them. They were small bundles of South students that traveled in tightly knit packs like animals and the name was meant to make fun of them.

North had apparently established it long before Kurt's arrival and originally called them clans, but some wise crack thought 'South Sorority' rolled off the tongue easier.

That was another thing Kurt figured out: North had a major deal with South. If anything could be joked about or messed with about the opposing group, it was done without question or remorse. It was something that Blaine had explained, but briefly and vaguely. Something here about a stolen solo, and another thing there consisting of various sports matches between wings; there was something about relationship drama, but he didn't ask any further about that in particular. He did not fare well with that.

"Hi," Kurt said, licking his lips.

"So," he said, leaning on one foot, "how are you?" He looked pale in the light, like a sheet. Kurt had come to expect this in the numerous times he saw him, but this time he seemed hollow, like he wasn't there at all. His uniform appeared to hang on him instead of him filling it out; he stared at Kurt with a bright smile, but that was the only part of him that looked alive.

"Fine." He chose ultimately not to speak any further than that.

James nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked like he wanted to say more, but one of the boys impatiently called for him. He rolled his eyes, which appeared to glow in the overcast light. He shrugged off his blazer, though the air was chilling, and folded it over one arm. Underneath his sleeves were neatly rolled up to the elbows. The first thing Kurt saw was a thick red line.

Not the red that was one of the school's colors, but a deep, almost black, red. The line was stretched across his lower right arm, in the space of soft skin between his elbow and his wrist. Then navy fabric was draped over it before Kurt could make anything of it. He realized he'd been staring and looked up. His face felt warm and he looked down at his shoes.

"I should probably go," James said quickly and started to edge back in the direction of his group. His expression was apologetic, his eyes wide. "I'll see you around."

Kurt watched him back pedal almost in a hurry and within moments he was sucked back into the group. They let themselves into the school building and Kurt stood there for a moment. He breathed out heavily and turned to the dorms.

When he opened the doors to the dorm building, North wing's main hall was vacant. The doors to the commons were open and the sound of the TV buzzed to Kurt's ears. He made his way inside with a sigh.

Diego and a few other boys Kurt couldn't name were sitting in front of the television with a basketball game on. Cody was sitting at the long table in the back with his nose in an enormous textbook that could've been the size of his head. He looked up when Kurt dropped his bag on the table and sat down in a chair across from him.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively. He flipped a page in the book and scribbled down an answer in the packet that corresponded with the chapter.

"Considering I just failed a Physics test that is worth fifty percent of my testing average this semester," Kurt said, "no. I'm not okay." He buried his face in his arms.

"How did that happen?"

Kurt mumbled something inaudible.

"What?"

"I said, sheer blasphemy. I studied, yet I got a grade worth next to nothing. I'm telling you, it's blasphemy at it's best."

Cody set down his pen. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You don't need to apologize," he repeated, lifting his head. "I'll have to make sure to get perfect scores on everything else now, or my grade will drop even more."

"I'm available for help if you want any," Cody offered and went back to the textbook page.

"Please? I'll be forever in your debt if I end up getting though this six weeks grading period without being ineligible for Regionals or getting an email from my dad about how disappointed he is in me/"

He waved a hand at him. "Don't worry about paying me back or anything. We're friends, right? Friends do things to help other friends, including studying."

"Stop saying that." Kurt glared at him. "You make me feel like a bad friend because I haven't done anything for you."

"It's not about doing things for people. It's the thought that counts."

It was quiet. "Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a Hallmark card?" Kurt asked.

Cody chuckled. "Um, no. I think that one's new."

"Then you sound like a Hallmark card," Kurt complimented and dropped his head again.

"I'm trying to debate if thank you would be an appropriate response to that," he said and clicked his pen repeatedly. He looked back to his homework, leaving Kurt in a peaceful silence. Which didn't last for long.

"Cody, do you ever have this much trouble with classes?" Kurt asked and lifted his head.

He shook his head and wrote down an answer. "Not often. Why?"

"I thought I was going insane by thinking it was just me having troubles," he murmured.

"No, you're not," Cody answered. He set aside his homework. "When I first came to Dalton, it was insane amounts of work. One week we would be studying cell division, and the next, we'd be reviewing genetics. It was hard enough to deal with different things going on in all classes, let alone extracurricular activities. I was working my _butt _off for after school deals."

"Like...? It sounds like you did more than one."

"Oh, I did. Actually, I still so." He smiled pleasantly. "I'm in the Warblers, obviously. In the spring, I play baseball with Wes. And I cook."

Kurt stared at him. "Okay, I heard the words 'baseball' and 'cook.' Which one do I want to know about first?"

Cody laughed. "I guess I'll start with cooking, since you looked more confused about that than anything. I learned from my dad. He's a high-end chef somewhere in New York. He doesn't have his own show like Rachel Ray or whoever else, but he's good enough for me to learn from. He taught me everything I know, actually."

"So that's why you're always in the kitchen." Kurt remembered seeing the small boy in the North kitchen often when no one was around, like after curfew or early in the morning when everyone else was still asleep.

"You guessed it."

"So I take it cooking is your forte?" Kurt asked, smiling a little.

"It's more than his forte. It's basically his life," Thomas called unexpectedly over his shoulder. "When we were rooming together in freshman year, it was like I didn't even have a roommate. He was always in the kitchen making something for breakfast that morning or something to give to the Warblers after rehearsal. It was pretty insane."

Kurt saw Cody ducking his head, trying to hide his blush. "Okay, so I've learned you have a knack for cooking," he said. "Now tell me about the baseball part. That I'm still trying to connect. I mean, first the Warblers, then cooking, and now contact sports. I can't imagine you playing a contact sport at all, and then add it together with everything else is just insane."

Cody lifted his head and said, "I like sports and cooking and singing, so kill me for doing different things. I like baseball, okay? I played it when I was younger and continued through middle school and joined the team here. There's nothing more to be said about that."

"Where do you play?" Kurt asked and enjoyed his friend's annoyance with the questions.

Cody slapped his pen down, figuring he wouldn't get any more of his homework finished at this rate. "Catcher," he said shortly.

Kurt blinked. "Did I hear you right?" Cody? A _catcher_? The one behind the plate with the hockey gear on? Whenever Kurt watched baseball, which was when his father sat him down in front of the TV against his will, he always saw the catcher get beaten or trampled by the third inning at the earliest.

"Yes, yes, I'm a catcher," he said quickly.

"And he gets hit quite frequently, too," Thomas called with a grin on his face. He leaned over the edge of the couch to say, "Hey, Cody, remember last year during that came when you were trying to tag a guy out, but he completely knocked you down? You blacked out after that. That was brutal."

"Don't remind me, Thomas, or you'll be getting it," Cody muttered. He turned to Kurt, saying, "I was pretty beat up after that. It dislocated my shoulder and I was out for the rest of the season, not to mention the blackout. It should be interesting to see how I do this year since I haven't practiced in a year."

"Maybe if you don't get distracted during the games, you won't get hurt so often!"

Cody stood up and leaned across the table. "You were the one waving pom poms! It wasn't my fault!" He sat down contently when the redhead turned back to the TV with the roll of his eyes. He looked at Kurt, sighing, and said, "Plus, it was the heat that caught me off guard. But if it makes things less awkward, I play second base, too."

"Hey, Kurt, do you want a story about second base?" Thomas asked after overhearing the topic. Kurt could tell he was grinning by the tone of his voice. "I've got plenty of those to go around."

"Thomas, shut up," Cody commanded.

"Because there's a _really _good one when Cody—"

"Shut up, Thomas!" he screeched, his voice so shrill Kurt thought it would reach a high G. He leaned back in his chair, his face bright red, and was relieved when Thomas said nothing more.

"Okay, I can sort of see that. You being catcher, I mean," Kurt said. "But I can't possibly imagine you in the uniform." He grinned, which made Cody blush deeper. As hard as he tried, he couldn't imagine the small boy in a baseball uniform with a glove on his hand and a hat secured to his head. It was impossible, considering his thin frame and delicate manner.

"The uniform's a little stupid," he muttered and picked up his pen. He clicked it several times. "You wouldn't approve of it. I mean, red pinstripe pants and socks and navy tops with the crest and cleats. You'd think the school would have a better fashion sense than that."

Kurt chuckled. "You'll have to let me come to your games when you start playing so I can evaluate these uniforms. From what you say, I may have to do some tweaking."

He waved his hand at him. "Tweak away, Kurt. Tweak away. I'm sure the rest of the team would be grateful. We all hate it, especially in the heat. Who knew navy could attract so much heat?"

Kurt pulled himself into a sitting position and blinked tiredly. "So Cody knows how to cook like a pro, apparently, plays baseball, and sings in a prestige high school academy choir. Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

Instead of answering him first, Cody practically yelled across the room, "If you say a word about this to him, Thomas, I will put itching powder in your underwear drawer!"

"That was you? I thought Blaine told me it was Leo and Dex!" The redhead whipped around angrily and there was a clatter as his binder slid off his lap and onto the floor. He ignored it, only focusing on his friend.

Cody grinned and chirped, "Nope. It was me." Thomas grumbled something inaudible and turned around, leaving Cody triumphant. He looked back at Kurt. "Well, there are a lot of things, but I'm just trying to work with the things I _can _do and make them better." He smiled.

* * *

Blaine sat in the far corner of the library with his iPhone playing music, a book propped in his hands. The air around him was still and the librarian was out of sight. Although the lyrics to the Michael Jackson song were blasting in his ears, he was able to concentrate on the words on the page. He finished and flipped to the next one. The next chapter started there and he checked the worksheet assigned to him in Literature.

Blaine was supposed to read until chapter ten, and that was where he stopped with his thumb marking the page. He slipped a bookmark in and closed it to check reading in that novel off the list. He set down his pencil and sat back.

The music was soothing compared to the stress from classes. His grade in Math was grappling for a hold on a solid A, but was falling to a B. Somehow, he would get Kurt to tutor him. Even the slightest bit would help.

Literature was horrendous amounts of reading, all at one time. His head throbbed from the number of pages he'd read between the end of the school day until now. But at least he held a passing grade.

The grade in his first elective, German, was surprisingly staying constant and steady, though he bombed almost all the oral exams. He figured the massive amounts of daily work balanced it out.

The Warblers added the most stress to his day. The pressure of Regionals coming up, on top with Ms. Lovett being out sick for four days with a substitute who did nothing, was enough to make him pull his hair out. The director was back in class, but not as energetic as she portrayed herself to be.

That train of thought led him on to another one: his duet with Kurt. He told his friend that Ms. Lovett assigned them to it and that they would sing between the opener and the closer with the others providing backup vocals. Wrong. So what if Blaine left out the little detail that it was_his idea_ in the first place and that he suggested it to Ms. Lovett without her mentioning it?

Nothing Kurt didn't know wouldn't hurt him. In fact, the news would only put in another spring to his step, as if it didn't have enough already.

They had talked about the duet options only once and neither knew what to suggest. Blaine thought instantly of splitting a song by OneRepublic or Lifehouse, but considering Kurt's love for classics, he held back. In truth he didn't have anything prepared, and it looked like Kurt didn't either.

Blaine sighed and rubbed his temple. They would have to talk about the duet sometime later, but definitely before Regionals.

Then there was the closer, which was also undecided. He expected Ms. Lovett to leave it up until the last week, like two years ago. There was no way to decide on a song the week before and have the choreography worked out to perfection with the tune. It wouldn't end well: someone would fumble with the lyrics or trip during a dance move or stand in the wrong spot at the wrong time.

Blaine had experienced that only once in his time at Dalton, and that was the year he transferred.

The Warblers were competing in Sectionals and everyone was literally bouncing off the walls in excitement. In the end, the songs weren't properly learned in time and David accidentally pushed Wes off the stage. He fell into the pit, which held booby-traps of wires and electrical cords and speaker systems. He survived with a couple of bruises and scrapes, but their score didn't.

They weren't placed in the lineup at the end, which was devastating and embarrassing at the same time. With that incident in mind, Ms. Lovett stepped everything up at least five notches and choir wasn't socializing and occasional singing anymore. More like the other way around.

The song on Blaine's iPhone switched to the next on the playlist, to a song by Bruno Mars. He tapped the screen and the song changed to a different one, 'Waiting For The End' by Linkin Park. He allowed the song to play until the time was over before pulling the earphones out. He sighed and rested his forehead on the table. He jolted up a moment after and raised his head to pick up his pencil.

Sleep was another thing that was piling on top of the constant worry. He never got enough to satisfy him.

Blaine was usually awake from sun up until sun down with work and the Warblers. Even though he knew the opener for Regionals by heart, there was still the dancing routine. He kept up his appearance well despite his lack of fancy footwork. He scraped by with swaying and moving out in front of the group for the most part, but it was the involved steps like Sectionals that needed more work than usual.

Singing was second nature to him, but dancing _while _singing was not.

He stared at the books in front of him. He had already gone over all the homework he had stacked in front of him and did not want to go over it again to make sure the answers were legitimate. Again, another topic that topped his stress pile.

Blaine put his head in his hands.

The doors faintly creaked open, but he ignored it. They closed and shoes squeaked as someone walked across the library. Blaine heard them disappear behind a set of shelves, but they came back again, only louder this time. Then Blaine heard the chair on the other side of his table pull out and a bag was dropped on the floor. He lifted his head.

James Montgomery folded his hands on the table and stared at him with a sapphire gaze. He licked his lips before speaking. "Hello, Blaine."

Blaine slowly sat up and moved his homework to the side, watching him warily. "James." The boy's presence was enough to tempt him to look around for William or Carson; he never went anywhere without the two blondes at his side.

"Okay, I'm going to cut to the chase so you don't get too annoyed with me," he said abruptly. His tone was sharp, professional, adamant.

"What are you talking about?" Blaine stared at him.

James seemed a little irritated with his answer, but continued with what he was saying. "I can tell you don't like me, Blaine."

"Where _ever _did you get that idea?" Blaine mumbled with sarcasm as he reached for his book. He propped it open and held it in front of his face. James reached over to pull it down, glaring at him. Suddenly he didn't seem like the nervous boy Blaine had seen audition for the Warblers a short time ago. He reminded him of William and that scared him.

James closed the book, took it from Blaine's limp hands, and pulled it toward himself. His fingers brushed along the spine as he read the title. He said, "I want to talk to you. About Kurt, in particular."

"Kurt?" The name rolled off his tongue smoothly. "What's wrong with him?"

He laughed. "Nothing's wrong with him."

"Then why do you want to talk about him with me?" His stomach flipped and he felt his heart in his throat.

James licked his lips again. "I like Kurt, Blaine. Now before you get too defensive with me, I want you to know we're friends. That's all I mean by that. I like being friends with Kurt."

Blaine sat silently, watching him, watching his small movements, like brushing his fingers against the book's spine and flipping a few pages. James read the beginning of a chapter and discarded the book. He looked back up at Blaine. "Speak," he chuckled. "You're worrying me."

"_You're _worrying _me,_" Blaine rephrased. He glanced around the library to see the coast clear and he leaned in; James did as well. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Be as frank as you want," he replied sharply.

Blaine ignored the roughness around the boy's tone and continued with, "I don't want you messing with North."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me, James," he said coolly. "I don't want you hanging around everyone in North. I don't know what Will or Carson, or any of the other South guys say about us, but I want you to just stay with your own wing and not interfere with any of the others."

James cocked his eyebrow. "Is this about Kurt? The whole 'staying in my own wing' thing? Because if it is, I kind of don't want to leave." His eyes shimmered. "He's a very good friend, Blaine, and I want to keep him. I don't get a chance to be friends with someone so nice every time I move, and let me tell you, I've moved _a lot_."

The words sent chills up Blaine's spine. He could only swallow.

"So no," he decided promptly, "I don't think I'll be taking your advice today. Or tomorrow, or the next day. Kurt's one of my only friends, and I don't want anything to ruin that."

Blaine stared at him. He wondered, based on how many times he said Kurt's name over the course of the conversation, if he was really only friends with him.

"Cat got your tongue?" James asked, smiling. He stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. He glanced one more time at Blaine, waiting for him to talk, but he didn't. James patted him on the shoulder, still smiling, and left the library.

_He's in over his head, _Blaine thought instantly. _Way too deep._

* * *

Plastic clacked against the game board between Kurt and Cody. To pass the time until dinner, they were engaged in a game of checkers. It was the solution to their boredom after Cody had finished his note packet for History.

The commons were unusually empty for once: Wes had to discuss details about track with his coach and Blaine had to stop at the library for research. Kurt had offered to come along for extra help, but Blaine politely said no, I'll be fine, you've already got enough school work on your plate.

That left David and Diego fighting it out loudly on Halo after the basketball game had ended. Thomas sat on the couch next to them with a binder propped on his lap, still working on his homework, the eraser of his pencil between his teeth. His eyes kept flickering from his homework to the TV until he shuffled the work to the side to watch.

"Bad move, Kurt," Cody chuckled from the table on the other side of the room. He brushed his black game piece onto a square in the row closest to Kurt. "King me."

"How did that happen?" he sputtered and made a double take. "Wasn't that piece on the other side of the board in the last move?"

"No."

"Cheater."

"That's mean," Cody stated and crossed his arms with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"It's true," Kurt mimicked him and they both burst into laughter. "Start again?"

Cody nodded and they separated the pieces until Kurt had all the red ones and Cody the black ones. They arranged them on the board once more and started a new game. A few moves in, Cody asked, "Kurt, what was your old school like? You never talked about it when you came, and we saw them at Sectionals, so I was wondering..."

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek in thought. He concentrated on the checkered board and flicked one of his pieces into a diagonal box.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you want. I was just asking."

"No. It's fine." Kurt shook his head as Cody considered the state of the game. He chose his words carefully. "My school was nice, most of the time. I had good friends who talked to me and didn't ignore me." Cody gave him a questioning look, but he moved on. "We were all in the glee club together. There, I actually made friends with the people I least expected."

"Like who?" Cody wondered. "Your turn."

Kurt looked down again at the board. He took in where all the pieces sat and moved one of his red ones. "To start off, there was Quinn Fabray. She was the head cheerleader and..." He cut out at least five minutes' worth of words with an inward wince at the little blonde girl. "Long story short, a lot of things happened to that poor girl until she joined the glee club. Enough said."

Cody nodded and contemplated his next move while waiting for Kurt to add on.

"There was Puck—Noah Puckerman. Bully of my high school and resident jock of the football team. He always slushied me last year—"

"_Slushied_?" Cody repeated and the word tasted funny in his mouth, like braces or retainers for the first time. "That sounds dangerous."

Kurt shuddered. "Not the most fun thing in the world. Basically, people who think they're higher up on the food chain that you come around and throw flavored ice at you. It's like getting bitch slapped by an iceberg. The dye stings and doesn't wear off for a few hours. Thank goodness you were never there. It would've ruined your hair." Cody grinned and ran his hand through his light brown hair. "I got slushied on a daily basis for about a year."

"And you became _friends_ with the people who did that to you?" Cody asked incredulously and pointed out that it was his turn.

Kurt nodded and moved a piece without thinking about the consequences. "I survived mostly because my step-brother defended me. You'll meet him when we go to Regionals. He was on the football team and, for awhile, was stuck in the middle of choosing sports over glee, and, obviously, he chose glee. He stood between me and the jocks. Then everyone was on my side."

He didn't dare speak a word about the year he spent chasing after Finn, only to have his heart broken. He edited it out nicely.

"Everyone..." Cody gestured with his hand for him to continue.

"The rest of the glee club," Kurt answered. "We grew in size in order to participate in competitions, because at the beginning, we only had five members. After plenty of blackmailing and trickery, we had New Directions. There was Mercedes, and Tina, and the Cheerios—"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

Cody shook his head and looked at him, confused. "The Cheerios. What is that?"

"It's the name for the cheerleading squad," Kurt explained and leaned forward, making sure Thomas or David or Diego weren't listening. "I actually was on the squad for awhile because it meant more time in the spotlight for me."

"You were on the cheerleading—!"

Kurt practically lunged across the table to slap a hand over the boy's mouth. Thomas glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes after a moment. Kurt sighed and pulled back, saying, "Don't say that out loud. If everyone knew, I would not be able to live that down. And even worse, they'll want to see _pictures. _Possibly, a uniform that may or may not be hidden in my closet at home."

"But you just told me," Cody objected and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Because I trust you."

"Have you told Blaine?"

"...No." The thought hadn't crossed his mind.

Though he and Blaine knew each other like the backs of their hands, there were a number of things Kurt kept to himself in order to be spared from embarrassment, like his time on the Cheerios. He never said a word about the Lady Gaga episode—those clunky heels were somewhere in his closet with the outfit—or the time he tried to live up to his father by acting straight and dressing differently. Little things like that stacked up in his mind.

"Why didn't you?" Cody asked and leaned his elbows on the table top.

"I don't know," he answered quietly and met his eyes. That was the honest answer, not something Kurt had to scramble thoughts for. Silence filled the space between them and Cody looked like he was debating whether to speak or keep his mouth shut. His fingers twitched on the tabletop and he clasped his hands together. Kurt looked away and studied the wall behind him.

Diego yelled, "Sucker, I win!" and that jolted the two boys.

David followed with, "No, I win! Dex and Leo rigged the game, I swear. The player two game controller wins by default, even if your score is the lowest!"

"You have the player two game controller and you still lost."

"Shut up!" David stood and crossed his arms defiantly. Kurt and Cody had a difficult time stifling their laughter and the previous conversation was forgotten easily.

Slowly the time used in the commons ticked away over Halo and checkers and Thomas' loud complaints about why his homework was illogical, therefore he didn't have to do it. The time came around when many of their stomachs growled louder than David's and Diego's back and forth shouts. Relieved, everyone put whatever they were doing on hold for dinner.

When they arrived, the dining hall was filled with several glorious scents. Steaming pasta with red sauce in one direction and fresh-from-the-oven pizza from another. Other aromas Kurt couldn't identify off the top of his head floated around.

The floors were flat white marble and the tables were similar to those in the lunch room, but with a nicer surface. Covering most of the ceiling was a cage-like window structure that compared with the one over the main spiral staircase in the school building. The dining hall was located in the middle of the dorm building, which allowed students from other wings to mingle and eat breakfast and dinner together.

Kurt's mouth watered as he stood behind Cody in one of the various food lines. So many choices were laid out in front of him: pasta, pizza, salad. The menus changed frequently and the food that was served one day was different from the day before.

He scooped one spoonful of salad onto a corner of his tray and a serving of spaghetti in another. To top it off, he chose a slice of garlic bread and a bottle of water. Cody opted for the salad and a slice of cheese pizza, dripping with cheese. They left the line and made a beeline for the table in the corner. Simon and Adam greeted them with smiles when they approached.

"I am officially starved," Cody said and fell into his chair. He took a gulp of water and sighed.

"Did you eat breakfast?" Kurt asked. He picked at the salad leaves on his tray.

"No."

"That's why, then. You need to eat in the morning, Cody."

"Yes, mom, I know," he teased. As he talked he folded his slice of pizza so that the triangle point touched the crust. "But I have to go in for Warblers every morning, so today I didn't have a chance to eat before first period. And you know how teachers are about eating during class." The others gave him looks and he elaborated, "Ms. Lovett's giving me voice lessons. You know, to prepare for Regionals."

Adam nodded. He dragged his spoon around the edges of the bowl of mushroom soup that sat in front of him. "How is class anyway?" he asked. "From what I see from the AV room, it doesn't look like you guys are doing much singing. All you ever do is talk."

"You would know," Simon said and bumped his shoulder. "You spend so much time in there, it's like you're setting up camp. I wouldn't be surprised to see you had a sleeping bag and a packet of trail mix with you."

Adam turned red and clanked the spoon against the side of the bowl. "Very funny," he said. "It's not like I have anything else to do anyway. My technologies professor doesn't really care what I do, as long as it involves electronics. The AV room is electronics. If I show up for the beginning of class and came back for the end without an open wound, she's okay with it."

"If you spend so much time watching us, Adam," Kurt piped up as he chewed on a leaf of salad, "you should join the Warblers. I'm sure you have a great voice."

"Good one. I tried singing in middle school and it didn't work out for me." He shook his head and brought the full spoon to his lips. "First performance of the year was our Christmas concert and I had a solo in 'Silent Night.' I passed out onstage during the first verse."

Simon choked on his mouthful of chicken and took a moment to recover. Adam sighed and stared into his soup.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Cody said gingerly. He took a bite out of his pizza and swallowed.

"It was," Adam assured him. "My parents were so worried about me and my mom actually rushed onto the stage. I could never show my face in that choir room again. Mostly because I sucked in the first place, and that people kept reminding me of the incident." He released his spoon and pushed the soup in front of him, clearly finished with eating.

"But still, Kurt has a good idea," Simon said. "If you ever want to join, ask Ms. Lovett and I'm sure she'll give you an audition. It would be fun. Consider it?"

Adam looked doubtful, but smiled. "Fine. If it will keep you guys from bugging me about it, I'll look into it."

"Awesome!" Cody cheered.

Instead of saying anything else, Adam only smiled.

Kurt swallowed his mouthful and watched the two boys. He gestured to them with his fork. "I don't mean to be rude, but why don't you sit with everyone else in your wings?"

Simon and Adam glanced at each other. "I find it easier to get along with people in North," Adam reported promptly. "All the boys in East are a bunch of bumbling idiots who don't know what they're doing half the time."

Kurt said, "But Nick seems nice enough. Matt and Jon included."

He shrugged. "As I said before, I don't get along very well with people in my own wing. I make friends outside my dorm, like you and Cody. People I don't see often are the ones I end up liking."

Kurt settled with the answer and didn't have to look up for Simon to jump into his explanation.

"I'm representing a wing of selfish snobs and all around jerks who don't have a caring bone in their bodies," he stated around a mouthful. "William is the prime example. The mascot, even. We get so much crap about being jerks, but it's true."

"What happened?" Kurt asked. "Why do you have such a bad reputation? The wing, I mean."

Simon turned to stare at Adam. A silent conversation went on between them that consisted of eyebrow raises and nods and finally Simon turned forward. He looked at Kurt in all seriousness and said, "A few years ago, before any of us started boarding, there was a controversy between North and South. Someone did something to another student in the opposing wing and it all got out of hand from there."

"What did he do?" Kurt asked. He noticed as Cody stiffened beside him and Adam shrunk behind the cover of a book.

Simon had trouble talking. "He cheated. A lot."

Kurt stared at him in confusion. "In what?"

"Sports. Relationships, mostly," he answered. "Apparently, he was a player and kept hooking up with guys from both wings. Hence the reason why everyone thinks we can't be trusted on a regular basis."

"And most of them can't," Adam murmured and looked over the book. "Be trusted, I mean."

"And from there, the imagination is free to run and the entire school thinks we're all sex addicts and relationship ruiners and jerks," Simon said quickly, moving back to his meal, signaling the end of the conversation.

"Then why are you the Head? You're nothing like that," Kurt wondered, despite Simon's desire to stop talking. He turned around in his seat and searched the dining hall. His eyes landed on the back of Will's head. He recognized Carson sitting next to him. James sat at the end of the table, fiddling with an untouched salad and a full bottle of water.

He looked up, noticing Kurt, and smiled. Kurt returned the smile and quickly turned around.

Simon continued. "What wing you're in doesn't automatically determine your personality, though it might as well. I'm not a jerk like most of the people who live in the dorms around me." He shrugged.

"He's the exception. He wouldn't hurt a fly," Adam mentioned.

Simon rolled his eyes at his friend's comment. "And I'm the Precursor because, apparently, I'm the only one who can keep things under control in the dorms," he said. He chuckled before speaking. "Last year, Will tried for Precursor and was one day into the job when he almost started a fire in the commons.

"It was around Christmas, so everyone was looking forward to lighting up the fireplace. Markus was coming around for a dorm check and found the fire almost catching on all the potted plants around it." Simon paused to smile widely. "Needless to say he was stripped of that position on the spot."

"That makes sense."

Adam nudged him in the shoulder without looking up and said, "Tell him how you stopped the fire."

"I think it's enough that Will isn't Precursor anymore. It's enough for me," Simon replied bitterly. "I would've been just fine with the south side of the dorms burning down."

"The East wing is right next to South."

"So?"

Kurt sighed and finished the rest of his dinner in silence. Simon and Adam continued their discussion over the layout of the dorms and Cody excused himself to discard his trash. Kurt turned around in his seat, swinging his legs around, and pulled out his phone to check the time. It was almost seven, the time when dinner ended and the dining hall usually closed for the night.

Kurt dialed Blaine's number and waited. The dial tone blared in his ear over the course of eight or so rings before it cut to voice mail. Kurt mouthed the words to Blaine's voicemail, seeing as Blaine ignored calls more than he answered them. He disconnected it.

Cody came back to the table and gave him a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

"Blaine's not answering his phone," he answered and stood up. "I'm going to check the library. I'll be right back."

"Can I have the rest of your bread?" Cody called as he left the dining hall.

* * *

Bright lights flashed in Blaine's face and pop music came from one corner of the room. He shielded his eyes with his hand and glanced around. He could see nothing but the space around him. Hardwood flooring was under his feet and he took a step forward. The spotlight followed his move and he stepped back; it moved back with him.

A hum of voices grew in front of him and he squinted his eyes to see, but nothing was visible. His heart beat so loudly, he could hear the pulse in his ears and felt it blocking his throat. The surroundings were confusing and unfamiliar and Blaine had no clue what to do.

Black bordered him on all sides. The harmony faded away and he glanced in that direction. Blaine looked up, despite the lights, but couldn't get past the bright glow. The music started again, only louder, and he jumped.

"From Westerville, Ohio," a booming voice announced from a distant corner that caused him to jump, "please welcome the Dalton Academy Warblers in Regionals performance!"

The tune that played was unrecognizable and Blaine tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He whipped around to find elevated stairs like the ones of the stage at Sectionals. The Warblers were not there. No one was there. The sight paralyzed him. The song played on and he didn't know what to sing. He had no idea what to do. He stood there with fright filling his veins.

He was alone on stage at Regionals.

* * *

"Blaine."

He mumbled and a hand tapped his shoulder gently.

"Blaine, time to wake up now."

A hand shoved his shoulder and nearly pushed him onto the floor. He woke, startled, and blinked groggily. The library was back again and the sweet smell of old books comforted him. His homework still sat in a pile on the table in front of him and formed a fence.

_It was a nightmare, _he realized and sat up. _Only a nightmare. That wouldn't happen at Regionals. Everyone is still here and we're all going to Regionals together. I won't be alone._

"Thank goodness, Blaine. You scared me." Kurt stood on the other side of the table with one hand over the left side of his chest. His face was flushed. "I mean, you wouldn't answer your phone after I called and you weren't in the dorms. It freaked me out a little, to be frank."

"What happened?" Blaine asked and rubbed his face. He was still astounded by the intensity of the nightmare that had flashed before his eyes. The smell, the sounds, the sights... They all had felt so real and lifelike. Then there was the real life nightmare he'd experienced just before, with James.

Blaine watched Kurt. He couldn't possibly tell him about the encounter. What would he think of him if he tried to talk about James, but made it sound like an accusation? What would Kurt think of him then? But the words still worried him: _I want to keep him. _Surely he didn't mean them in the same way Blaine thought they did... right?

He shook his head. He was being paranoid. It was nothing. Nothing at all.

"You didn't show up to dinner," Kurt replied, jogging him out of his thoughts.

"I must've fell asleep," he said and stood up to collect his things. He shuffled almost everything that was on the table into his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. He looked to Kurt. "What? What are you staring at?"

Kurt's trailed his finger across his own cheek. "You have, um, a little..." He gestured to it instead of finishing his sentence.

"What?"

"You have a paper mark on your face."

"Damn." Blaine swiped at his cheek, irritated. He felt the indentation under his fingertip and dropped his hand. "So. Dinner?"

"Is most likely over," Kurt finished sadly and picked up one of the textbooks that remained on the table, clasping his hands around the worn spine. "It took maybe fifteen minutes to go through the North dorms, then all the way to the main campus to find you. By now, all the tables are being cleaned." He led the way through the library with Blaine following.

"Then I guess it pays off to have a mini-fridge stowed away in the back of my closet," he said proudly and struggled with the weight of his bag.

Kurt laughed. "Do you have a supermarket in there, or just a few apples and a banana like David and Wes do?"

"Let's say I'm pretty stocked in case we need to start hibernating."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and followed him to his room. He nagged Blaine tremendously the moment he opened the door to his room shortly after.

"You still need to clean your room, you know," he said as they entered the room. The rest of the hall was dimly lit and pleasantly silent. They had checked the dining hall on the way to the dorms to find it empty and clean and almost dark.

Simon was assumed to have gone back to South, and Adam to East. Cody had answered his door to one knock when Kurt checked in; Thomas was seen sprawled across his bed, flipping through channels on the TV.

"I know," Blaine mumbled. He pushed aside his laptop to set his bag down on the desk in the corner of the room. Kurt gently placed the textbook he had cradled on the walk from the library to the dorms on the night table. He smoothed out a spot on the foot of the bed and sat down. As soon as he sat, though, he got back up and treaded to the dresser.

He returned to the bed with the remote to the box television that stood on the dresser and clicked a button. A fuzzy picture came into focus and Kurt clicked through the channels absently. He had never watched too much TV, only to see award shows or presentations on TLC.

"May I admit that I'm jealous of your television? It's much better than mine," Kurt asked as Blaine walked in front of him, loosening his tie. Kurt swallowed and pulled his eyes back to the screen, trying not to notice how easily the decoration slipped from his neck.

Blaine hung on a hanger in the closet and unbuttoned his blazer, leaving the signature white button down shirt. He laughed. "Yes, you may. There's nothing on anymore, really. It's mostly commercials or reruns of old movies. I don't get as many channels on it as I'd like to."

"Good enough for me," Kurt mumbled. He flipped through the channels out of boredom. Blaine was right: there were only seventeen programs playing, including the weather and three stations of news and business reports. The rest were movie channels like Hallmark or Lifetime.

He stopped on a showing of 'When Harry Met Sally.' The picture was crummy and flickered, but the audio was still good enough to put images in Kurt's mind. He turned to Blaine with soft eyes. "I love this movie."

"I know," Blaine smiled, "considering you always watch it whenever there's a weekend. I can hear it across the hall."

He ducked in front of the television to retrieve a cotton tee-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants; he disappeared into the bathroom to change and Kurt finally let out his breath that he had been holding for what was like hours. He let himself fall back against the bed, the remote falling out of his hand, and closed his eyes.

The audio from the movie played on and Kurt listened carefully to the dialogue. He knew the lines from memory and mouthed them when they came up.

The bathroom door swung open and Kurt shot into an upright position. He made a grab for the remote in an attempt to look the same as he was earlier. Blaine padded barefoot into the room and paused to hang up his shirt and slacks in the closet. His sweatpants hung far past his ankles and his shirt fell to his knees. Kurt stared at how oddly frizzy his hair was. He plopped down on the other side of Kurt, making the mattress shake a little.

He fell back and covered his face with his hands. Kurt turned the volume down when he spoke.

"I am completely beat," he sighed. "I will sleep for days if time allows me."

"But when I found you in the library, it looked like you were taking a nap," Kurt said.

"That doesn't count," Blaine said with a chuckle. "It doesn't really count as sleep if you had a bad dream."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and set down the remote. "You had a bad dream while sleeping in the library?"

"Forget the fact about the library; I don't think the place influences dreams. Yes, I had a bad dream, period."

Silence.

"Are you going to tell me what it was about?" Kurt asked finally. He turned to face him, kicking off his shoes and crossing his legs Indian style.

Blaine shook his head and ran his hair through his dark curls. "It wouldn't really apply to you."

He rested his elbows on his knees. "Try me."

Blaine took a moment to gather the correct words to use and in what order to use them before speaking. He sat up and pulled a pillow into his lap. He hugged it to his chest. "I have stage fright."

Kurt's response was to cover his mouth to prevent giggling. He found Blaine staring at him blankly and stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. "You don't look like the type to have stage fright. I mean, you sing the lead in all of our performances, including Sectionals. You're_Blaine, _for crying out loud. You don't get stage fright."

"There's something you didn't know about me. I've had stage fright for the longest time."

"You do exceedingly well at not showing it," Kurt mused and stood up from the bed. His hands were restless at his sides and he moved to the headboard, arranging the pillows neatly and straightening the cases over them.

Blaine watched him curiously, increasing his hold on the pillow in his hands, but continued. "I think that's good. Right?"

"The dream?" he prompted as he smoothed the sheets.

"Oh, right. I was in the middle of a stage by myself. There was music playing. It was like what happens when you get a really catchy song stuck in your head, but you can only remember the tune, not any of the lyrics or the title." Blaine stopped, choosing his words, then started again. "Some announcer called on the Warblers and it was during Regionals."

Kurt stopped with the sheets tucked in his hands. "Regionals?"

He nodded. "It was our time to perform and I was the only one on stage. No one else was there with me and, to be honest, it scared the shit out of me."

"Language," he reminded.

"You say it, too," Blaine said back.

"You use it more often than I do."

"Anyway, I was alone and expected to sing by myself," Blaine concluded. "It was terrifying, not knowing what to do or being prepared for it. Let's just hope that does not happen during the real thing."

He stood up from the bed, moving to the other side of the room. He slid open the door of the closet and bent over for a moment to rummage through the mini-fridge. He emerged with a shiny red apple in his hand. He offered something to Kurt, but he shook his head.

"It won't," Kurt assured. "We wouldn't be able to compete in Regionals with only one singer. I think it's safe to say that will not be happening."

"Unless Will decides to go on a rampage and kill a few people," Blaine added under his breath. Kurt hurled a perfectly-neat pillow at the back of his head with a loud laugh. Blaine dropped the first one he was holding to catch the second one. "What? You never know. We could wake up the morning of the performance and Wes would be gone. It could happen."

"Yes, because William is a serial killer," Kurt said with a smile. "Uh-huh. I'll believe that."

"You should," he replied and threw the pillow back to Kurt.

He squeaked and held his hands up in defense. He batted it away and it landed on the floor by his feet.

Blaine laughed and said, "You have got to work on your coordination skills." He picked up the pillow that he had dropped and took a bite out of the apple.

"I know, I know," Kurt mumbled and retrieved the pillow that had been thrown at him, fluffing it in his hands. He placed it neatly at the head of the bed. "I don't know how I can sing and dance at the same time without hurting someone."

Blaine shrugged and reached for the remote. He clicked up the volume. "Miracles happen."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Mercedes Jones makes a surprise call to Kurt to check up on things, in which she ends up being the bearer of bad news; Blaine takes a step in wooing Kurt with his idea for their Regionals duet; and Kurt discovers a humiliating video from last year's Valentine's Day Brunch._


	8. Goodness Gracious

_Good afternoon, readers!_

_First off, may I say that Glee this week was just absolutely amazing? I don't think I've ever felt more excited for a Glee episode. And that Klaine kiss was... spectacular. I wish I was Darren. Or Chris. Jesus Christ, I almost got a heart attack from that. So many klainebows were produced from that one moment._

_And Quinn, I'm sorry to say, was being a bitch in my opinion. But hey, that's what I think. Rachel, props to you for singing and making me tear up. You go. Goodness gracious._

_Pavarotti, you will be sorely missed. And you will be mentioned in this chapter, as well._

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, or Kurt, or Blaine, or anything else from Dalton Academy. I do own Cody and Thomas and Dex and Leo, who will be making quite an appearance._

* * *

**Goodness Gracious**

* * *

**Love is a mental illness. But it's a pleasurable one. – Fran Lebowitz**

* * *

Kurt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket after dinner. He stood in the kitchen in front of the ancient microwave, watching his mug of water rotate in the center, waiting for it to bubble. Taking his eyes away from the door, he pulled out the iPhone and glanced at the screen, only to smile. He tapped the answer option and held it up to his ear.

"Hi, Mercedes," he greeted happily.

"_Hey, boy. How's everything going down at that birdy prep school of yours?"_ Her tone was excited and he could hear her grinning on the other end.

Kurt laughed and shifted the phone between his ear and shoulder in order to carefully grab the mug from the microwave as the time ended. Steam burst out of the open door and he carried it over to the sink with a pair of oven mitts. "Dalton is not a birdy prep school. And it is doing just fine, for your information."

"_Are you keeping up with everything? Are all the guys nice? Do you get solos?"_

"Slow down. One question at a time," he said and waited for the hot water to cool. "You sound like my dad during his nightly calls."

Burt Hummel was prone to calling at least three times a week, always precisely at 7:30, because that was the time after dinner that Kurt spent finishing up homework.

He called to check up on his son, to ask how things were doing. He'd asked several times how well his grades were looking, though he was staring at the online grade book on the internet as he talked. He asked about Blaine and Kurt always noticed his voice would get a little nervous when he said his name. Blaine was always fine, of course, and then Burt would ramble on about other things at home (Finn making the winning basket in his most recent basketball game was currently the headline in the Hummel-Hudson household).

After Kurt always got a little tired of hearing his father's voice, Carole would steal the phone away from him, talk for a few minutes, and hand the phone to Finn. The line was quiet when it got to his step-brother and he only mumbled a few words, like I miss you, or have fun at school, bye. Then Kurt would listen to his dad talk for another fifteen to twenty minutes until Kurt finally interjected with the excuse of homework.

As much as he loved his family and missed them terribly, he wished they wouldn't talk so much.

Mercedes laughed._ "Hey, you know I can't help it. I gotta look out for my boy."_

"I know. Yes, everything is fine. The classes are harder, but it's nothing I can't handle." He could hear her silently doubting him. "It just means I need to work harder at keeping a steady grade. A few more books and another hour of homework aren't so bad. The Literature course here is astounding. I'm starting to enjoy it more than McKinley's."

"_I'm glad that's working out for you." _She sounded glum but thrilled for him. She paused as something shifted on the other end before she came back to the receiver. _"And yeah, McKinley's is a little boring. Drama is going on at this school like you wouldn't believe. Even more than the Quinn pregnancy triangle crap."_

"What's going on?" His mind instantly went to the relationship drama that had been going on in glee club before he left for Dalton. But all the lines between everyone got tangled. Everyone was hooking up with everyone these days.

"_The usual: Quinn's still drooling over Sam and Artie's still dating Brit. Tina's got the hots for Mike and his abs and Puck is still trying to get Lauren Zizes to date him for some reason. But get this: Rach and Finn broke up."_

"What? You had me at Puck and Lauren, which is incredibly odd, but Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson? Finchel? The glee club's power couple? You're kidding me." The pair had been peachy at the Christmas dinner. What could've gone wrong between them?

"_Not kidding. The one and only. They got mad at each other because Finn was making googly eyes at Quinn, who, need I remind you, is dating Sam. Everything's been a wreck between them since. And actually, Finn's being a jerk for snapping at her for accusing him. Basically, everyone's mad at someone for some reason."_

Kurt sighed. "Well, I guess I might have to take Rachel's side on this. She sounds more innocent in this situation."

"_Finn's your step-brother!" _she declared.

"Alright, alright, I'll take Finn's side!"

"_You're too easy to persuade, boy! I thought you and Rachel were friends?"_

"Then I go back to Rachel! Sheesh!" He sighed into the receiver. "It's not like you're not on her side, too."

She let out a big breath. _"Okay, you're right. I am on Rachel's side. But only because Finn is being a grade-A jerk. And because of this momentous break up, she's back to being Miss Independent like she was before."_

"That's good, isn't it?" Kurt pulled open the drawer to retrieve a spoon and glanced at his disfigured face in the metal. He moved it up and the reflected imaged moved down.

"_It's not heading in the right direction, that's for sure."_

"What does that mean?"

Mercedes didn't answer for almost a minute and Kurt checked the screen to make sure he was still connected with her. He kept the call going and she finally answered with, _"Sorry about that. Got neighbors over and didn't want them to overhear. Anyway, I heard Rach talking about something to Mr. Schue after class one day. It sounded pretty severe. Ended with a lot of crying and even more tissues. I think she wiped out his supply for the next two weeks."_

"What do you think she was talking about?" Kurt asked as he dug through the pantry for a red cardboard box, courtesy of Blaine and David. "Are you sure she isn't going through one of those 'I'm not important' phases that she usually has?"

"_I don't know. I can't think of anything that she would talk about." _Mercedes paused. _"She most definitely wouldn't talk to Mr. Schue about her deal with Finn. And she doesn't cry when she talks about singing. Something else is going on and it's basically tearing the group apart. She starts fights with Finn for no reason, right in the middle of class, and drags Quinn and Sam into it, occasionally bashes Santana for something irrelevant, knocks a chair over, and leaves. In that order. We haven't had a decent rehearsal in forever."_

"What's going to happen to New Directions then?" Kurt gasped. It was possible to see Rachel single-handedly tearing apart the group. She was prone to attracting attention and it was second nature to her, so ripping the group into pieces wouldn't be hard.

"_I wish I knew. If I did, I would tell you in a heartbeat. I love Rach, but seriously. This girl needs to get her priorities straight. She's got them tangled so many times it's insane."_

Kurt nodded. "She does. So you're sure it's not singing that's making her like this? If it's because of Finn, I will have some serious words with that child when I come home for the weekend."

"_I don't think it's Finn, to be exact, even though she's mad at him for the breakup. I think it's more of the stress of glee club." _Mercedes sighed._"Like you said before, she's probably going through that phase again where she doesn't feel appreciated because everyone else is getting solos all of a sudden. She hasn't gotten one and it's killing her."_

"Solos?" he repeated. "Mr. Schue has been handing out solos?" The thought reminded him of the solo he would've gotten, had he stayed at McKinley for Sectionals. The idea of what the song could've been drove him insane.

"_Surprisingly, yes. He's been generous lately. He's giving them out like business cards. And he actually gave us the choice of what we wanted our weekly assignment to be instead of making it up himself last week. Whatever meds he's taking right now, he needs to take more of it."_

Kurt laughed. "I'm sure he's just going through a phase, too. But back to the solos. Have you gotten one yet?"

She dropped silent on the other end.

"Mercedes?"

"_No, I haven't."_

"And everyone else has gotten one?"

"_Basically. I mean, besides Rachel."_

"Mercedes! Talk to him about it or something!" Kurt exclaimed. "Don't sit there and watch everyone else get one!"

"_I know, I know. Maybe he's got one for me already and is saving it for later? I don't know."_

"That could be, but if you don't get one by next week, you _have _to ask him. Promise?"

"_Promise."_

"Good. Now, to answer your other questions," Kurt said and resumed what he was doing earlier, "yes, all the guys here are nice. Splendid, actually. They were gracious on my first day of class last semester and I don't know what I could've done without them. The New Directions are coming to Regionals with us, right?" The word came from his lips easier than it usually did.

"_You know it. We're prepared to whip some ass."_

"Bring it. I'll have to introduce you to some of them _we win_," he gushed and tore the tab off a white packet. He upended it over the still-steaming mug and stirred the brown, powdery contents with a spoon. "Cody will love to see you, and—"

Mercedes squealed. _"The little short guy that you talk about all the time?"_

Kurt chuckled and mixed in a packet of miniature marshmallows. "Yes, the little short guy. Actually, he's not as short as I say he is. Don't let him hear you say that, though. You will most definitely get it then and then you'll tell him I said it and everything will go downhill from there."

"_I'll make a note. Is Blaine still there?"_

"No. Wes and David decided to turn on him and force him into the street, only for him to get crushed by the bus that brought us to Sectionals like Regina George in 'Mean Girls'," Kurt said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Obviously, he's still here. Even Regina comes out with a broken neck, so you can guess what happens. No, I'm kidding about Blaine getting hurt. I don't see why he wouldn't be here still." He tossed the wrapper into the trash and moved back to the cup of scalding hot chocolate.

"_Just checking. Since Sectionals, everyone has been talking about him."_

"Really?" Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Everyone as in...?"

"_Mr. Schue, mostly," _she explained. _"Every time we get off task, he reminds us about you guys and how you probably practice from sun up to sun down, just to sway and sing for three minutes at a time, and you're still pretty good in the end." _She laughed.

"We do _not _sway and sing," he snapped kindly. "We simply have a different view on dancing." A smile crossed his face. "I think a few of them can do back flips, if you wanted to know. William and Carson talked about something like a gymnastics routine during the closer. We're pretty capable of being more than a stool choir."

He chuckled at the memory of the two South boys questioning Ms. Lovett about it. Will and Carson had asked her the day she'd gotten back and instead of turning them down, she'd had a smile on her face and told them she would consider it and try to add it in during the closer. A high five was initiated shortly after.

In the end, it turned out her absence was because of a forty-eight hour stomach bug, but she was back to teaching like normal. While she was gone, they had to deal with a substitute, one of the boys' professors. But she only sat at the piano, reading a book. She never said a word except to tell James to stop trying to push Nick off the stage.

Nick had accidentally missed a step off and bumped into the dark haired boy, which almost knocked him over the edge and into the pit. James, annoyed with him suddenly, tried to push _him _off the stage in return. There was certainly a brawl going between them and Kurt thought someone was going to take a punch to the nose before Simon stepped in.

Everything had been resolved without blood spilled, thank goodness.

"_Sure, sure. I'll believe it. For now," _Mercedes said, and that brought him back to the present.

"So deal me in on what you've got planned for the competition," he requested.

She sounded regretful when she spoke. _"Sorry, Kurt, but you know I can't do that. As much as I wish I could, I can't. Mr. Schue has sworn me especially into secrecy. He knows we're really close and he doesn't want me slipping secrets out."_

"Darn," Kurt said in fake sadness.

"_Hoping to steal ideas?" _she asked with a laugh.

"No, I just miss everyone," he answered honestly. "If you guys do 'The Drowsy Chaperone' or Lady Gaga, I might have to get up on stage and sing with you, no matter how many restraints the Warblers put on me."

"_Wouldn't that get your bird team disqualified?"_

"True. That's a double whammy. I wouldn't be able to sing with my friends and the Warblers would never let me live it down. I don't even want to think about the consequences that would await me when we got back." He shuddered.

"_But you miss us?" _He could hear Mercedes smiling on the other end.

"Of course I do. So much that it's hard to talk to you and resist the urge to get in my car and drive to Lima right now," Kurt said with a chuckle.

"_You're two hours from here."_

"Time is but a number," Kurt answered warmly. "I'll come visit you this weekend. How's that?"

Mercedes was beaming. _"Deal. But if you come and we go to Breadstix, which will most likely happen, you must bring Blaine with you. I sort of miss that curly haired freak."_

Kurt traced circles in the fine material of the counter. He chuckled inwardly at Blaine's hairstyle. "I thought the last time was boring for you?"

"_It wasn't so bad. I should've expected it in the beginning," _she said. _"So bring Blaine with you and I'll make sure we'll talk about something we can all relate to, and not fashion magazines or football."_

"Something Mercedes-ish?" he guessed.

"_Yes, something Mercedes-ish."_

Kurt nodded. "Okay. I'll bring it up with him before this week ends and get back to you. I don't know if it's confirmable yet, considering we're way behind on Regionals music. Our director might keep us over the weekend to catch up. But I'll let him know."

"_Good. Is he treating you alright?"_

The question was so straight forward and sudden that it surprised him. He choked unceremoniously on the first sip of his drink and burned the tip of his tongue. He set the cup down. It took a moment to find the words. "What do you mean?"

"_You know... about the bullying and everything. He's still cool about that?"_

"He's been very supportive, considering he went through it at his old school. I don't see why he wouldn't be. We're friends."

"_Uh-huh. I'm not so quick to believe that last part," _she laughed. _"I'm still waiting for that Facebook status to change."_

He felt his face grow warm and thanked the God—or whoever was up there—that he was alone in the kitchen. Most were probably in the commons or their rooms, finishing up homework for the next day. If he strained, he could hear Wes and David battling it out over Call of Duty and Thomas egging them on. "Don't hold your breath."

"_Why not? I thought everything was okay between you two?"_

Kurt paused to glance at the doors and lifted the mug to his lips again. "There is really nothing going on between us, so there's nothing that could be okay or not. We're just friends and that's all we'll ever be."

"_You never know if you don't take a chance."_

"What if I take a chance and it turns out he doesn't like me like I like him and I make a fool out of myself?" Kurt asked in a hushed tone. He moved around the bar, bringing his hot chocolate with him, and stood in front of the windows to watch the faint orange tint on the clouds disappear. The sun was sinking below the horizon to introduce Westerville and Lima to nighttime.

"_There will be something seriously wrong with his head if he doesn't like you," _Mercedes said calmly. _"You're an amazing friend with a great sense of style and an even greater voice. What's not to like?"_

"I can think of a few things," Kurt murmured.

"_Like what? Last time I checked, Kurt Hummel was a flawless human being. So flawless, in fact, that he doesn't count as a human. He's immortal."_

Kurt raised one eyebrow and blew the steam away from his cup. "I don't know about that."

She snorted. _"Please. Kurt Hummel is fabulous and there is not a thing people don't like about him."_

"Again, I don't know about that."

"_You're worrying yourself too much," _she said. _"Don't overreact about a silly little thing like that."_

"'Silly little thing'?" he repeated rather harshly into the receiver. He whipped around to make sure no one was watching him silently. When his scan proved negative, he turned back to the phone and whispered, "Love isn't a silly little thing to me, Mercedes. I'm in love with him. I don't know how I can survive rehearsal with him sitting next to me every minute of class. I am head over heels in love with him, and there is nothing that can change that."

"_Okay, okay, I get it. Calm down," _Mercedes said quickly. _"I'm only saying that there are other guys out there who are like you. If Blaine doesn't turn out like you hope, there's others out there. Everyone's got someone waiting on them, even if you haven't met them yet. Even me. Puck didn't work out and whoopy-de-do. I'm still fine and dandy and waiting for that one guy to show up in my life. He will show up."_

"But you're a _girl,_" Kurt said and set his mug on the table behind him. He leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass. "It's easier for you to find your significant other. You're also very attractive and very appealing to the eye. You're straight and that springs you higher up on the list. I'm gay and I'm a guy. If I pawn after someone that I start to like, my chances are slim to none." _Finn was just one example._

_"You should be thanking me," Kurt had said as he stood by his locker, clutching his bag. "All I did was help you realize that your school girl fantasy running off with Finn was nothing but a fairy tale."_

_"You think I'm living in a fairy tale?" Rachel had shot back. "If I were second or if I were fiftieth, I'd still be ahead of you because I'm a girl!"_

It had hit home.

"_Kurt?" _Mercedes' voice brought him back.

The cool glass was starting to make the skin of his forehead feel numb and he pulled away from the window, rubbing his temple with two fingers. The sun had gone past the horizon, leaving nothing but blackness in its path. The clouds started to cover most of the sky, so the stars were not visible. The only light in the room was the small lamp that sat in the corner of the kitchen.

"I'm fine, Mercedes," he said immediately. The door squeaked and his heart skipped a beat. He looked up to see Blaine, smiling, slipping through the door. He returned the smile and gestured to the phone. "I have to let you go, Mercedes. Blaine's here. I'll talk to you later tonight." He ended the call before he could hear her testimony and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Hi, Blaine," he said.

"Hey. So, Mercedes call?" he asked and leaned against the counter.

Kurt nodded and collected his mug. He moved into the kitchen and started to arrange the counters and close the hot chocolate box. Blaine reached over to touch his hand and pull the box away. Kurt's heart leapt into his throat.

"Before you put it away, may I have some?" he asked and studied the nutrition label on the side.

"It's your box," Kurt said without his voice cracking like he thought it would and released the top.

Blaine kept talking as he moved to the cabinet and pulled open the door. It amused Kurt to see him stand on the tips of his toes to reach one of the ceramic cups. He pulled it down to see Kurt with his hand over his mouth. "What?"

Kurt waved his hand at him, still smiling. "Nothing. Continue."

Blaine let it go without investigation. "So how is Mercedes? It's been a while since we all had dinner at Breadstix."

"She's fine," he answered and watched him fill the cup with water and stick it in the microwave. "She told me to tell you that they've got some pretty sharp stuff for Regionals and to watch out. She also wants dinner this weekend, the three of us together."

"That would be like her. Tell her I said I'll look at our schedules. Ms. Lovett's got us booked tight until Regionals is over," Blaine commented and pulled a packet of powder from the box.

His obsession with the hot drink started back at the beginning of December, when it was starting to get bone-chillingly cold. Kurt always saw a Starbucks cup with him at all times. Blaine took to buying a few boxes of the stuff to stock the pantry in the North kitchen until at least the end of March.

"And sharp stuff? Did she give you any insight?" Blaine added.

"She was being smart and didn't," he said sadly and sipped his drink, "because she knew I would tell you and the rest about it."

"Darn." Blaine pulled the bubbling cup of water from the appliance and quickly set it on the counter to avoid burning his hands. He shook in the mix and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. "That would've been helpful. They _were _pretty good at Sectionals. That girl's solo at the end was impressive."

"Ah, Santana," Kurt sighed. "She does have a good voice, but she doesn't get to show it much. I wouldn't be surprised if she got another solo for this competition as well."

"If that happens, we'll be prepared," he assured and dumped a few marshmallows in. He licked the spoon before placing it in the sink.

Kurt stared at him. "We've got an opener, an undecided duet, and no closer. I don't see how that's prepared."

"Everything will come together soon..." Blaine trailed off. "At least, I hope so. I know we don't have half the show pulled together, but we've still got three weeks. If Ms. Lovett doesn't give us the closer by Monday of next week, I'll have Wes and David call a meeting to decide. There's plenty of options out there that would go well with 'Use Somebody.'"

"Like?" Kurt said around the lip of the cup.

He pursed his lips. "Maroon 5 came out with a new album last September. We could pull a song from that and work out a dance routine. Or we could take suggestions. Didn't you have some songs up your sleeve?" He grabbed a marshmallow from the bag and popped it in his mouth.

He swallowed. "Yes, I did. But some of them are a little too weird for a high school choir to put on."

"What did you have in mind?"

Kurt answered by pulling out his phone and opening his music collection. He tapped the third playlist to pull it up and scanned through the song titles. "There's some from Broadway that I thought we could pull off... 'Wicked', 'Beauty and the Beast'—"

"'Beauty and the Beast'?" Blaine repeated and Kurt nodded. He asked why it was so important and Blaine answered, setting down his cup, "My cousin, the weird one I was telling you about, is in love with that movie and the musical. Every day over Christmas break when we had family visit, she would prance around the kitchen singing 'be our guest, be our guest!' Like this." He twirled around in a circle with his arms above his head. "It got a little annoying after the first day."

Kurt watched him, amused. "See? You could pull that off nicely on stage."

"But I don't think I could practice the accents enough to get the right in time," he said and leaned back against the counter again. "They're French, I'm not."

"I'm sure David could help us out a little," Kurt mentioned. "He is the only one out of the Warblers taking that course this semester."

He shrugged. "What else did you have listed?"

Kurt bit his lip. "You're going to think this is over the top, but 'Dancing Queen.'"

"Isn't that a song originally by girls?" Blaine asked and eyed him with curiosity.

"Never mind," he muttered, sensing Blaine's discomfort with the song. "I have Mika on here—"

Blaine set down his mug and straightened his tie. "You know what? Instead of talking about the closer, can we talk about the most amazing duet for us to sing?"

Kurt raised his head and stared at him. "You found a duet?"

He laughed, "Is there an echo in here? Yes, I found one. I spent last night on YouTube trying to find something good. It took me most of the night, but I think you'll like it." It worried Kurt when he turned to the kitchen doors.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Blaine answered with one hand on the door, "I have to get my guitar and the lyrics. You might not know it." A moment later, he escaped into the hallway.

_He can play the guitar? _Kurt thought. _Since when? And what makes him think I won't be familiar with the song? Please, I know the whole freaking music world like the back of my hand. _He rotated the cup in his hands and it hit him.

_Wait, oh, my god! He found a duet! He found something to sing! What if it's a love song? I don't think I could handle singing a love song with him! Does he have any idea what he's going to do to me if it's a freaking love song?_

As quickly as he left, Blaine returned. In one hand was a stack of papers clipped together and in the other, he held the neck of an acoustic guitar. He vigilantly placed the instrument on the wide island and flipped through the pages. He handed Kurt a section and kept one for himself. The one he kept, Kurt noticed, had musical chords printed on the front.

"The Script?" Kurt questioned as his eyes scanned the title scrawled across the top of the page. He had heard the name of the band before and scrolled down to read the song name: You Won't Feel a Thing.

He seemed almost embarrassed and he smiled timidly. "Yeah. This song was actually one of the ones I learned to play during my middle school years, when I was..." He cleared his throat. "Bullied. It helped me through that, and it sort of reminded me of you. I don't know. Two birds with one stone, you know?" He picked the guitar off the counter and found Kurt watching him wondrously. "What?"

"I had no idea you could play the guitar," he said numbly.

He shrugged and picked at a string. "Few years..."

"Goodness gracious," Kurt sighed. "You need to tell me these things. Do you have a secret alter ego as well?"

Blaine chuckled. "Who would I be?"

"Someone famous, obviously."

"Obviously."

"That way you get the fame and amazing outfits," Kurt added. "You know I would wear a hat with a feather every day."

Blaine tested one of the notes; it emanated a soft G. "I could see that happening. It would surprise me if you didn't get out of Lima to pursue a career in either singing, acting, or fashion designing. Or a combination of all three would work."

"Who said anything about acting?"

"I can guess, can't I?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay," Kurt said and waved the papers in his hand, "enough about me. Back to the duet."

"Right." Blaine nodded and set his copy of the music on the counter to look at. His eyes constantly darted between the chords on the page and the strings of the guitar. With each movement of his hand, a gorgeous melody sounded. Kurt found it difficult to not stare when Blaine started to sing.

_I've been kicked right down, I've been spat in the face,_

_I've been pulled, weighed down to the lowest place,_

_I've been lied to, shamed, I have been disgraced,_

_Been ex-communicated from every holy place,_

_I've been beat up, and robbed and I've been left for dead,_

_For the way I look, for the things I said_

He gestured for Kurt to enter with the quick wave of his hand and the music stopped momentarily. He started back up as Kurt joined in and started to sing with him.

_When trouble thinks its found us,_

_The world falls down around us,_

_I promise baby you won't ever feel a thing,_

_You won't ever feel a thing._

Kurt swallowed several times through the song to prevent his throat from being dry. He looked up to see Blaine watching him, not the music, and nearly lost his place amongst the lyrics. His heart beat rapidly and he could hear it above the singing.

_Cause I will take it on the chin for you,_

_So lay your cuts and bruises over my skin,_

_I promise you won't feel a thing,_

_Cause everything the world could throw,_

_I'll stand in front, I'll take the blow for you,_

_For you._

Kurt swayed gently with the faint beat as the words flowed from his lips. Blaine smiled and strummed through the song. The way Blaine looked at him made Kurt's stomach turn inside out. It took all he could to keep going through the song and not stop to hyperventilate.

Blaine started to gravitate around the kitchen, getting more into the song. He performed a little turn and smiled widely.

_I've been cleared on the street, I've been left in the cold,_

_Had my dreams held up, had them shot full of holes,_

_I've been laughed at, burnt, beat and butt of the joke,_

_I've been lit up in flames, I have gone down in smoke,_

_I've been stabbed in the back,_

_While they promised the earth,_

_Tried to keep my head high for all I am worth._

Kurt found himself putting down the music and following along with whatever Blaine sung. His words were off by half a beat since he didn't know them by heart, but he didn't mind. He was mesmerized by Blaine's playing and bumped into the counter. He hoisted himself up onto it and swung his legs back and forth, grinning until his face began to hurt.

_Outside our double glazing, I know a war is raging,_

_I promise baby you won't ever,_

_You won't ever feel a thing,_

_Yeah everything the world could throw,_

_I'll take the sticks, I'll take the stones for you,_

_For you._

Silence followed the end. It formed a fragile barrier around the kitchen, so delicate and thin that if any noise was made, it would shatter to pieces. Kurt bit his lip and looked straight down at the floor. He felt his cheeks flare and was afraid Blaine would see it if he looked at him.

Blaine broke the glass with, "How was that?"

_Flawless. Breath taking. Enough to make me fall even more in love with you, if that was worldly possible._

"Good," Kurt said instead and slipped off the counter. "I liked it."

Blaine smiled warmly and pulled the guitar over his head and running his hand along the strap. "That's good. Is it something you'd want to sing for Regionals?"

He licked his lower lip in thought. "Possibly. I mean, yes. I'm more concerned whether Ms. Lovett would let us sing it."

Blaine resorted to the open bag of marshmallows sitting on the counter and dug out a handful. He chewed on one as he talked. "She probably would. She's a sap for alternative music. That's how, at the last Valentine's Day Brunch, I got to sing 'Hero / Heroine' by Boys Like Girls."

Kurt cracked a slight smile and felt his blush slowly go away. "Why that one? Their songs aren't that good to start with."

He seemed to hesitate. He said around a mouthful, "Well, I like them. Everyone seemed okay with it and I got a good applause after. Ask Wes about it and he'll tell you it was stuck in his head for the next week."

"Remind me and I will." Kurt stepped forward to pull Blaine's hand from the bag to grab as much as he could. He pulled back with a handful and put one between his lips. "So what's this about a Valentine's Day Brunch?"

"That," he said as soon as he swallowed, "is the day everyone looks forward to. It's usually the day of or the day before the actual holiday. All the parents are invited by e-mail from Ms. Lovett to see us put on a show. We sing, we dance, we get applause, and then we eat. The week before, everyone prepares a dish and stores it in the dining hall. After the performance, the parents and their sons are invited to eat and socialize. It's more fun than it sounds, trust me. Last year, Cody made a batch of sugar cookies that was to _die _for."

Kurt laughed. "I can only imagine. Let me guess: everything was in pink, right?"

"Basically. We decorated every inch of wall space from the auditorium to the dining hall in streamers, banners, and balloons," Blaine described. "It looked like someone threw up Pepto Bismol and pink shrimp. Not fun to clean up after it was all over."

He nodded. "Sounds like fun. Did Ms. Lovett stick you in some outrageous outfits or did you stay in uniform?"

"Uniform, thank goodness," Blaine said, relieved, and tossed a marshmallow in the air above him. It soared a good distance before falling into his open mouth. "I don't think I could show you last year's tape if we were all in pink and hearts and crap."

"There's a tape?"

"Damn." He put his palm to his forehead, closing his eyes.

"I want to see it," Kurt said adamantly and chewed. "I will make you go get it and we will watch it. I want to see it."

"No, you don't," Blaine insisted. "It was horrible. My singing was terrible."

Kurt hurled the rest of the white pellets at him. "Who says I wanted to see you sing? I get to see you sing every day. Maybe I want to see everyone else."

"Do you really want to see them dance to Beyonce's 'Crazy in Love'?" He smiled and brushed marshmallows off his shoulders.

"Now that you mention it, yes. Yes I do. It would be interesting to see."

"I don't have it. You'll have to ask Wes for it—"

A grin crossed Kurt's face and he shot from the kitchen in a flash, the doors swinging behind him. Blaine made a double take before scrambling for his guitar and the music. He scurried out of the room after him.

* * *

"Give it to me!"

"No! Never!"

"You don't need to see it!"

"Yes, I do! You brought it up in the first place!"

"That was just an example!"

"You brought this on yourself!"

Thomas, his arms crossed over his chest, leaned down to whisper to Cody, "This is quite interesting. I've never seen Blaine try a headlock on anyone other than Wes when he told David about his growing obsession for Katy Perry."

The shorter boy nodded, his eyes locked on the pair grappling for the bulky VHS tape. "That was fun to watch. I wish I'd gotten that one on tape, too. Wes was sore for a week and David wouldn't stop laughing."

"Give it to me!" Blaine commanded loudly. The tape had fumbled out of his hands and was now in the other boy's.

"Never!" Kurt declared and clutched the tape to his chest protectively. "I'm watching this thing if it's the last thing I do!"

"You'll never see the light of day again!" he threatened as he tried to pin Kurt's arms behind his back, and unsuccessfully at that.

"I'll take that chance!"

"You don't want to see it!"

"I thought we covered this already!" Kurt cried and fell to his knees on the floor of the North commons. The Valentine's tape was huddled against him, tightly wrapped in his arms. "I'm seeing it!"

"No!"

"I will _bite _you!"

"What?"

Cody muttered, "I'd really like to see Kurt bite him. It would make for an even more interesting night. I mean, Kurt and Blaine fighting over a tape about last year's performance is thrilling, but that would make it better."

"What about drawing blood?" Thomas suggested. "I could deal with that, too. I would be like a full-blown wrestling match."

Cody grinned widely. "Too bad they don't have the masks."

"True. But they do have good fighting techniques. I never knew Kurt could bend back that far."

"Warblers gone wild," he said.

"We'll turn it into a TV show and make millions."

"Fifty-fifty on the profits?"

"Deal." Thomas nudged his shoulder and smiled.

Kurt cried out and the tape was freed from his arms. Cody and Thomas leaned forward in their seats to see Blaine scramble on his knees to retrieve it. He scooped it into his hands, satisfied, only to have Kurt pounce onto his back, wrapping his arms around his torso and pushing him face first onto the rug. Cody winced and Thomas laughed hysterically. The tape was crushed under Blaine's body and Kurt attempted to roll him over, which didn't work well.

"Give it up," Blaine demanded. His voice was muffled. "I'll never let you see it!"

"Yes, you will! If you don't give it to me now, I'll torch your guitar and throw your phone out the window!" Kurt threatened.

Movement stopped. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

Blaine squirmed from Kurt's grasp and wriggled free. He clutched the tape. "I'm still not letting you see it."

Kurt gritted his teeth and sprung forward. He pushed Blaine back against the floor, looming over him, pinning his shoulders down firmly. "Give it to me in the next five seconds and you will be spared."

He looked from side to side, but never loosened his grip on the tape. "How did you get so strong?"

"I was on the cheerleading team at McKinley," Kurt said hurriedly and felt Cody beaming behind him. "Hours of intense training do that to you. Now give it—"

"No way! You were on the cheerleading team?" Blaine repeated in awe.

There was enough time in Blaine's moment of shock for Kurt to snag the video from his grasp and sit back. He crossed his legs Indian-style and ran his thumb over the section of duct tape over the front that read _Valentine's Brunch Performance 2010._

Blaine sat up and rubbed his shoulder, defeated. "Fine. But if I let you watch this, you must show me something that represents your time in a skirt."

Kurt laughed, but his face immediately fell flat. "Don't be silly, Blaine. They don't let guys wear skirts. I was wearing pants."

"Whatever, but I still get to see you do a basket toss or something."

Kurt didn't look up. "Fine, deal." Then, "Wait, what?"

Blaine looked amused and he pointed at his friend. "Ha! You promised! A deal's a deal. You see me sing horribly and I see you on the top of a pyramid. I think we'll be even." He stood up and offered his hand.

Confounded, Kurt took the offer and he stood up, the video still clutched in his other hand. He sighed and shook his head. "Okay. Deal. Can I please watch this thing now? I've been waiting twenty minutes and most of the time, I was wrestling for it."

"Be my guest," he said and gestured to the VHS player underneath the TV. It was partially hidden by the Xbox console and a tangle of black wires.

Kurt stared at it for a minute without looking away. Finally he looked to Blaine. "Help? Oh, gosh, I can't believe you have a VHS player. I can't work one of these to save my life. I can barely deal with Blu Ray."

Blaine rolled his eyes. He grabbed the remote, punched a button, switched a few menus and pressed another button on the player. Kurt handed him the tape and he slid it in. The machine gave a lurching noise as it processed the information and a picture popped onto the screen, followed by the sound of people talking loudly. He clicked the volume down to a suitable level and sat back in one of the chairs. Kurt grabbed the empty spot on the couch by Thomas.

"This is the beginning of it," Blaine started off in a flat voice. The view was obviously from the AV room. Kurt recognized the stage below, but just barely. It was covered in pink and red and white, including the piano. The microphone had glittering white tinsel that would around the pole and it lined the edges of the stage. The curtains were drawn and the audience below was buzzing with excitement.

Ms. Lovett popped out from the break in the curtains and headed toward the microphone.

She said a few words into it before making a sweeping curtsy and disappearing behind the curtain again. A minute later they parted and the Warblers were shown. Kurt easily picked out Blaine in the front row, his hands behind his back and smiling cheerily. He glanced at his friend, who wasn't interested at all.

Thomas spotted himself in the back row and instinctively touched his hair. Last year, the style had been outrageously short and it had grown out since then. Cody beamed as he saw himself fidget at the left end of the second row.

Upbeat music sounded from the speakers above the stage and Kurt named the tune as one by the Rolling Stones. It wasn't shocking that Blaine stepped forward to take the lead. Kurt bypassed that fact quickly. Blaine moved with the beat of the song and his dancing style then didn't differ much from now. He made his way to the center of the stage with a skip in his step and a smile on his face.

In the duration of the Rolling Stones number, Kurt was snickering at the Warblers. He received three annoyed glances from the surrounding boys. The song ended on a happy note before quickly morphing into a Journey ballad. Of course, Blaine's voice was heard right off the bat. After the time spent with New Directions, Kurt wanted nothing more than to skip to the next part of the show, but endured it until the curtains closed.

It gave him a hint of what was coming up soon when Blaine put his head in his hands and did not look at the screen.

Behind them, Wes and David appeared silently. The past ten minutes had been spent fixing their room after Kurt turned it inside out looking for the video. Blaine had made it worse by trying to tackle him, but Kurt found the tape in a box in the closet first. He split before Blaine could catch him and the two left the room in a state of turmoil.

They watched as the curtain onscreen parted to reveal Blaine sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of the stage. The same brown guitar was settled in his hands and he adjusted the microphone to fit his height.

It was an odd sight to see for Kurt. Every time something musical came from Blaine's mouth, he was either swaying, tapping his foot, or full out dancing. He was none of the above.

The tune was slow and simple and Blaine launched into the number gracefully. He sung smoothly into the microphone and strummed chords on the guitar. The audience had gone dead silent as he performed. Kurt tilted his head, studying the way his hands moved against the strings and how the spotlights his faint curls just right. Blaine peeked once or twice from his hand to watch, but ducked behind it.

Blaine's voice was slightly out of tune and affected the way some of the lyrics came out, but it came together to sound decent. Kurt found himself smiling and tapping his foot along with the beat. Blaine brought more life to the song than it had already. He finished with a flourish of notes of the guitar and stood for a quick bow. The crowd broke into appreciative applause and he departed quickly from the stage.

The curtains fell together again and Kurt turned to him, saying, "I don't know why you think that was horrible. It was really good."

"Let's just say I've improved a lot in the last year," Blaine sighed. Wes and David muttered something to each other to go along with that statement—along the lines of 'a lot? It's like you have different vocal chords this year!'—and he turned over his shoulder to glare at them.

Then Thomas stood, saying, "That was fun. Brings back old memories, doesn't it? I should start on homework, so—"

Blaine raised a hand and a wicked smile crept onto his face; it made Kurt's skin crawl. "Not so fast, Mr. Reid. You need to stay. Aren't you forgetting what's next?"

"That's why I was leaving," Thomas sighed and eyed Blaine as well as the others. "I'm not allowed to leave, aren't I?" They all nodded deviously and he sat back down in a huff. Kurt watched them, confused, before looking back to the screen.

The curtains had parted again and music faded in from the speakers. Thomas stood solo in the middle of the stage, looking down. A choir of guitars began the number and the sound had a rock edge to it. Suddenly he burst into song and dance. He moved back and forth across the stage with the microphone in one hand, making garnishes in the air with the other. Across the room, Blaine had a smirk on his face and was sitting up.

The song took a turn for the worst. Thomas, in the dead center of a long note, cracked. His voice dropped horribly, forcing him to stop with wide eyes. The paralyzed look on his face caused Blaine to chuckle quietly. He picked up where he was in the music and quickly gained speed.

"And that," Thomas said flatly and gestured to Blaine laughing hysterically, "is why I did not want to stay after his solo."

"It wasn't that bad..." Kurt trailed off, which made Cody burst into laughter. Thomas buried his face as Wes and David bit their lips to keep from joining Cody and Blaine.

"Please. It was _bad_," David said, seeing as Wes couldn't form a sentence without pausing to breathe. "This was supposed to be Thomas' subtle way of breaking up with his girlfriend."

"On Valentine's Day?" Kurt gasped and looked to the redhead. His expression was a cross between sad and annoyed.

"It was the day before!" he claimed and covered his face with his hands again.

"It is the worst way to end a relationship, not counting what day it is," Cody commented. "It's horrible to break up with a girl through song, and it makes it ten times worse when you crack a note trying to look cool and make a point."

"It was quite enjoyable to see him get slapped at the brunch afterward, though," Wes said and he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I would've gotten slapped either way," Thomas grumbled. "I'm really kind of bad at this stuff. At least she's out of my hair."

"Do you serenade a girl through song or just break up with her through one?" Kurt asked teasingly.

"Both," Blaine answered and reached for the remote to pause the video. "He asked a girl named Marcia out with a Beach Boys song and broke up with her with 'The Academy Is...' at the Valentine's Brunch. What were you two good for, Thomas? Three months?"

"Three and a half!" Thomas corrected sharply. "And it was the worst three and a half months of my life."

"Then why on earth did you go out with her?" Kurt asked.

He sighed. "She was a cheerleader."

Kurt fell back against the cushions, saying, "Oh, my _gosh_, Thomas. You are so shallow! Cheerleaders are nothing but sluts and trouble! Trust me, I know firsthand."

When the room went quiet, he looked up to see confusion spread across the faces of his friends. The worst was from Blaine. Kurt turned red from his hairline to his neck and stumbled for words to say.

"I mean—That was completely—" Kurt stammered. "I didn't—There was no way I could've—" He buried his face in his hands. "Did I really just say all of that aloud?"

Silence pounded against his ear drums terribly.

"Didn't you say you were a cheerleader?" Blaine asked.

"Yes, we've established that far too many times for comfort. Why?"

"Just making sure," he said and faced forward. Kurt was sure he saw a smirk and he felt his face heat up once more.

"Can we watch the rest of the video?" Cody asked in a small voice and Kurt sighed in relief when Blaine reached for the remote again. Thomas was thankful because they had a reason to get away from talking about his failed love life. The five boys settled back to watch the last part of the performance—which consisted of the group singing 'Crazy in Love'—before the camera was switched off.

* * *

"...and we sung a duet together after you called, which was absolutely fabulous, and he looked at me in a way that made my stomach flip and his voice was spectacular, and oh, Mercedes, I know I'm in love!" Kurt sighed heavily and rolled onto his stomach. He stifled a yawn and covered his mouth with his hand.

After the eventful video of last year's brunch, he'd left the commons in an awkward silence. Thomas refused to talk to Blaine about making him relive his cracked note. Cody had stood between them, trying to get him to talk, but to no avail. Finally Thomas said something when Wes decided to trip him, which included a string of colorful swear words.

Afterward, Wes and David both locked themselves in their room for protection and Thomas stood outside the door, banging on it for what seemed like hours when he gave up after five minutes. The banging had stopped recently and left Kurt in glorious silence.

Kurt's laptop was open in front of him on his bed with Skype pulled up. Mercedes was visible on the other end, brushing through her short locks as she readied herself for sleep. Her room behind her looked the same as the last time Kurt had seen it: purple walls, a polka dotted bedspread, and a green feather boa winding around the headboard.

"_Okay, I believe you,"_ she said and put down the brush_. "It sounds pretty serious."_

"Pretty serious?" he repeated. "He chose a slow love song for our duet! That's _got _to mean something!"

She flattened her lips in a line. _"What song did he choose again?"_

"'You Won't Feel a Thing,'" Kurt replied and grabbed a pillow from the front of his bed. He tucked it under his chin. Talking about Blaine when he was right across the hall was enough to release butterflies in his stomach.

Mercedes took a few minutes to click and type on her computer. Screens were pulled up and music could be heard as she clicked on a YouTube link. "_This is pretty serious. And he said it reminded him of you?"_

"Yes, he did, and I couldn't agree more. It suits both our voices and tells a story we can both relate to." Kurt nodded eagerly. "It's just wonderful. I'm most definitely in love."

Mercedes laughed and sat back. She climbed to the front of her bed and sat her computer on her lap. _"Good luck to you, Kurt. He really is a nice guy. Hey, did he say anything about the dinner date at Breadstix?"_

"He said there's a good chance, but we'd have to talk to our director about it," he said glumly. "She's been booking us every day after school and she hasn't even given us the closer! What kind of teacher spends so much time on the opening number?"

She shrugged. _"I don't know. But I'll make reservations for three for Saturday. How's eight sound?"_

"Perfect."

Mercedes smile and scribbled something down on her night table. She waved. _"I wish I could talk more, but I can't. School tomorrow and I'll need the sleep to survive glee club. Everyone's going insane in there."_

Kurt nodded and pulled himself into a sitting position. "The way you've been talking about how insane it is makes me wonder. Is everything there going okay?"

Mercedes sighed and it was easy to tell that something was uncomfortable by the look on her face.

"Mercedes. Speak. You're giving me an anxiety attack by not saying anything."

She picked up her brush and brushed her hair again to fill up the silence. _"Well," _she finally said. _"We've got a few new members in the group."_

"New members?" Kurt asked and titled his head to the side. "Like who?"

The way she paused gave him chills up his spine. _"I'm not too happy about it—well, no one's too happy about it—but we've got some of the football players."_

Kurt froze and felt his blood turn to ice.

"_Before you say anything, he's not that bad. He doesn't break out into fights or yell at people. He's completely different," _she said quickly.

"Are you sure we're thinking about the same person?" he asked.

"_If you're thinking about Dave Karofsky, then yes."_

Kurt reached forward to his computer mouse. The pointer hovered over the red X in the corner of the screen. "That's it, I'm going to bed," he said and shook his head.

"_Kurt, come on."_

He dropped his hand. "'Come on'? That's all you can say? He's the one who kissed me, for crying out loud!" He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes growing wide in fright. What if Thomas and Cody and Wes and David heard him? They were right down the hall, after all. And Blaine was across from him. He could hear just as easily as they could.

Kurt expected a knock on the door at any minute now.

"_What?" _She looked at him with deep concern. _"What? He __**kissed **__you? When?"_

Kurt hurriedly reached forward and covered the webcam with his palm so she couldn't see him. She asked him again what that was about and he finally sighed, "Yes, Karofsky kissed me. That's why I transferred. To stay away from him after that."

"_Kurt, I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me about this?"_

"Sometimes it's easier to keep things locked up, Mercedes," he snapped. "Sometimes it's easier to deal with when only you know about it. That way you don't have to bring other people into it."

She was so silent, Kurt thought she had signed off. But her picture was still on the screen as she brushed through her hair. _"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this_," she said. _"I mean, you told me he threatened your life, but not that he kissed you."_

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But know you know," he said genuinely. "I'm just not happy with it."

"_Didn't I just say none of us are too happy about it?" _she snapped and he could still see the shock on her face. _"He's only in there with us because Beiste blackmailed him. Said he needed to find another outlet for his anger, or whatever. The boy's got issues and we'll leave it at that."_

"I know, I know," he mumbled. He took a deep, calming breath, but his joints were still locked. "I don't want to have to face him at Regionals, Mercedes. I don't think I can."

"_You won't. I'll keep him at least thirty feet away from you at all times," _she assured firmly. _"If he wants to talk to you, which I hope he doesn't, he'll have to have Finn and Puck with him if he goes anywhere. He won't swing a punch while they're around. You'll be safe, Kurt."_

Kurt was on the verge of doubting it, but said, "Fine, fine. I'm going to bed."

"_Okay, Kurt." _She blinked sadly. _"So I'll see you at Breadstix with Blaine?"_

"I can't make any promises, but I'll get in touch with you sometime this week for sure. Blaine and I will see you at Breadstix on Saturday."

"Eight o'clock," she reminded.

"Eight o'clock," he echoed.

He clicked the mouse a couple times to close out of Skype. He checked his inbox to find nothing more than several internet ads and an offer from a phone company for a data plan. How his address got around, he wasn't sure. He clicked out of the inbox and stared at the desktop, which was of he and Mercedes at Regionals last year. He still had the gold tie and he was sure Mercedes kept the fabulous dress to wear on special occasions.

Suddenly the image wasn't as happy as it usually was. The idea of Karofsky in the glee club made him wonder. Could he sing? Could he dance? Was he a different person like Mercedes said? He didn't know.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and shut down the computer to pull the covers over his chin and fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Kurt never woke until three in the morning when the sudden knock at the door made him almost tumble off the side of the bed. There was another knock, followed by a, "Kurt! Open up! Like, _now!_"

He blinked sluggishly, checking the clock, and thought about not answering the door but did anyway. Leo and Dex stood out in the hall, bouncing on their feet and their faces red. Kurt glanced down the hall both ways before glaring at them in perplexity He rubbed his eyes and asked, "What are you doing? You're not even in this wing if I remember correctly."

Leo jumped forward to grab his wrist and pull him out of his room. The door slammed behind him and Kurt thought it would wake up the entire hall, but no one investigated. "What are you doing?" Kurt repeated, but louder to get their attention.

"We need to show you something! Give you something, actually!" Dex explained and grabbed his other wrist. They looked like a pair of young boys on Christmas morning, including the footie pajamas. They wore matching sets, though Leo's was red while Dex's was a deep shade of blue. Dalton colors, he noticed.

"What exactly do you need me to see? Or take?" Kurt questioned and stood his ground, refusing to be pulled anywhere.

"We'll show you when we get there!"

One of the doors two rooms away popped open. Cody and Thomas stuck their heads out curiously. Another door open to reveal Wes and David and then Blaine's opened. Kurt worried the entire hall was going to take notice.

Wes padded barefoot into the hall with a lacrosse gripped in one hand. He sighed and turned to David, saying, "It's just them." He lowered the stick, but get his grip firm.

"What are you bozos doing here?" Thomas fired as he came out of his room in shorts and a long tee-shirt, followed by Cody in a flannel set of pjs. Both looked tired.

"We wanted to give Kurt our late house warming gift!" Leo said with a smile too cheery for this time of night, or morning, rather.

"Right _now_?" Blaine asked as he leaned against the doorframe of his room. Kurt swallowed, seeing him in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, like Thomas. He blinked and turned back to the bubbly boys trying to pull him down the hall.

"Yes, right now!" Dex cheered. "We finished with it a few minutes ago and we couldn't wait until morning to show him!"

"Finished with it?" Cody repeated and his voice quavered.

"Don't ask, pipsqueak!"

All the boys in the hall groaned and Kurt stared at them. "If it's homemade, we don't need any more of those," David snapped.

"Considering last time," Cody muttered bitterly. Kurt wondered what happened 'last time', but was too afraid to ask.

"Last time was horrible," Thomas agreed and he rubbed his eyes. "I wish we would never have a repeat of that. Ever."

"But you have to admit, our waterslide starting from the second story _was _pretty cool," Leo said with a smile. The others only shook their heads in disagreement.

"_Please_ Wes? Can we just give it to him? Then we'll be done, I promise!" Dex pleaded and let go of Kurt's wrist to lace his fingers together, praying.

Wes sighed heavily. "No. I'm not letting you take Kurt to East to show him something that will most likely cause him trauma for the rest of the week." Kurt's eyes widened. "And besides, you can't just take him to another wing. That's against the rules."

"But it's after hours!" Leo pointed out. "We're allowed to do this kind of stuff when it's not during hours."

"You made that up," David sighed. "No matter how many times you say it, it's not true."

"And even if you were going to take Kurt back with you," Wes said, "you'd have to take it up with Diego... No, wait! Dex! I didn't mean right now!"

Dex stopped with his fist an inch away from pounding against the North Precursor's door. It was amazing how Diego could sleep through anything, even Dex and Leo storming through. He retracted his hand and joined Kurt and Leo. "Okay," he drawled. "We'll do it your way."

"Thank you. Now, if you're done, I'll see you all in the morning," Wes said gratefully. With a small salute and a glare at the boys, he returned to his room. David gave them an annoyed look and followed Wes. Their door shut.

"Okay," Leo said and scanned the hall, "who's going with us? I thought you all would be concerned in Kurt's well-being!"

"Not me. I'm already behind on my sleep because of you two," Blaine said immediately. He flashed Kurt a 'I hope you live' look before disappearing into his room.

"He's such a morning person," Dex grumbled and turned to Thomas and Cody. The shorter boy shook his head quickly and hurried back to his room before Thomas was able to register what was going on. He looked bewildered when he heard Cody shut the door and was faced with Dex's and Leo's wide smiles.

"Thomas! Come on down!" Leo cheered and waved him forward with an exaggerated arm motion.

Thomas hesitated and twisted the door handle. He found it locked and pounded on the door. "Cody," he ordered, "open up right now!"

"Not a chance!" Cody replied, his voice muffled through the wood. "You deserve this for losing my favorite pair of batting gloves! It's only fair that you have to suffer their punishment." Footsteps were heard as Cody moved back to his bed and the light under the door disappeared when the lamps were flicked off.

Thomas leaned his forehead against the door and looked sideways at Kurt. "This is going to kill us, you know," he said and walked forward.

Kurt had never been in another wing besides his own. East was quite similar in the layout compared to North, though the numbers above the doors were different and the kitchen was furnished differently on golden metal plates. Several maps of certain continents were framed and hung on the walls. As they walked past the commons, he noticed a large, intricate mobile of the solar system hanging from the ceiling where the fan would usually be.

The sun was the first thing he saw, golden and round and in the middle. Other small spheres painted accordingly were strung on a metal loop around the sun and it looked scaled to fit the room perfectly. Pluto was easily identified at the farthest point in the room. Other smaller spheres to represent the moons of each planet had their own metal loop.

"What's with the teaching materials? It's like I walked into a museum," Kurt whispered to Thomas as they were dragged down the dimly lit halls.

"East is known for its outstanding reputation in the field of academics," he said. "Out of the four wings, they're the smartest. Therefore, the entire place is dedicated to anything relating to classes." He laughed at Kurt's expression as they passed a wall displaying various scientific dissecting techniques written by other students. "But you should see West if you get the chance: they have a freaking _stage _in their commons."

"A stage?" Kurt repeated.

"Known for drama and the theatrical arts," he said as they turned a corner to face a set of thick double doors like the ones in North that led to the dorm rooms. Dex pulled a key out of his pajama pocket and inserted it in the door. It opened easily and they moved inside.

The East dorms felt like a castle compared to North. It was regal and elegant and smelled heavily of wood tarnish. _Maybe that's why they're so crazy, all the tarnish..._ he thought.

The walls seemed to extend straight up endlessly because of the angle of the lights that hung on the walls like torches. They provided a small source of light and were glowing balls in the darkness, only showing a few feet in advance. Kurt didn't know where to step and if he was going to run into anything. He heard Thomas stub his toe against something and wince in pain.

"Shh!" Dex commanded and whipped around with a finger to his lips. "Do you want to wake up the entire East student body?"

"We should be able to, since you woke up a lot of North," he growled.

He didn't answer, as they were approaching a polished door with a gold-plated number over the top. Dex whipped out another key, an antique iron one, and opened the door.

Kurt never imagined their room to be pin straight. The beds were made as if no one was ever going to sleep in them and the desks in their respective corners of the room were organized with labels on everything. Textbooks of all kinds were stacked on the dresser and there was a large map or the world, showing political and physical features, tacked to the ceiling. He imagined socks and underwear hanging from the ceiling more than anything.

One wall was a bookshelf. It stretched from the door to the windows and was nothing but shelves. Books of all sizes and colors were arranged on them. There were labels on each shelf declaring what genre was on it. Sci-fi, mystery, horror, fiction, non-fiction. It was a relief when he didn't see romance.

"Stay here!" Leo commanded and let go of Kurt's wrist to join Dex to rummage through their closet. He took it back gratefully and rubbed it. He had been losing circulation the entire time and the blood was starting to rush back.

"We won't be long. We need to get something that's in here and we'll be ready," Dex promised as he tossed random things over his shoulder. Kurt saw a rubber chicken, a gag whoopee cushion and a handful of electric buzzers land on the floor behind them.

"I'm kind of interested to see what else they have in there," Kurt murmured to Thomas.

He shook his head quickly. "No, you don't. They have hideous things. Last time I was in here, they had an inflatable swimming pool in there. Not blown up, of course, but still, it was quite a shock to see. I wouldn't be surprised to see if they still have it."

Kurt glanced at him oddly. Then the two boys popped out of their closet with something tucked in Leo's hands. They shut the door and watched Kurt happily. "What?" he asked. He squeaked when something chirped behind Leo's back and he jumped back, bumping into the wall of books. Some of them wiggled and dropped to the floor at his feet. He narrowly missed an encyclopedia landing on his foot.

"Sorry," Dex murmured and strode to pick the books up. He pulled over one of the desk chairs to stand on and slid the books back where they originally were. He jumped off and landed smoothly. "We need to fix that," he said and gestured to the bookshelf. "It always wiggles a lot."

"Hurry up. I think he's pooping on me!" Leo urged and Kurt noticed he was having trouble holding whatever was in his hands.

Dex waved a hand at him. "Just let him go," he said. "We'll catch him later. We've got the cage."

Leo pulled his hands in front of him and Kurt leaned forward in anticipation. Instead of doing the same, Thomas brought his arms in front of his face in self defense. Leo opened his hands and a flash of yellow shot up. It soared around the room before landing on top of the bookshelf, chirping.

"Is that... a bird?" Kurt questioned and looked up at it. He sat on the shelf, picking at his bright yellow feathers. He looked around the room with beady little eyes.

"Dude!" Thomas exclaimed. "What did we tell you about stealing Pavarotti from Lovett?"

Leo looked sheepish. "Not to," he answered.

"But we didn't steal him!" Dex objected. "We asked Lovett if it was alright to keep him in East for awhile and she said yes!"

Thomas stared at them and asked, "Was she on some kind of medication or something? She never lets non-Warblers keep him!"

"Nope! That's the best part!"

"Maybe she thought... um, who's that other... there's another guy that I know that's in East..." Kurt said lamely and snapped his fingers in thought.

"Adam!" the boys squeaked. Leo jumped toward the door and said, "He's right down the hall! We should go get him!"

Thomas lunged forward to grab the collar of his footies. "No, we shouldn't. He's most likely asleep," he suggested and held back a long yawn. "He would kill you for being out past curfew with the bird, and then he would kill Kurt and I for being in his wing past curfew."

"Party pooper." He crossed his arms.

"But he runs things in East, so we have to follow what he says, or else," he said and reluctantly let go of him.

"Or maybe he's thinking of Nick!" Leo exclaimed.

"Or Matt or Jon!" Dex said.

"Don't even!"

Kurt's eyes widened when the bird leapt off the edge of the shelf and landed on his head. He hopped once or twice before flitting into the air again, this time landing on the top of the desk closest to him. "So _this _is my house warming gift?" Kurt asked and gestured to the bird.

"Do you not like him?" Dex asked and presented him with obnoxiously large puppy dog eyes. Leo joined in and Kurt had to turn away.

Kurt studied the bird and tilted his head to the side, saying, "No, he's very... cute"—Thomas snorted—"but where would I keep him?" As soon as he said this, Dex flew back to the closet and retrieved a gilded cage with an ornate metal latching door.

"He likes bird seed and clean water every morning," Dex said with a smile and handed the cage over to him. He put his hand to his chin and stroked an invisible goatee. "Now, the only problem is getting him in the cage..."

After five minutes and a lot of things being knocked over, Pavarotti was safely secured in his cage, being carried by Kurt down the hall. Thomas walked by him with his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides instead of the usual pockets of his uniform slacks. They were alone in the East Wing without Dex or Leo to guide them back.

"He's kind of cute," Kurt said and pulled the cage up to his eye level. Pavarotti sat on the bar that extended the circumference of the cage, hopping back and forth.

"Just wait until he wakes you up in the middle of the night with his incessant chirping," Thomas grumbled as they passed numerous rooms, each with its own gold-plated number.

One of them swung open and Kurt nearly dropped the cage. Adam Harvey stuck his head through the door. Behind him, something flashed with green and red and blue lights. Kurt tried to lean around him to see, but it was too dark to make out anything. Just the little flashing lights.

Adam's thick glasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them up. "What in the world are you doing out here, Thomas? It's three-thirty in the morning, for Christ's sake," he said and stepped out.

Kurt never realized how thin Adam was. Sure, he'd noticed it the first time they ran into each other, but now it was more prominent when he was wearing shorts and a Dalton technologies club tee-shirt. His hair was stuck up in the back and the color of his eyes, usually brown, was pale. He pursed his lips at them and waited for an explanation.

"I know, I know," Thomas said, following it with a sigh. "But you can blame your little trouble makers for it this time."

Adam glared at him, then caught sight of the cage in Kurt's hands. "What the...?"

"House warming gift?" Kurt said, but it ended up sounding like a question. He held up the cage so he could get a better look at Pavarotti.

Adam put a hand over his face in irritation. "Of course," he mumbled and gestured for them to continue walking. He tried to look a little more pleased than he really was. "It was nice to see you again, Kurt. And don't worry about the bird. I'll talk to Dex and Leo tomorrow to make sure they don't pull anything like that again."

Thomas and Kurt nodded as Adam retreated to the comfort of his room and shut the door. As soon as Kurt thought he wouldn't hear, he whispered, "Is he always that tired?"

"Are you kidding me?" Thomas asked as he pulled open the heavy set of doors. The hallway in front of them was quiet and the commons were empty, the mobile still hanging. The air conditioner kicked in and shifted Pluto a little to the right.

"What?" Kurt asked and shifted the bird cage in his hands.

"It's three-thirty in the morning and you're asking why he looks tired," he said. Kurt turned his head to hide his blush, but Thomas sighed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he always looks that tired. It's like he can't get enough sleep. Well, none of can get enough sleep in the first place, so I guess that makes us all look tired."

Kurt glanced behind him, though the doors were shut and they were heading back to the North Wing. He turned to face forward as Pavarotti chirped. "Still. He looks... worried."

"Well, you have to expect that of him," Thomas said. "He's the Precursor for an entire wing of boys. That's more than most people can handle."

"It sounds like a big responsibility," Kurt murmured and lifted the cage to his eye level to see Pavarotti pick at his wings, chirping lightly and looking around.

"It's bigger than you can imagine. I mean, he's in charge of _everything. _In fact, it would be easier to make a list of the things Precursors _aren't_in charge of," he said. "It would be a very short list."

Kurt lowered the cage and held it with one hand underneath and the other on the handle. He looked up at Thomas, who had stopped talking to bite his lower lip as he walked. He looked uncomfortable in his shorts and mismatched socks and again tried to put his hands in his pockets when there were none. He ran a hand through his flaming hair and led the way back to the North Wing.

"And by the way," Thomas added, which startled Kurt, "we heard what you were saying to one of your friends, or someone, online. We heard someone kissed you, and that was why you transferred. Interesting, really."

Kurt froze and stopped walking. He stared at him in fright and clutched the cage in his hand. "Please don't tell anyone about it, Thomas. Please."

He put a hand on his shoulder and started walking again. "Relax. Cody and I won't tell a soul. We're the best secret keepers in the entire North Wing. If something's important, like what we heard, we don't show that we know about it. It's safe with us, Kurt. We won't tell anyone unless you want us to." Kurt followed him in relief.

When they arrived in the dorm corridor, Thomas bid him a good night—"Well, good morning is more like it. But you get the point."—and went back to his door to find it unlocked. He slipped inside without another word.

Kurt stood in front of his room and set down the cage to open the door. He heard a squeal of hinges behind him and he whipped around, his heart hammering. He sighed with a hand over his chest and said, "Blaine, don't do that. You scared me."

"What, did you think I was Wes with his lacrosse stick of doom?" Blaine chuckled and wandered across the hall to him.

"Possibly," Kurt said and rested his hand on the door knob, easing it to the right. The door fell open.

"A word of advice: it's not that threatening. The only time he ever used it in a violent way was to whack me in the face for trying to leave my room in the middle of the night because I forgot my phone in the commons. He thought I was a burglar or something," he said. He bent down to examine Pavarotti and smiled when he chirped. "So this is your house warming present?" He stood up.

"Apparently," Kurt answered, gazing down at the bird. "Thomas said they stole him from Lovett...?" He trailed off, unsure.

"Thomas always exaggerates everything," Blaine said. "Pavarotti gets passed around the Warblers to whoever is willing to take care of him. Dex and Leo only got him because they stole him from Cody, who had Pavarotti last. He was in his hands for a long while last year." He paused to shudder.

"What happened?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"He accidentally let him loose in the wing. It wasn't fun trying to catch him at all," Blaine said. "Especially when we found him hiding in the rafters. Dex ended up swooping in and saving him and we really didn't want to put up a fight to get him back."

"It sounds like Pavarotti is some sort of prize," Kurt said.

"Well, sometimes he is. All the other wings think that if they have Pavarotti in their possession, they are superior to the others." He chuckled. "It's sort of a big deal, so make sure to keep him locked up."

"Will do." Kurt gave him a wary look and picked up the cage. He pushed his door open further to set it down the dresser, brushing away test papers and a few coffee cups. He turned back to Blaine. "I think I've had enough excitement for one night," he sighed. "Or morning. Whatever you want to call it."

Blaine chuckled as quietly as he could. "I know what you mean. Too bad we have to wake up in a couple of hours, though."

Kurt leaned to look at the clock: 4 am. He looked back at Blaine with a tremendous eye roll. "Great. I'm already behind on my sleep."

"Isn't everybody? I'll see you in a few hours." He smiled his charming smile and walked back to his room, closing the door behind him.

Kurt stared at his door entirely too long for it to be possible and faced the bird, who tweeted three times. "You don't think I'm in over my head, do you?" Pavarotti chirped twice. Kurt sighed and shut his door, flopping on his bed to look at the ceiling. "I'll take that as a _yes._"

* * *

_In the next chapter: Kurt gets the details on one of the biggest performances the Warblers do every year; he confronts Cody about Karofsky and makes due with baking for once; and William decides to take a joy ride off campus, which ends with hideous results._


	9. Third Degree Espionage

_Hello, readers!_

_Goodness, this chapter was a little different to write. It gets a little out of Kurt's perspective just a little, so don't be hating. Hopefully it turns out pleasurable for everyone._

_And no glee until the 19th of April? What is this world coming to? My god! I don't know how I'll ever survive until then..._

_Updating and posting of this story will be a little lackadaisical. My mother is currently out of the state and has been for four weeks now. Today starts the fifth week of her absence. Her mother (my grandmother) is deathly ill right now and it's terminal, basically. There's little to no hope of recovery and it will only be a matter of time. I expect my mother to return in two to three weeks, four at the most. It might be a few weeks before I start updating again. I apologize in advance._

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own glee, though I do own Cody, James, William, Carson, Simon, Thomas and Adam and the rest of them._

* * *

**Third-Degree Espionage**

* * *

**You are remembered for the rules you break. – Douglas MacArthur**

* * *

"I think he's dead," Cody whispered in fright. He reached out a finger to poke the figure when Thomas swatted it away. He, Cody and Blaine were leaning over the same person, who was nonresponsive, his chin resting in his hands.

"He's not dead," Blaine chuckled with a smile. "He's just tired, that's all. The crazy stuff that's been going on is probably wearing him out."

The 'crazy stuff' he referred to was the Warblers' erratic schedule. They'd been rehearsing like mad the past few days to get 'Use Somebody' down to a tee without anything getting in the way. Only yesterday, Ms. Lovett had given them the closer of 'Rio' by Duran Duran. The group had yet to hear the end of it from Kurt, who all but bounced off the walls in excitement.

To add to the bright side, the ceiling in the choir room was almost filled in and the week after was the soonest time they were allowed inside. Dex's and Leo's names were said with a bitter tone if they were brought up at all.

"He looks a little sick, if you ask me," James mused under his breath and sat down on the top row of risers.

_I __**didn't **__ask you, _Blaine wanted to say. Aloud, he said, "He'll be fine. He needs a little time to wake up." He turned around to face the dark haired boy.

James nodded. "He just looks like he's sick, maybe. I don't know."

"He's not sick," Blaine said, trying to keep his voice from showing the annoyance with him. "Watch." He sat down carefully next to Kurt, who stirred a little, but not enough to fully be aware of everything around him.

Then the auditorium was awake with his ear-splitting shriek as Blaine's hands were at his waist. Kurt sprung up in his seat, trying to get away, crying, "Stop! Stop tickling me! I won't ever fall asleep in class again!"

The surrounding Warblers jumped and looked down at Kurt as he tried to squirm away. He pushed his hands against Blaine's chest to hold him at arm's length and Blaine dropped his arms.

"That's what you get for sleeping," he said with a wide smile. He received a sharp blow to the shoulder and Wes called out to him. Blaine stood reluctantly and walked over to the piano.

As quickly as he left his seat, James replaced it, smiling at Kurt when he sat down. "What a rude awakening," he mentioned, gesturing to Blaine.

"I suppose," Kurt said as he picked up his music folio that he'd dropped in the attack. He looked back up at him and set the folio in his lap. He rubbed his waist tenderly where Blaine had tickled him. Oh, dear _God, _he tickled him.

When Kurt looked back over at James, James was resting his chin in his hands. Kurt noticed a thin red line stretched across the knuckles of his left hand. Kurt reached out and brushed his finger along it, saying, "What happened?"

James was startled by the contact. But he recovered, laughing, and took a minute to admit, "I tried to use to elevator this morning to get to my first period this morning. Didn't work out so well. It was insanely slow and I, um, punched the doors." He face started to turn pink.

"Punched the doors?" Kurt repeated and picked up his hand, examining the thin line. It was starting to scab over already. "Punching the elevators doors did that to you?" James nodded and Kurt dropped his hand with a dismissive sigh. "What did I tell you about using the elevators?" he asked.

"Not to."

"Exactly. I may have transferred last term, but I still know more things than you," Kurt said, a smirk on his face.

James leaned back with his arms resting on the next set of risers where David and Wes were sitting. As he talked, he didn't notice them watching him carefully, but Kurt did. He shot them a curious look and they both shrugged in response and looked away. He turned back to James to catch the next sentence.

"I guess it pays to have you show me around, then," James said with a small chuckle.

Kurt nodded. Since James' arrival, he'd been helping him locate classrooms and the lunch room, as well as other places on campus. As the days went by, he was getting more and more accustomed to the little things that made Dalton tick. Kurt also discovered things about the school he never did until he started to show him around, like the fact the Main Hall was always crowded right before the first lunch hour, making it impossible to get anywhere if either had a class in that direction.

Now one of them knew firsthand that using the elevators was the worst way to test patience levels and punching the doors in frustration didn't make it any better.

Behind them, someone yelped. All heads turned to see Thomas poke Cody in the waist for what looked like the second time. Cody's face flushed and he hit Thomas in the arm, who only laughed. Cody's face turned a deeper shade of red.

The pair fought like a married couple constantly and it wasn't rehearsal if one of them didn't push the other off the stage. Actually, it wasn't rehearsal if no one got pushed off the stage.

"I love this choir so much," James sighed happily and turned to face front. "We fight, yet we still end up friends after it all. It defies logic."

"I still can't believe you've never been in one," Kurt snorted. He absently doodled small circles on the corner of his music folio and lifted his eyes to watch Blaine.

He stood by the piano with the lid supporting his elbow. His hair had a springier look to it and he'd confessed that he didn't have time in that morning to style it normally. The new look was carefree, but it was odd when he was so busy palming his face in worry. He talked with Wes, using the other hand to animate his words and Kurt could almost read his lips.

"I didn't say that exactly," James said and looked over his shoulder at what he was drawing. "I've been in a choir before..." Kurt waited for him to finish his sentence, because whenever he trailed off, he always came back with something else. "...but not one where my dad gets ticked off about it or knew about it."

Over the past few days, Kurt had heard little snippets about his family, particularly Mr. Montgomery; he was a college professor teaching World Studies in Columbus and always wanted the best for his children, namely James and his brother.

"Why does your dad get ticked off?" Kurt asked. "It's only choir. It's not like it can ruin your health."

His mood dropped. "My dad disapproves of choir. He says it's a waste of time unless you can actually sing."

"Does he not know you sing well?" Kurt asked and tore his eyes away from Blaine for half a second to look at him.

"...Not really." He was sheepish and his face flushed slightly. "I haven't had the guts to tell him. Sure, my _brother _was able to do it, but not me. He'd disown me or make me transfer back to my old school if he found out I like singing more than the piano." James buried his face. "I hated my old school so much, you have no idea. I would choose Dalton in a heartbeat if I'd had the option earlier."

"Was it full of jocks and cheerleaders?" Kurt guessed. He'd seen it all: letterman jackets and short skirts and pompoms and footballs, not to mention the drama that came with it. He turned back to look at Blaine. Now his fingers trailed up the piano keys in half steps and he seemed to be paying more attention to that than what Wes was saying.

"Basically."

"That sounds like exactly what I was dealing with at my old school," he said and filled in a star at the corner of 'Rio.' "I couldn't stand what went on inside the walls."

"Am I being too nosy by asking why it was so bad?" James slipped the pen out of his hand and carefully drew a smiley face next to the star.

"Possibly." Kurt watched the face come into existence and titled his head to get a better look at it. "I mean, I don't know. It's not something I talk about on a daily basis, so I wouldn't know where to start and what parts to edit out for your well being."

"Try starting from the beginning?" he laughed.

Kurt shook his head. "That would make too long of a story," he said. "Even if we did nothing during rehearsal, I don't think I could fit it all into one class period. It's about as long as the Harry Potter novels, and twice as thrilling."

James nodded and returned the pen. "That's pretty long. You can tell me later."

Kurt saw it again when he lifted his hand to give the pen back. Red line. He found himself studying the crimson line that marked the top of his wrist.

"What are you staring at?" James asked and dropped his hand.

Kurt tore his eyes away from it and looked up at him. "Nothing." He licked his lips and as an after thought, asked, "Did you get another cut when you punched the elevator this morning?"

His pale skin turned pink and he glanced down at where Kurt was staring. "This?" He ran his finger along the line; Kurt nodded. "It's marker," he said. "I'm taking an Art class. It's second period, which is before rehearsal." He smiled in reassurance when Kurt still looked anxious. "It's washable, don't worry."

James looked up to see Wes approaching the group with Blaine in tow. He patted Kurt on the shoulder and shifted back to the top level of risers where William and Carson welcomed him with smiles.

_It doesn't look like marker, _Kurt thought, but shook the thought away as Blaine took a seat beside him. Cody and Thomas stopped hitting each other as Wes raised his hand to call attention. He cleared his throat and looked back to Ms. Lovett, who sat on the piano bench. She glanced up from her planner and nodded to him. Smiling, Wes turned back to the group.

"Big news, guys," he said cheerfully.

"You've finally decided to shave your head?" William catcalled, which caused a few chuckles from the South students amongst the top riser.

Ms. Lovett made a soft noise of disapproval and raised an eyebrow at him.

Wes held his thumb and his index finger a millimeter apart. "This close, Fitzroy. This close. Now, we actually have news pertaining to something other than Regionals for once."

That caught everyone's attention. Tension was strung between them tightly. They'd all been bogged down for the past three weeks about the competition to the point of ripping someone's head off if they mentioned it. Though Thomas was to the point of throwing things all over the commons, like his schoolwork, instead of shedding blood.

"I was recently reminded of an event that is coming up in about soon." Wes clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. He clasped his hands together to keep them from flailing.

"Is he going to talk about what I think he's going to talk about?" Kurt whispered to Blaine with a slight smile.

"Unfortunately," he answered and buried his face in his hands. "Wes always gets excited about this time of the year." Blaine had heard this speech so many times before, he could almost mouth what he was going to say.

"No one?" There was no attempt to interject and Wes continued with, "It's Valentine's Day!"

"I'd like to call it Single Awareness Day," Will corrected smugly.

"That's because you don't have a girlfriend," Wes snapped back. The blonde went silent. "As I was saying. Most everyone who went to Dalton last year knows the routine. For the newer members"—he looked to Kurt and James in particular—"it's something we do every year. In honor of the holiday, we host a Valentine's Brunch. There's a performance for the parents, like always, which we'll explain more about later. Afterward, there is a brunch for the parents.

"We make the dishes. Markus is allowing us a few hours off campus someday next week to allow us to go to the supermarket for ingredients. It would be helpful if everyone had a list ready of what they need. Be careful this year, please. We don't want a repeat of what happened last time." His eyes flickered to the shortest Warbler.

"It wasn't my fault, I swear! Thomas set the oven at the wrong temperature, not me!" Cody squeaked instantly in defense and threw his hands over his head.

"Your handwriting is crummy and freaking tiny so I couldn't read the recipe card!" Thomas snapped and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again," Wes sighed over them.

"Did Markus tell you what day we're getting everything?" Blaine asked, lifting his head.

Wes shook his head. "We'll know for sure by the end of this week."

Simon said in disbelief, "I can't believe Markus is allowing us to leave campus as a group. Doesn't he know that economy-sized supermarkets and the Warblers don't mix?"

"I mean, I got my _head _caught in one of the freezer doors!" Jon exclaimed. "A freezer door, for crying out loud!"

"I'm still not quite sure how you managed to accomplish that," Will murmured with an odd expression on his face.

"The point is that we're going and I would leave it at that," Wes called. "He's also given us a budget and a list of outlawed foods. Which means no going over it or buying anything tabooed on campus." He narrowed his eyes at the shortest Warbler.

Cody crossed his arms, his face growing scarlet. "I guess that means you won't be eating my brandied peaches this year."

"I loved those things," Carson mentioned.

"That's because you ate half of what he made and we found you passed out after the brunch in the courtyard," David said flatly.

"I tried to help you up and you hurled on me," Simon added sharply with a hint of disgust.

"No tabooed foods," Wes concluded sternly and Ms. Lovett seconded the motion by nodding vigorously.

"If Markus sees any of that again," she said and pointed her pen at each of them, "there will be consequences. Like, for example, we could possibly get disqualified from Regionals if the judges decide we're a bunch of school boys trying to smuggle liquor into the foods and feed them to the parents. Don't do it."

Each of them nodded.

Kurt raised his hand. "What's the budget?"

"Good question. The only sane one we've had all day," he added with relief. "Two hundred is what we're getting. No more, no less. We divide it up in the group so everyone gets an equal amount. Spend it wisely."

"And not on outrageous amounts of candy," Blaine mentioned rather loudly and stared at Will and Carson, who looked down casually. He ran a hand through his hair, annoyed with the apparent memory.

"One dish," Wes said and held up his index finger. "That is your limit, which is different from last year, considering the accident that must not be named." He lingered particularly long on Diego and Blaine, who both sat there coolly. "You are still allowed to team up and make something totally amazing, but make sure it's edible." He clapped his hands and took a seat on the risers beside David.

Kurt didn't dare ask how that incident went.

* * *

"Kurt! What are you doing in here?"

After classes, Kurt froze in the doorway of the kitchen when the voice cried out. The shades were drawn to keep out the afternoon sun, though some parts peeked in and drew lines on the tile flooring. The room was lit by a lamp sitting in the corner and its rays seemed to stretch up into the high ceilings.

He stared at Cody, who was leaned over a mixing bowl. He whipped around, an apron swishing around his knees, and clutched the bowl to his chest. Sticking out of it was a plastic spatula.

"I'm only getting water," Kurt said slowly as he reached for the door to the refrigerator. He pulled it open, keeping his eyes on Cody, and pulled out a water bottle. He shut the door quietly. "What are you doing?"

"Baking!" Cody chirped and stepped out of the way so Kurt could see the materials laid out on the counter: a wilted bag of flour with a mess of it everywhere, a half empty carton of eggs, milk, water, and measuring cups.

"Why are you baking?" he asked and unscrewed the water, taking a sip. He wandered over to the counter and dipped his hand into the bowl of cookie dough, to which Cody reacted by stepping back protectively. He tasted the dough and licked his lips happily.

"I bake when I get nervous. You could say I'm a stressbaker," he muttered instead of scolding him and behind them, the oven dinged three times. Cody, keeping the bowl with him, pressed a button on it and returned to the counter. He pulled a metal sheet from the cabinet and started to roll the dough into small balls between his hands.

Kurt set the water bottle on the counter and watched him. Cody didn't object when he reached into the bowl and took a clump of dough, starting to separate them. "And why would you be nervous?"

He dropped one of the dough balls onto the sheet and looked at him. "Thomas and I heard what you were talking about the other night."

Kurt's face went red. "Curse you, abnormally thin walls," he muttered.

"Who were you talking to?" Cody asked and set one of the balls in the middle of the sheet. He picked it up suddenly and moved it to the corner, unable to decide on where to put it. He left it alone and reached for another chunk of dough.

"My friend, Mercedes." He placed the one he had been rolling between his hands on the tray next to the first one. "You saw her at Sectionals, remember?"

Cody's face lit. He nodded. "Sort of. She was really nice from the little bit we talked."

"Yeah, but she wasn't so nice when I told her another guy kissed me," Kurt mumbled. He found himself rolling dough in his hands until it was past round and circular, just to keep his hands busy. "I didn't tell her when it happened and it came up as a shock when it slipped out."

He nodded again and said, "It's sort of a shock to me, too. But the part I don't understand is why you didn't want him to kiss you." He looked up at him.

Kurt bit his lower lip and placed another ball of dough on the sheet. He kept his hands still and not moving as he started into the story. He watched Cody's facial expressions go from gentle and soft to worried and twisted. Eventually he stopped forming the dough and pressed his hands onto the countertop. Kurt finished talking and it felt like he had been rambling for hours and hours at a time, there was so much to tell.

"I'm sorry," Cody whispered after awhile. His hazel eyes were big and Kurt was able to see flecks of green in them. "I didn't know that was why you transferred in the first place. I'm so sorry."

Kurt shook his head and grabbed a sudden chunk of dough from the bowl, kneading it all together. "It's not your fault."

"I know it's not," he said, "but I'm just a naturally caring person. I'm glad you told me about this, Kurt." He smiled slightly.

"But you won't tell anyone about this, right?" Kurt checked and rinsed his hands under the sink. He dried them off slowly. "Thomas told me he wouldn't tell anyone about it."

Cody held up three fingers and smiled. "Scout's honor."

Kurt stared at him and asked, "You were in the Boy Scouts?"

"Nope." He popped the _p. _"But Thomas was. You can hold that against him for future reference if you get mad at him; I do, and it works like a charm every time." He grinned and Kurt snickered and he left the kitchen.

* * *

William Fitzroy leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He flinched every time someone came around the corner and scanned the faces for the two people he was looking for in particular. After about five minutes, they walked past him and he lunged forward, grabbing onto their wrists firmly. He tugged them down the hall quickly and pushed open the door to his room with his elbow. He ushered the two boys inside and shut the door.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Carson asked and blinked. His face had paled from the sudden attack and he blinked repeatedly.

"Really," James mumbled and rubbed at his wrists tenderly. "You didn't have to rip our arms off."

Carson nodded. "I kind of need my arm for baseball this season."

"I actually might want to try out for baseball," James said, "so I'd need an arm."

Will rolled his eyes. "Baseball, shmaseball. You can deal with that later. I need you two for an important task I have planned."

James put his palm to his forehead. "Oh, God, please tell me you're not planning to kill something. You know, the other day Simon told me you killed something last year, and I can't stand the sight of blood—"

"Relax, newbie," he snapped. "I'm not killing anything anytime soon. And Dougray lied: I didn't kill something. I maimed it." He laughed when he saw James go as white as a sheet. "We're going to take a little trip off-campus this evening," Will said and rubbed his hands together.

"I thought we weren't allowed off-campus without permission from Markus?"

"What exactly is off-campus?" Carson raised an eyebrow, which shunned James' question out of the picture.

"I'll tell you on the way to the parking lot. Now come on. We're burning daylight and it takes about two hours to get there."

Will popped open the door and checked both ways before guiding them into the hall. Boys lingered around their doorways, but didn't notice as the three walked quickly the opposite way, toward the set of back doors that opened up to the outside. Like the other wings, South house a back entrance that was located by the dorms. It allowed access to the athletic fields as well as the south side of the parking lot.

"Here's what we're going to do," William said in a hushed tone as they grew farther from the students. He explained his plan softly, quietly, for he did not anyone to hear. When he finished talking through the maneuver, both Carson's and James' eyes were wide in surprise.

"That will get us expelled, won't it?" James asked worriedly and stopped in front of the double doors that led outside. "Surely leaving campus without consent from Markus will get us in some amount of trouble."

"Not if we don't caught," Will snapped happily. He opened one door and gestured for them to walk through first. "We'll need good timing and enough gas to get us there and back. I printed off the map from Google, so I know where we're going and what roads to take. We will be fine if we follow the plan."

"Well... okay."

Carson and James stole away through the doors and Will took one last glance at the hall before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

And Simon, who had just come from his room, heard every little detail.

* * *

Kurt found Cody hunched over a thick book in the commons later that night, dog-earing pages like mad. A scrap piece of paper was set aside and was covered in numerous scribbles. Kurt gave him a questioning look.

"Cody, what are you—"

He raised a strict finger but did not lift his eyes. "Shh! Working! No talking!"

And that was that. Kurt slowly moved away from the boy huddled with the book and toward the couches. He plopped down next to Blaine.

A textbook was cradled on his knees and a stapled packet was balanced on his lap. A pencil was tucked behind his ear and a protractor was placed between his teeth. He flipped through the book pages frantically, searching for something.

Kurt leaned over his shoulder and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Geometry," he mumbled back. His eyes darted across the page. "Not fun. I hate it."

Kurt sat back against the cushions and pulled out his iPhone. "I can see that. You're nearly snapping that protractor with your teeth."

Blaine parted his lips and the plastic fell into his lap. "You know, now would be a good time for you to help me out with this whole Math thing that I can't quite understand," he said.

"It's amazing how you're nearly failing it," he said and scrolled through his empty inbox. He set the phone down. "Do you really want help?"

"That would be super," Blaine said and all but dumped the homework on the floor. He snapped the book closed and set it between he and Kurt. He turned to the front of the packet and displayed several circled equations. "But don't you have homework to do?"

Kurt shrugged and took the papers into his hands. He said, "I do, but I think I can make a sacrifice." Kurt studied the packet. After a double take, he looked up at his friend. "This is almost the entire page."

"Exactly," Blaine said sadly.

Kurt dropped the packet. "I swear, it's just simple Math. It's not all that difficult to understand."

"Did you pass last semester?"

"With flying colors."

"Of course. Kurt Hummel, boy genius." Blaine sat back and covered his face with a pillow.

Kurt chuckled. "Like Jimmy Neutron?"

Blaine removed the pillow to mutter, "Without the crazy hair."

He smoothed a lock into place and skimmed through the worksheets. "Thank goodness. What do you need help on first?" he asked.

Blaine peeked at him from around the pillow. "You're seriously going to help me?"

"Why not? You found our duet for Regionals," Kurt shrugged. "Might as well do something useful."

"Then I guess I need help on everything," Blaine said sheepishly.

Kurt laughed and pulled the book into his lap. "You're lucky I'm actually good at Math." He checked the packet for page numbers and flipped through the book. He gestured over his shoulder and asked, "What is up with Cody? He won't talk."

"It's nothing to worry about. This happened last year. It's actually kind of adorable, really," Blaine explained and fiddled with the cover on his calculator. He bent forward to whisper, "Cody is in love."

"What?" Kurt ceased scouring the pages and raised his head, only to find himself inches from Blaine's lips. He hoped his face wasn't as red as he thought it was.

"Our little Warbler is in love," he repeated with a smile. "There's this girl that he's trying to get the nerve to ask out. She's a good family friend. Not related, but her family is close to his. Cody's parents brought her to the Valentine Brunch last year with them, but she didn't seem to be too interested. He talked to Ms. Lovett about getting a solo to impress her, but backed out a few days before the event because of nerves."

Kurt looked over his shoulder at him, still hunched over the book. "That's so cute. I never would have guessed."

Blaine nodded and reached over to turn to the right page in the textbook. "They see each other when he goes home for the weekends sometimes. They would make a good couple, but he's too nervous to ask her."

"That's a waste," he mumbled. "How long have they known each other?"

"Four years."

"How long has he had this crush on her?"

"Three and a half," Blaine answered and ducked his head down when he saw the boy looking. "I know it's a long time, but he wants to make sure he likes her as much as he thinks he does before he says anything."

Kurt fanned himself dramatically. "It's official: I'm dying from the cuteness overload."

"You and basically everyone in North that knows."

Kurt looked back at Cody. "What is he doing now?"

"He's probably trying to find a recipe to make for the Brunch," he replied. "He made a batch of chocolate chip muffins along with the brandied peaches last year. It's safe to assume he's trying to find something she would like. She practically died over the muffins, since she's a sucker for chocolate."

Kurt asked, "Do you have any idea what he's planning?"

"Not a clue. A dessert, maybe. But I do know he will probably work by himself this year." Blaine checked the packet and turned to another chapter in the textbook. He punched numbers into the calculator before abandoning it. "He teamed up with Thomas to make the muffins, but the oven went berserk and fried them the first time around. He worked his butt off to make another batch in time."

"I swear, if Cody wasn't falling for a girl, I would completely ask him out. He would make such a good boyfriend," Kurt said bluntly and gazed over the top of the couch at the small boy. A moment of silence overtook them and he chuckled, looking over at Blaine. "What? Are you jealous?"

Blaine made a small gesture with his head and raised his eyebrows, smiling widely.

"I'll take that as a _yes_," Kurt beamed teasingly. "I'm kidding, Blaine."

"I know," was his answer. To continue on topic, he asked, "Are you planning on teaming up with someone to make a dish for the Brunch?"

Kurt shrugged. "I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"

"No reason. Just thought I'd ask." There was a grin on his face.

Kurt chuckled and sighed, "Blaine, would you like to team up with me for the Brunch?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Blaine beamed before he'd even finished with his sentence.

"You were setting yourself for that, weren't you? You could've asked, you know. It's not like I would say no." Kurt felt his face grow warm.

"I know," Blaine admitted. "But who cares? I've got myself a partner that actually knows _not _to overload on the flour."

Kurt narrowed his eyes in slight interest. "Do I want to know what happened with the flour?"

"Let's just say half the kitchen was covered in it, our cake was ruined, and I had white hair. Oh, and the fan was broken."

"Only you could take a sack of flour and end up breaking the fan," Kurt laughed and covered his mouth. He could almost picture the contraption snapping and crashing against the island of the kitchen, sending up clouds of the white baking material. The image made him laugh harder.

"It wasn't me," he defended. "Blame Diego for it, not me."

Kurt was about to respond when Cody exclaimed, "I found it!"

He sprung from the window seat with the book in his hands, which turned out to be a top-of-the-line cookbook. He raced past the sofas and out of the commons with Blaine calling after him, "What? What did you find?"

Cody halted and poked his head back into the room with a tired smile on his face. "The recipe. I know what I'm making for the Brunch. But first I'll need raisins and butter cream frosting. Tons and tons of raisins and frosting." He disappeared from the doorway and his footsteps vanished with him.

* * *

The lights were dim and the air reeked of a floral scent mixed with wood tarnish. Lights cast a warm glow on the stage. The auditorium of the Chamberlin Institute for Ladies was set up not much differently than the one at Dalton.

One of the stairs creaked and the trio froze. The first blonde reached back to jab the other in the ribs, fire a whispered warning, and kept moving cautiously. No attention was drawn to them, thankfully. They chose seats that were far enough in the back of the balcony that were concealed by the darkness, thought it didn't limit their visibility of the stage.

Every little movement around James made him flinch and he shrunk in his seat. He desperately wished the floor would swallow him up. Will and Carson, on the other hand, keened forward to see girls file onto the stage.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" James whispered hurriedly. "What if we get caught?"

Will waved his hand. "We won't get caught. Trust me. We do stuff like this all the time."

"You sneak into the opposing choir's school to spy on them before a major contest?"

"So we've never spied on a school before, but drastic times call for drastic measures."

"What do you mean by drastic times?" James asked and tried to keep his voice low. Setting foot in an enemy school set him on the edge, like his conscious knew he was doing something wrong. He hated the feeling and it sent the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

"It's Regionals, James," Carson said this time. Even though his face wasn't clear, his voice was, and the two boys had to shush him to keep anyone from hearing him. "From what we know already, this school is good enough to make Ms. Lovett step it up a notch, which is higher than we normally practice. We need the advantage of knowing what they're capable of so we can do better."

"Isn't that considered cheating, though?"

"Cheating, getting head. Same difference. Sit back and watch the show, Montgomery," William snapped.

James opened his mouth to sputter a reply, but clapping started down on the stage. He settled for leaning stiffly back in his chair and clawing his nails into his wrist to keep him from saying anything to give them away.

A circle was formed on the hardwood stage by a group of more more than fifteen girls, all clad in knee-length khaki skirts and knit cable sweaters. Each had their hair precisely the same length in the same neat, pulled back style. A light pink scarf wrapped loosely around their necks and was the only splash of color. White socks pulled up to their knees and dark brown loafers completed the ensemble.

"This is our competition?" Will scoffed under his breath. "They look like normal school girls to me."

"Well, you look like a regular person, but that doesn't keep you from being a jerk," James muttered. He ignored the sharp glare he received and felt his ears burning as the result.

In their circle, the girls stood with their hands clasped in front of them. They talked in delicate, feather light voices to one another and occasionally giggled. A few tossed their hair over their shoulders in a sweeping motion. They were the perfect examples of the average teenage girl. The sight made the boys wrinkle their noses.

When James thought he couldn't take any more of the femininity and considered hurling in the seat in front of him, a woman in a sweeping dress that matched the color of the girls' skirts appeared from a doorway on the right. She glided across the room in what seemed like half a second, drifted up the stairs and moved to the circle of girls. They turned instantly and greeted her kindly. The woman took the hellos with a smile and pushed her way to the center.

The spotlight accentuated her candy floss hair, which winked every time she shifted. Her eyes were bright and shone as far as the back of the auditorium, and her nature was carefree, peaceful and gracious. James rubbed his eyes; he could've sworn he saw fluffed angel wings sprouting from the back of her dress.

"Girls, welcome to another day of after-class rehearsal. I'm pleased to see you all here today. However, we must not waste any moment of the time we are given with announcements." She lowered her hands and smiled.

The three boys leaned forward and strained to hear. The woman's voice was faint and they practically had to read her lips to catch half of what she was saying.

One of the girls, a petite brunette, raised her hand and the director called upon her. She stepped into the circle. "Mrs. Richards—"

The woman laughed to interrupt, which startled the girl and irritated her at the same time. She made the move to step back in the border. "My dear, I understand you haven't been here long, but please, call me Linda."

The brunette considered this for a moment. "Yes, Linda. As I was saying, I think we should step it up a notch for Regionals. I've heard the two schools competing against us will be very good and I know it would mean so much to the group to beat them." The others girls nodded and whispered.

James flushed and had the feeling as if the girl about them watching in on their practice. He sunk lower into his chair and listened to what else she had to say. But the director, Linda Richards, interrupted once more.

"Dear, I don't think you have anything to worry about," she assured in an angel's voice. "Our routine is spotless and there are no flaws. The songs are perfect for our vocal ranges and will most likely get us past Regionals for sure. We are not changing any part of the set list." As if on cue, the other girls in the circle nodded and smiled with pink, glossed lips.

The woman made James think of the witch with the pink dress in _The Wizard of Oz. _All she needed was the dress and the wand and the big pink bubble and she would be set. She already had the sugary personality.

The brunette stood outnumbered. "Well, okay. If you say so, I guess we'll be fine."

"We will, dear."

William noticed as the brunette clenched her lower jaw slightly, but made no more moves to talk further. She clicked her heels together and moved back to rejoin the circle. She watched her shadow stretch across the stage as she did so. She simply nodded and acted like the others: Barbie doll perfect.

"This is insane," James whispered and leaned across Carson. "They aren't singing. I think we should call it a day and go back to campus."

"We'll be fine, James," Will assured for what felt like the tenth time that day. "Cool your jets for five more minutes. I'm not leaving until I hear them sing, and they _will _sing."

Carson agreed with, "You jump the gun too quickly. It would be a waste of time to drive two hours here and two hours back with nothing to report."

"But we're not reporting it, right?" James asked and his nerves grew ever minute. His hand had wrapped around the armrests, seeing as clawing his wrists only made them numb and irritated.

Will turned to stare at him with fiery brown eyes. "Of course we are. That's why we came. We'll talk to the group about it behind Lovett's back. She will never know and we won't get busted for basically breaking the rules and risking our disqualification. It's as simple as timing. Leave everything to us."

Unsure with what to do, James fell back in his chair and looked back to the choir. The circle had formed two rows in the time James was talking, arranged by part order. The brunette that had been speaking earlier stood in the middle of the first row. The director stood in front of them with her hands raised, led the group through a group note, and then let her hands fall with a smile.

"You may carry on from here, ladies," she said. She left to take a seat in the audience.

The brunette instantly stepped forward. "Alright, girls. Take it from the top!" She jumped back into the first row as music started to sound from the speakers.

The three boys leaned forward in their seats. As James expected, the brunette speaking earlier led the charge and burst into song. She strutted down the center of the stage, snapping her fingers on every downbeat. After two measures, the other girls joined in to provide background vocals. They were... good. Exceptionally good.

"Well, we'll have something to report when we get back, that's for sure," he muttered and leaned back in his seat.

"Why are they so good at singing?" Will asked numbly; he seemed almost hypnotized. He stared at the dance routine that involved the girls moving into pairs for a ballroom-type swing. The moves were perfectly in sync and they matched right in time with each other. Their voices were like that of a recording, right in time and as fluid as if they were standing still.

"I think I'm hearing angels right now," Carson said.

"And their dancing is amazing," James added and buried his face in his hand. "Why are they so good at dancing, too?"

"They're immortal, probably. Immortals are good at dancing. Like Nathan, off _Misfits._"

"I can see that happening. But seriously, you watch that show?"

"Shut up!" Will whispered fiercely.

The number finished with the brunette belting out the last note and holding it steady. She cut off the sound triumphantly and the director applauded happily from her seat in the audience. She made her way back up to the stage to talk with the tired girls, letting one of them leave the auditorium for a drink of water.

"Oh, my _god,_" William said and snapped out of his daze. "We are so dead. Do you see what we're up against?"

James covered his face with his hands. "I don't know how we're going to win Regionals if they're going to be singing that well." Carson nodded in agreement.

"We _have _to tell everyone," Will insisted and stood up. "We'll be heroes, everyone will love us, and we'll know how to beat them. We just need a song switch. It will be perfect and we'll take home the gold."

Carson and James stood with him. They crept from their seats in the back of the balcony, to a side door that led them past the audio and visual room, and to an entrance that allowed them into the halls.

The hallways of Chamberlin were as boring as the girls, with one shade of tan for the floor tiles and another for the walls. The lockers were a shade in between cream and a pinkish eggshell color. Everything was neutral with no ounce of bright color anywhere. It made James feel completely out of context. He straightened his tie instinctively and they scoured the halls for the door that would lead them back out to the parking lot.

When they passed the bathrooms, however, an electric hand dryer kicked up, nearly knocking Carson into Will. They stood at the entrance for half a second before scurrying around the corner.

As they were disappearing, a pretty blonde girl came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands gently on her skirt. She ran a hand through her hair and turned in the opposite direction. She wore the same scarf that the choir wore and she stopped to take it off momentarily, straightening it.

Will, always the one to lose his patience first, moved to peer around the corner. Carson and James lunged to grab the back of his blazer and pulled him back.

"What?" he whispered, looking back at them. He peered back around the corner, despite their pleads. "Oh, crap."

He ducked behind the corner, but it was no use. They were already spotted. They held their breaths and pressed against the cool tile wall, but it couldn't stop the clicking of shoes that grew louder. It acted like the ticking of a clock that numbered their time and made James almost jump out of his skin.

Then there was the girl standing in front of them, her hands on her hips. They jolted. She glared at them with green fire in her eyes.

"Hi," she said, though it didn't match the intensity of her stare.

"We won't tell anyone we were here if you let us go alive, I swear," Carson babbled nervously, instantly. Will nailed him in the ribs with his elbow.

She broke into a soft smile and laughed. The sound set the boys at somewhat ease, though it was the kind that foreshadowing death in horror movies. Dimples showed at the corners of her mouth when she smiled. "I'm not going to turn you in," she assured. "Only a warning. I know what school you're all from and what choir you sing with. It's not that hard to tell from those wacky outfits."

They all glanced down at their blazers. The Dalton crest was thickly outlined in red on one pocket and the canary pin was visible on their lapels. They never thought of it as wacky.

"Are our outfits a bad thing?" James asked cautiously.

"No, but they look a little funny," she admitted and gestured to his tie. "The colors don't match, for one. The red piping is different from the red on your ties. And that bird pin completely sets off the scheme. It's a little bit of a fashion crisis if you ask me."

"Well, we're not asking you," Will said sharply and stepped away from the wall.

"Well, it was implied," she snapped and tilted her head to the side. "Argue with me some more and I'll get the intention that you _want _me to turn you in to our director for sneaking around. Spying, I suppose, is the right word, isn't it?"

"Spying, getting ahead," he recited. "Same thing."

The girl watched him silently for a moment. She said, "Your logic is really mixed up. You should get your head checked. Have you fallen off the stage one too many times?"

"Hey!" he objected.

She shrugged. "Just saying." She glanced over the other two boys. "You two could use a little work yourselves. Well, not you." She pointed a finger at James and he swallowed.

"What about me?" James asked apprehensively.

She pressed her lips into a flat line. "You look like the only sane one."

"I'm sane!" Will piped up.

"You look a little scatterbrained to me," James and the girl said at the same time; they met eyes and she smiled approvingly.

Will opened his mouth to fire another comeback when a voice far off down the hall called, "Chelsea? Where are you?"

The blonde girl held up a finger to silence them and ducked around the corner. "I'm right here, Mary. Go back to the auditorium. I'll be back in a second."

Click-clacking of shoes told the three boys that Mary was leaving, and the sound of a door closing confirmed it. The blonde girl—now deemed Chelsea—turned back to them. "You're lucky I'm needed at this moment, or else I would _totally _turn you in."

"Aren't you, though?" Will turned to her with his hands on his hips. Carson and James shared a frightful glance and placed a hand on both of his shoulders. He continued with, "Don't you want to make fools out of us for trying to see what you're up to?"

Chelsea licked her lips. "That's a good idea."

"No, it's not! We were just on our way!" James cried and tugged on his sleeve, urging him back.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure you were. Now stop testing me and go back to your bird school."

William started another sentence, but she turned her back toward them and walked around the corner. They raced after her to find her almost skipping down the corridor. She whipped around and winked once at them, mouthing, "See you at Regionals, bird brains," and faced front. She pulled open a thick door on the right and vanished.

"What just happened?" Will muttered.

"Either she was trying to flirt with us," James trailed off.

"Or she's messing with our minds," Carson finished.

Will stepped away from the corner. "Who cares what she was trying to do. We need to get back to campus before Markus closes off the buildings."

"What time did we leave?" James asked as they started off in the direction they came, passing several closed classroom doors.

"Around four, I think," Carson reported. They arrived at a pair of glass double doors that led out to the parking lot. It was barren with the exception of a few faculty cars and William's Toyota.

Will's eyes widened. The look sent chills up James' spine. "It's seven o'clock right now."

"And it takes two hours to get here," Carson added, a foreboding edge to his voice.

"There's no telling how much longer it will take with the traffic," James said breathlessly. "This is bullsh—Hey, wait!"

Without saying anything, the two boys shot across the parking lot with James straggling behind. Will fumbled with his keys, trying to get them out of his pocket. He accidentally jammed his thumb into a button and the car exploded in an array of blaring beeps. He kicked the front of the car violently and clicked the button again to cease the noise.

They scrambled into the car and had trouble starting the engine. Will clenched his teeth with each turn of the key in the ignition until it finally started. They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road at a fast pace.

"We're so dead," James moaned from the backseat and pressed his forehead against the glass. "We won't make it back in time, will we?"

"Not a chance," they both said in unison.

* * *

It was long after dinner when Kurt sat up in bed with a noise in his ear. He flicked the lamp on. The clock on his night table glowed blue, showing a few minutes past nine o'clock. The noise, a sharp tapping and scratching sound, caused him to pause and listen attentively. The overhead fan was turned off, so it couldn't be making the noise. It stopped and he waited.

He felt as though he sat in a horror movie, the kind where the victim waited and waited and waited in silence before the creature finally attacked. As he reached to flip the light off, the tapping started up again and he threw the covers back.

Kurt slinked across the room to the closet, donning a pair of dark silk pajamas, and tugged on a pair of slippers, ones that matched what he wore. He returned to the foot of the bed and listened for the noise again. It sounded, but louder this time around. He moved to press his ear to the door, but the sound grew quiet. He moved back to the center of the room, preparing to ignore the twitching noise, when his phone vibrated on his desk.

_Kurt, can you help us out? We're in a little bit of a predicament here. – James_

What?...

Something tapped against his window and made him jump. His heart rate shot up and he rushed to the curtains. He drew them back quickly to see three figures crowded outside his window. One drew its arm back to throw something and another stopped him and pointed at Kurt. His phone buzzed again.

_It's Will, Carson, and I. We're outside your window, so don't freak out. Just open it and we'll explain. – James_

Kurt, setting down his electronic, slowly undid the latches of the window and heaved the pane upward. A rush of midwinter air flooded in to greet him and washed over his face. The outside smelled heavily of fresh moisture, cool and sharp and clean. He leaned his hands against the sill and poked his head through the opening.

"James?" Kurt hissed unsurely. What was he doing out here?

"Thank God!" a voice cried back and a figure rushed to the window. In the light, Kurt saw the distinguishable features of James though his hair was wet and plastered to his forehead and his face was washed out. He shivered uncontrollably in his coat and blazer.

"What are you doing out here at nine at night?" Kurt asked. "Are you mad?"

James looked behind him scornfully. "In a sense, yes."

"What are you doing out here?" Kurt repeated.

The boy was hesitant. He glanced over his shoulder again and William and Carson came into view. They, too, were shivering and wet.

"T-t-track practice," Carson chattered and hugged himself. "We stayed after a little too long and forgot to get back in time before the curfew. We got locked out."

"Why in the world—" Kurt started.

"We tried getting back in through the Main doors," James explained, "but they were locked already and as we were walking around to the South side, the sprinklers came on. Soaked us to the bone. Will was being a knucklehead and didn't think to keep his room windows open from the outside."

"You didn't, either," Will grumbled. Kurt caught hints of blue on his full lips.

"Point blank, we're locked out," James concluded quickly and leaned forward. He looked up at Kurt with pleading eyes. "Do you think you could help us out here?"

Kurt blinked. "Um, sure."

He stepped back far enough that the three boys could climb through the open window and land safely inside. Carson was the last to slip in and Kurt rushed forward to shut the window. It fell closed and he flipped the latches, drawing the curtains closed. He turned to the three South boys. "You are all insane."

"Like I haven't heard that one before," Will said mordantly and jammed his pale hands in his pockets. He surveyed Kurt's room with faint disgust and Kurt tugged at the hem of his silk top.

"He means thank you," James corrected and smiled as warm as he could muster with blue lips.

"No problem," Kurt sighed and he ran a hand through his hair. He crossed his arms after and looked at them. "You should probably get back to your own wing. Just don't let anyone see you when you leave, or there will be questions and I don't want to be in the middle of this."

James nodded. "Thanks again."

Kurt brushed between them to reach the door. He pulled it open and checked the halls before allowing them to leave. Seeing as the coast was clear, he ushered the boys one by one into the hall. Will and Carson immediately took off, constantly looking around to check for stray North students who might be still bustling about. James stayed behind for a moment at the door.

"For some reason I'm not believing the track story," Kurt said and narrowed his eyes.

"Then you would be correct in your statement," James admitted. A droplet of water trickled down the middle of his forehead and along the bridge of his nose and he brushed it away. He looked back at his friends, who had long disappeared. A door could be heard shutting in the distance and that signaled their leave from the North dorms.

"Are you going to say anything about it, or leave me wondering?" he asked.

The dark haired boy laughed quietly and stepped into the hall. "Don't worry. You'll find out at Warblers rehearsal tomorrow. Big news like this won't stay secret for long. See you in class, Kurt." He wandered down the hall, still shivering slightly. Water dripped from the ends of his hair.

Kurt took a moment for the words to sink in before darting into the hall and hissing, "Wait, what big news? James! James!"

But the South student had already departed.

* * *

James quickly caught up with Will and Carson as they snuck into the South wing. They passed the dormant commons, dark and silent, the doors closed tight. They wandered down the corridor and into the dorm section. Only one lamp illuminated the hall, like usual. Will winced when his shoes squeaked slightly from the wet grass.

The trio had been so wrong in calculating the amount of time it took to get to the Institute and back without getting locked out. Which happened. And then the sprinklers turned on, which they shouldn't have, seeing as it was the middle of winter and the freaking grass could wait until morning.

"Hello, boys. How was your evening?"

James, Will and Carson jumped and whipped around.

The Precursor of South leaned against the opposite wall, near his room, with his arms folded across his chest. He glared at them with dark eyes and the dim lamp light almost made them glow. James suddenly realized how being on the wrong side of the food chain felt.

William cleared his throat, as the others were too paralyzed to make a move.

"It was fine, Dougray," he said somewhat coolly.

"Really," Simon said and narrowed his eyes. He stepped away from wall and took a few slow steps toward them. "Did you by any chance leave the campus?"

"No, not at all," he scoffed. "We were here the entire time. I don't know what could make you think that."

"Your car wasn't in the parking lot after school," the Precursor reported in a know-it-all tone that made William want to gag. "Your car is usually parked closest to the doors, making it the most visible. Plus, I heard you talking on the way out."

"We're very much in trouble, aren't we?" James guessed, having found the feeling in his lips. The others didn't bother to hit him, because they knew they were caught.

Simon nodded and flashed a Cheshire grin that showed most of his straight teeth. "You bet."

* * *

A vein could easily be seen standing out against Wes' neck. His angry glare flickered from Will to James to Carson and back again. He wrung his hands together nervously, not saying a word. He wore a look on his face that asked, _You're all idiots! Why the __**hell **__would you do something so stupid? I should kill you all right now, but I can't because I don't have the proper weapon!_

The three South boys sat silent and glanced down at their shoes.

It was almost nine forty-five at night. It was far too late to call an emergency Warbler meeting, but Wes did it anyway. Most of the group was in attendance, sitting at one of the wooden tables in the dining hall. Some were bleary-eyed and all were annoyed at the sudden meeting. Kurt rubbed his eyes and leaned his elbows on the tabletop. Whenever he could, he glanced across the table to James, who was ignorant and didn't look back at him.

Blaine sat by Kurt, yawning ferociously. None of the boys were asleep when Wes had run around the North wing, banging on the Warblers' doors, but it was around the time when they should start getting fatigued.

The only boy out of place and fidgeting at the table was Adam Harvey. He was there because he heard the commotion next door and investigated. In the next room over and across the hall, Nick and Matt and Jon had come out of their rooms. They couldn't shake curious Adam loose and were too tired to do anything but let him come along. Therefore, he was a Warbler for the time being.

Adam shrieked when Nick's head fell on his shoulder, a result of falling asleep. The cry forced Nick into an upright position, now completely awake.

Wes calmed down enough to announce through gritted teeth, "Thank you for being here, guys. I know it's short notice, being after curfew and everything, but there apparently seems to be something big going on. And it involves three of our Warblers."

Kurt immediately glared at James like he had before. He didn't make eye contact and only stared at Wes, who had his hands curled around the top of a chair. He thought it would snap under his hands from the pressure.

"William," Simon barked from the other end of the table, causing everyone to jump in their seats, "would you like to explain why I found you, Carson and James soaking wet out in the hall after curfew?"

"You already know why. I don't feel the need to repeat it," he mumbled back.

The Precursor rubbed his face and sighed. "I mean for the entire group, Will."

William stood up and pressed his palms against the tabletop. "Well, I think it's important that everyone should know about that girls' school we're singing against. They're going to clean our clocks at Regionals if we aren't careful." His eyes swept the table and he promptly sat down again.

Adam held his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. You mean you _went to spy on the other school_? Isn't that cheating?"

Low gasps were heard around the table and murmurs were exchanged. Kurt continued to stare at James, trying to get the message across. Why would he lie to him?

"Cheating, getting ahead. Same—" Will started sharply.

James hit him in the arm, saying, "Stop saying that. You're getting on my nerves with that."

"-thing. And you're not even a Warbler, so you have no say in this," he finished and rubbed his arm, hitting James back. The dark haired boy only glared at him, and made no movements to hit him again.

"Shut _up_, William," Simon ordered in a hard voice. "I don't care if Adam's a Warbler or not. Back off, okay? This is about you, not him." With a frustrated sigh, he buried his face in his arms and said nothing more. Adam stared at him before looking down at his hands.

"Do you know what you could've cost us?" David fired at the three boys. The angry look in his eyes suggested throwing a chair in the near future. "You could've thrown the competition away! You're lucky you didn't get caught!"

Will shared a glance with James and Carson, positive that Chelsea, blonde and bright-eyed, was in their minds.

"David," James said in a relatively calm voice. His expression was soft and not at all troubled, though he was the source of the problem. "We're terribly sorry for doing this. Because these two seem not willing to take responsibility, I will."

"I don't care whose fault this was. You still could've penalized the group for spying if you were turned in," he grumbled.

"That's where you went?" Kurt asked the moment he could get a word in. "I knew that track story seemed completely unrealistic."

"Oh, good job, Captain Obvious," Carson muttered, trying to mask it with a cough, and Will chuckled.

"Lay off," James snapped unexpectedly. "No one told him, so he didn't have a clue." His eyes found Kurt's and he swallowed uncomfortably, settling into silence.

The grateful and throbbing silence only lasted for thirty seconds at best.

"I can't believe you three had the nerve to do such an idiotic thing!" Wes burst out abruptly. He slammed his hands against the surface of the table, making it shudder; the boys with their heads down instantly perked up. "Do you know how much trouble you could've gotten in?"

Will raised his hands in a defensive manner. "Yes, we do realize what idiots we are. But look. _We didn't get in trouble."_

"I understand that," Wes said. He took another breath to fire something else when he caught a warning glance from Blaine. He waved his hand and turned his back to the group and ran his hands through his short hair. He paced back and forth and was heard muttering phrases under his breath.

Simon raised his head from his arms and said softly, "As Precursor, I have every intention to turn you all in to Markus for sneaking behind our backs and spying on the other school. Cheating isn't permitted here. And as one of the three in power over the Warblers, that doubles the consequences with Ms. Lovett."

"But you won't, will you?" Will said cockily. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You wouldn't dare turn us in."

"Try me," he growled.

"What I mean is, we're all a team and if one person gets pulled, the rest go with it. Everyone gets blamed for the actions of one. Or in this case, three." He gestured to himself, Carson and James. "Am I right?"

Simon stood up from the table so quickly his chair toppled backwards. He didn't bother to set it up. "Meeting's over. Everyone go back to their rooms." Without another word, he rubbed his temples and made a beeline for the door. He disappeared into the hall, leaving Adam and a few others staring after him.

William beamed brashly and stood up from the table. He tucked his chair in and waited for Carson and James.

But it was Kurt's stare that kept James anchored to his seat. All it took was the disapproving raise of an eyebrow to send him on a guilt trip. Kurt looked as though he was about to say something, and he did.

"That was extremely idiotic," he stated and pushed away from the table, tucking his chair in. He joined Blaine and Thomas and Cody as they moved away from the table.

Wes and David followed shortly after with Wes sending daggers at the South boys, Will in particular. The feeling was mutual and the blonde childishly stuck his tongue out. David had to grab his friend's arm to keep him from lunging.

In groups by wing, the Warblers trickled out of the dining hall and back to their rightful dorms. Adam left with Nick and Matt and Jon, wondering how the day would go tomorrow; James trailed behind Will and Carson as they retreated back to South; and the others split with their heads down.

The only one still sitting at the table when the entire group was gone was Liam Nichols, one of the North Warblers. Liam was average: not too tall or outrageously short, a cute cut of light hair that framed his face, a tendency to be hospitable to others. He was also good at sneaking. Exceptionally good.

That was why when he heard voices murmuring outside the closed doors, he did not make a peep to ask who was there. With a glance around the room to make sure everything was in its place, he moved silently to the doors. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair through one of the windows, a voice following it. He knew the voice anywhere and grimaced; _anyone _knew that voice anywhere.

"...I'm telling you, something needs to happen between you two, or I'm going to blow a gasket." William Fitzroy crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the person he was talking to. With another peek out the window, Liam saw Carson at his side in the same stance. Serious glare, folded arms, straight posture.

"There's nothing. Absolutely nothing will happen between us." This was someone Liam did not recognize off the top of his head. He'd heard the voice before, but could not connect a name with a face right away. It took a moment of leaning against the door in thought to remember.

"That's if you don't do anything," Carson said and sighed overdramatically. "You need to do something about it."

"But what can I do?" James sputtered, exaggerated with the questioning. Liam sucked in a breath and pressed himself closer to the door in an attempt to catch more words. James said, "I'm still trying to get over the fact that you two found out in the first place."

Will's laugh could be heard, confident and low. "Please, Montgomery—"

"Would you stop calling me that? We're friends and not on a last-name basis anymore."

"—it doesn't take much to tell when someone plays on a different team than the norm," Will finished, despite James' interruption. "And we understand completely," he added.

Liam wrinkled his brows in confusion and found himself holding his breath. What did Will mean by that? Then suddenly the words clicked and Liam held back a gasp in order to hear more.

"Whatever," James mumbled in reply. It sounded like he turned because his voice was more distant the next time he spoke. "I don't care that you found out."

"Really?" Carson this time. "Because most gay guys are—"

"Ah, ah," he interjected. "I'm still self-conscious about the word."

"Well, get used to it. You've realized who were... what? Two years ago? That's saying something if you're still not comfortable with it," Will snapped. His tone grew considerably softer. "You know, Kurt's gotten over it. He's used to his identity."

"I know, I know."

There was a silence that made Liam if they were still there at all. He could only hear his heart beat loudly in his ears. But then one of them leaned against the door from the other side, giving Liam a shock, but it did not open.

"So you're not going to do anything about it?" Carson questioned. "You're just going to stand there and watch him drool over that preppy North soloist like that?"

It took a moment, but soon Liam discovered they were talking about _Kurt. _His name had only popped up specifically in the conversation once, but Liam knew that's who they were talking about.

"You _really _don't like Blaine, do you?" James asked.

"Speak for yourself," Will said. "You don't like him much, either."

James was hesitant in his next answer. "Well..."

"You _really _don't like him," he finished for him. "I can see it when you glare at him during practice."

"I don't glare!"

"Actually, you do," Carson said.

"Then why are we talking about this?" James sighed heavily, like he was embarrassed about the discussion. "I should be back in the dorms, trying to finish up a report, not talking to you bozos about my love life. And drying off. I'm sick of being wet."

It sounded like he started to walk away when there was a clatter of footsteps. Their voices were faint, as they were a distance away from the door now. Liam pressed his ear against the door to hear.

"Because, although we despise North, we want you to be happy," Carson was saying. "We want you to take a shot at this, okay?"

"What am I supposed to do, then? Put your brains to work and give me ideas. Don't just stand there and tell me I need to do something when I don't know what to do," he muttered. "I can't just go up to him and tell him I love him!"

Liam heard no more because their voices faded as they walked down the hall.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Things are still heated in the group, centering around Wes and William; things come to a boiling point with James and he does things he would never have done if he was sane; Dex and Leo decide to pull a prank on Kurt as well as the rest of the Warblers that sends them on a wild goose chase; and Kurt finds out something that he can't go back on._


	10. Rhyme Time

_Hello, readers!_

_Sorry for the late update. Family matters, but they are resolved now. Things are better, better enough to start updating again._

_Not much going on in my oh-so-fabulous life. Just writing. Well, the April promo was spectacular, and to top it all off, Michael Grant came out with the fourth in the _Gone _series, _Plague! _I'm going to get it after school today, since it's on hold. Oh, my god, that series is amazing. Read it. Gahh. Diana! You'll get it if you read it._

_This chapter is the product of band related instances in middle school. Weird instances. Oh, and going back to the chapter where they were left in the dark, my school had a blackout after class ended, but I ended up to be still in the building for band. Everyone freaked out and I actually screamed. We had to wait twenty minutes with our phones on when our director tried to fix it, but was like, "Screw it, go home, I'll see you Thursday morning for a makeup," but he's bringing donuts, so it's all good._

_I think I should stop blabbering right now and let you read the damn chapter._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David or any other recognizable characters. I do own all my OCs, like Cody.

* * *

**Rhyme Time**

* * *

**Don't waste time learning the tricks of the trade. Instead, learn the trade. - Unknown**

* * *

"Shut up, Wesley. We heard your testimonies a long time ago. We don't need to hear it again."

"You can't tell me to shut up, William! I have some portion of the power over this group, which means you have to respect me!" Wes pointed a finger at the blonde boy. He still seemed fidgety and it was obvious he spent most of the last few days trying to cool down.

He crossed his arms. "Only if you respect me. Didn't they teach you the golden rule in elementary school?"

"Which you didn't follow," Blaine muttered bitterly.

"I heard that, Anderson!" Will snapped.

He whipped around and Kurt tensed at his side. "Good."

Blaine left it at that and turned back to face front. Kurt sighed heavily.

Wes on the verge of having a stroke was not something Kurt could forget. And of course, it had been caused by the three South Warblers. They were caught dripping wet from being caught by the sprinklers after sneaking off to another school with the intention of spying. The purpose was fulfilled and the group was given useful information, whether they wanted it or not. They were stuck with it and, in Will's words, hey, why not use it?

No one was particularly happy about it. It was a stupid thing to do that could get them disqualified from Regionals if the director found out. David always said bad things come in threes.

Kurt was ashamed to say he thought in the same manner as Will, though he did not admit it to the others. He didn't want the information collected about the Chamberlin Institute, but there was no way to refuse it now.

He pursed his lips as Will fired another comment to Wes and he sighed heavily. Blaine patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

The boys had argued since they saw each other at the end of the hall before first period. North and South were pit against each other, one in defense that nothing was wrong, the other supporting what should be done to the culprits. Witnesses from both wings—including Kurt, Cody, and James—stood by to watch, adding commentary under their breaths when needed. The argument had to be postponed for them to attend class, but heated up quickly before rehearsal.

For the Warblers in East and West, it was nothing they did not see every day; arguments broke out between them for no apparent reason. Will was the one to always start it and the one to always end it with his classic excuse, "I just thought it needed to be discussed." When someone questioned his timing about it, he countered with, "Yes, here. No time like the present!"

Some of the Warblers were more than worried about the fighting about Will's inappropriate sneaking out, Simon in particular.

He sat on the middle riser, between Matt and Nick, watching the verbal battle unfold. Simon didn't attempt at trying to cool things down; he had already given the final statement concerning what would happen to the spies in his wing and did not plan on changing it any time soon. As for what Ms. Lovett would say if she found out about it, he did not know.

"Can we drop it? It's already been decided what will happen. No need to keep fighting about it," Simon said loudly and looked between Wes and Will. David was trying to keep Wes from pulling his hair out while Will seemed to contain his anger maturely, which was unusual. He normally wanted to kick something, but he looked worn.

"Like always, I don't think they'll listen," Nick predicted and stretched his legs as far forward as he could without kicking Kurt in the back. "They never do. Why try?"

Simon shrugged faintly. "Maybe they'll be different this time."

He pulled the sheet music for the closer out from his folder and examined the familiar notes. "You're kidding yourself if you think that."

The Precursor nodded and buried his face in his hands.

"Seriously, Wes," William was saying now, "can we drop the topic? Like Simon said, everything has been fully accounted for. No one is being sent to Markus and definitely not to Lovett."

"Why are people not being sent to me?" The chairman jumped and the blonde nearly tumbled off the edge of the riser. Ms. Lovett climbed the stairs with her bag in hand. She gave them all wondrous looks as she positioned herself at the piano.

"Nothing, Ms. Lovett," Thomas said coolly, seeing as no one else would say anything. "We were just talking."

She waved her hand for him to continue. "About...?"

"Homework," James supplied helpfully. "We're all bogged down. Nothing big."

"Well, you all better be worried about that," she said as she dropped her bag by the piano. She turned around with her hands on her hips. "I don't want any of you not being able to go to Regionals because of grades."

Kurt felt his face flush and was thankful when Ms. Lovett started the practice.

* * *

"Okay, on the count of three, open the door!" he commanded.

Leo hit him in the arm. "Stop being so loud! You'll wake the dead, for God's sake."

"Sorry. Sheesh."

"This is a bad idea."

"This was _your _idea," Dex reminded him. He craned his neck to check the doorways. "The coast is clear."

"Why are we doing this anyway?"

"Because it'll be fun. Kurt's not coming; he's at rehearsal. Open it!"

Leo tentatively reached a hand forward. His fingertips brushed against the gilded wire door before he retracted his hand quickly and shook his head. "I can't do it. What if he gets lost in the building? Kurt will have our heads for sure if he finds out, not to mention Wes and David and the rest of North."

"Calm down already. He won't get lost. We'll make sure we know where he is."

"I don't know..."

"Just open the door already." Dex leaned forward to check the door once more. "Don't be a sissy. It's not like we're going to kill him or something. If he finds us in here, we were feeding him. You know, trying to be nice."

"But we don't have any bird seed."

"You really think these things out, don't you?"

"I'd like to say I do."

"Then _think _about opening the door already, or I'll do it myself!"

Leo stepped back. "It's all yours."

Dex rolled his eyes and approached the cage, wiggling his fingers. "Here, birdy, birdy, birdy. We won't bite..."

* * *

Blaine was at his door in ten seconds. "What's wrong? I got your text. Whoa, stop hyperventilating. Breathe, Kurt, breathe."

Kurt fanned himself with his hands and sat down on the foot of his bed, his phone next to him. "I just don't know. He got out and I don't know how..." He fired a worried glance back at the corner of the room where the cage was empty. He looked back at Blaine. "I have no idea what I'm going to do. I'm so sorry! He's not anywhere in the room, I've already checked a million times. He's not here."

"Hey, calm down," Blaine said and sat down next to him. He put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug, something he never wanted to end. "We'll find him. Don't worry. You probably just left the door open or something and he got out. We'll get everyone together and go search for him."

"Oh, no, I don't want everyone to get involved in this," Kurt shook his head and pulled away, sitting up straight and pulling out of Blaine's arm. He knit his fingers together. "It's just Pavarotti."

Blaine looked at him and his arm felt out of place, so he clasped his hands together in his lap. "Funny, because a minute ago you were freaking out."

"Fine, fine." Kurt stood up and clutched his phone in his hand. "We'll go look, but I don't want everyone involved."

Ten minutes later, Kurt got half his wish. He and Blaine were standing in front of the auditorium with Pavarotti's cage, going to look for him soon. But he fired a glare at Blaine when he saw Wes and David walking down the hall, trailed by William and Carson and James and the others.

The first thing he noticed was Carson in the middle. Kurt had always been used to Will leading the pack with Carson on the right and James on the left. But now Will was almost using Carson as a wall between he and James. If Carson hadn't been there, Kurt was sure he would take a leap at the dark haired boy almost instantly.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to make a spectacle of it!" Kurt exclaimed to Blaine and turned to him.

"Don't worry, Kurt," Cody said as he came up to stand beside him. His hair was slightly damp and Kurt caught a whiff of minty shampoo. "Everyone cares about Pavarotti. He's sort of the Warbler mascot. When something happens to him, everyone cares. Remember what I told you about it being one big competition if we lose him? We find him, but it's for bragging rights."

Kurt wanted to argue further, but huffed and crossed his arms.

As more of the Warblers came together, Blaine called for attention. "Thank you for all coming. I know every one of you could be doing something better"—he glowered when James muttered, "Obviously" to Will—"and I appreciate you taking time out to come."

"Get to the point already. What's this about, Anderson?" Carson asked.

"Pavarotti's missing," Blaine stated with a glare at him.

A hush fell over the group that seemed endless. Then Cody squeaked, "What?"

"Oh, great," William sighed loudly and palmed his face, "the newbie lost the bird. What else could go wrong?"

"Can it, Fitzroy," Wes ordered in a firm tone. "You're part of this group and we expect you to act like you _actually _want to be a part of this group, okay?"

The blonde flattened his lips and stared forward and stayed quiet.

"Okay," Blaine called, "split up. Pavarotti could be anywhere in the school by now." He clapped his hands once and the group split in all directions in groups of threes or fours.

* * *

"What do you think happened?" Blaine questioned, exasperated.

He and Blaine scoured the main hallway around the front office. They had already searched the areas around the choir room and found no signs of the warbler. They assumed the bird hadn't flown in there because the doors were still sealed shut for construction.

"I have no idea," Kurt replied. "I came into my room after rehearsal to start in on my homework... and the cage was open. He was gone. I have no idea what happened."

Blaine shrugged. "It's okay. We're going to get him back," he said and smiled at him.

"We can only hope," Kurt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe they all agreed to do this."

"Well, with a bit of shouting, you'd be surprised how far you can get with them." He chuckled. He said, "Especially William and Carson. Sometimes you have to punch them to even get their attention."

"And James..." Kurt murmured. He'd taken time to see that his new friend was biting back remarks at whatever anyone said, like the blondes. Something was going on with him and Kurt was debating whether to interfere or not.

"Yeah, him," Blaine grumbled and his tone wasn't the happiest. He stared straight forward, his eyes sweeping the hall. "He's been acting differently lately. Simon told me he gets in quite a few fights in the commons."

Kurt gasped, "Really? Are we talking about the same person? Whenever I see him, he looks too scared to hurt a fly."

He bit his lip and was about to say something when a flash of yellow swooped over their heads and disappeared down the hall. He shared a glance with Kurt before sprinting after the bird.

* * *

The hallway around the library was so silent, Simon could hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He passed the closed library doors with his hands in his pockets, his eyes following the details in the walls on either side of him. He took a deep breath and tried to reduce the headache that throbbed against his skull.

Everything that could be going wrong in glee club was going wrong. He had to deal with Will and his pair of South sidekicks sneaking into a rival school within proximity of Regionals. The set list wasn't completely rehearsed and they had not had a run through. Pavarotti was missing.

And to top it all off, James and Will got into frequent, loud "discussions" in the commons. One of the other Souths had pounded on his door to get his attention and by the time he got to the commons, Will was flat against the wall with a surprisingly nonchalant expression and Carson had James' arms pinned behind his back.

Simon rubbed his temple soothingly.

Now he was walking through the halls of the school on a search for that damn bird when he could be making an attempt at his History report. Simon raised his head to continue watching for the wave of wings when he heard the heavy book room doors open, then close with the sound of sucking air. He turned around tiredly.

"Hi, Simon," Adam greeted brightly as he moved away from the library. He held in his arms a stack of what looked like computer and technical manuals. He paused to reach up to arrange his glasses properly on his nose and stepped into pace with Simon. "How is everything?"

"Well," Simon drawled out, "Pavarotti's missing. Kurt lost him."

Shock crossed his face. "Is that why you're in the middle of the hallway alone after hours?"

"No, I just like walking around by myself when I should be worrying about Will and James being at each other's throats and the well being of my grade point average," he said and rolled his eyes. A moment later he said, "Yes, of course that's why I'm here."

Adam sniffed. "What? They seemed like such good friends. James and Will, I mean."

"Psh. Friends, schmiends," he scoffed. "More like enemies. They've been arguing over stuff for the longest time now. Their friendship was short lived."

"That's too bad," he said and sighed. "Someone in my technologies class told me about that. He saw them almost get into a fight the other day in the hall."

Simon looked at him. "Aren't you supposed to be in that technologies class right now?"

Adam stared closely at him, as if debating Simon's sanity. "It's after school, Simon," he stated carefully. "It's after hours. We don't have classes after hours, remember?"

He palmed his face in embarrassment and mumbled, "Of course. Sorry. I'm just tired. Lots of things..."

"I know where you're coming from," he said and raised an eyebrow. "Would you like some help finding that bird?"

"No, no, we're fine," Simon said absently and quickened his pace a little. He felt Adam staring intensely at him and he pursed his lips. "Are you sure you want to help out with this? You don't know what you're getting into," he warned.

"Positive," Adam nodded. "After all, Pavarotti is part of the Warblers, and I consider myself as the manager of the Warblers. I should be allowed to help with Warbler-related issues, shouldn't I?"

"You said Warbler so many times in that sentence, it makes the word sound weird," he laughed. "But I don't know about being the manager. I think Ms. Lovett's got that covered. I think you're more of the technical crew. You know, with the lighting and sound system kind of stuff."

Adam shrugged and shifted the books in his arms. "Suit yourself."

"Do you want help with that?" Simon asked, trying to focus on the conversation and keep a look out for the bird at the same time. Without waiting for him to answer, Simon took the top three hardbacks of the pile into his hands, leaving Adam with two. The boy made no reaction but a quick nod and continued walking.

Adam, adjusting to the lighter load, said, "Thank you. But I do believe I am the manager."

"Whatever. We'll see how that goes." Simon paused. "If you're the quote-unquote manager, does that mean you're coming to Regionals with us?"

He looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

"Are you coming to Regionals with us?" he repeated.

"Why would I come? If you haven't noticed, I'm not a performing Warbler," Adam scoffed.

"But you're the techie Warbler," Simon said as they passed a row of closed classrooms. The doors were locked and dark. "We need a techie Warbler to help us with all the... you know, tech stuff. None of us are as savvy as you."

He watched the walls and he smiled. "I guess I am. Do you think Ms. Lovett will approve of me coming along?"

"Why wouldn't she? You did save the Spring Concert when Dex cut one of the spotlight wires, after all," he reminded him. "She was insanely grateful for that. It would've cut the rest of the show, and we were only one song in."

Adam seemed to walk a little taller. "I did, but it wasn't too big of a deal. Just a few wiring miscommunications and disconnecting circuit breakers and—" He stopped short to look at his friend and he chuckled. "You're not understanding a word I'm saying, are you?"

Simon shook his head. "You lost me at wiring miscommunications."

"Mental note: never talk about computer mechanics with Simon," Adam joked and received an elbow to his ribs.

"Wow, you're nice," he said.

"I'm just saying," Adam replied. "We're looking for the bird again, right?"

"Right." Simon nodded. They turned the corner into the next corridor, which was lined with closed doors.

"That bird is a pain in the ass," he grumbled. "I wonder how he got out, anyway?"

"He totally opened the cage door and flew out by himself," Simon said with a wide smile. "And then he opened Kurt's dorm door and closed it on his way out. Such a dapper bird, isn't he?"

Adam stopped walking to glare at him. "I swear, if you make one more sarcastic joke, I might have to throw a book at you."

"Adam Harvey, threatening people with book-throwing violence? Especially your best friend?" Simon gasped in fake horror and struggled to place his palm over his chest and keep the manuals from toppling to the floor at the same time. "What is going on with this world? First James and Will, and now _you._"

"Shut up!" He held his hand up.

"What are you—"

"Shut up!" Adam repeated and glanced around curiously. "I heard something."

"I don't hear—"

"_Shut up already and you'll hear it!" _Adam dropped his books stubbornly and they clattered to the floor with several smacking sounds. He stared at Simon with wide eyes that filled his glasses and put a finger to his lips. He tilted his head back to scan the high ceilings and Simon, astonished by the outburst, did the same.

They were greeted by a glimpse of yellow in the rafters and Adam pointed at the small bird. It perched on one of the high beams and pecked daintily at its wing. Simon dropped the manuals in his hands in response and the sharp noise caused the warbler to become airborne again.

Seconds later, Blaine and Kurt appeared, rounding the corner. Kurt almost lost his balance on the polished floors and the soles of his shoes slid. Blaine gripped his wrist to keep him from falling and pulled him down the hall. Pavarotti swooped from the high beam and soared down the hall. He was close enough to touch the top of Simon's head, but chose to vanish around the corner instead.

The four boys took a deep breath before speeding off.

* * *

"This damn bird is leading us on a wild goose chase," William complained as he stalked the second story of the school with James and Carson in tow. Carson gripped the gilded cage in one hand in hopes that they would find the missing bird.

"I thought he was a warbler?" Carson wondered. He received "are you kidding me" glares for that.

"It's a saying," James explained when no one else talked. "He means that this is a hopeless quest to find him."

"A hopeless quest this is indeed," Will mumbled and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Why couldn't we have waited to find him later? Surely he would stay in the school. I don't know about you, but I would actually like to get my homework done for once."

"Same here," Carson replied.

"Maybe we'll find him in the end," James said after a minute of silence as they walked through the maze of upstairs classrooms.

"That will most definitely get Wesley off my case," Will added with a smile.

"What is it between you two?" he asked curiously. "Every time you talk to each other, it's only insults and threats. I'm afraid someone's going to get their head ripped off and I don't fare well with blood."

"That might as well be the result. Wes and I obviously don't like each other, and long story made extremely short, we plan to stay that way." Will ended the statement with a firm nod and kept a steady pace in front of them.

"Would it be too much to ask why?"

"Yes, it would. I thought we were supposed to be finding the bird, not talking about my social issues."

That hit home and for a moment James was caught off guard, debating whether to say anything or not. He stared at the back of Will's neat blonde head for the time it took to walk five feet down the hall until he regained the feeling of his tongue.

"But you seem so keen to talk about my social issues. Why not return the favor?" he muttered and the blonde whipped around, stopping completely.

"I'm done talking about this," Will said. His eyes flashed with order and it was easy to see he wasn't used to others defying his commands.

"Well, I'm not." James stepped forward. A sudden growl of anger settled in his stomach and he ground his teeth slightly, enough to apply pressure.

"What is your problem?" Will took a step forward to reciprocate.

"_You_." James placed a hand against his chest and lightly shoved him. "I want you off my case."

Will lost his footing momentarily and recovered quickly. He cocked his head to the side and stared at his friend like he had grown an extra arm. He pushed him back, a little harder and said, "But it's kind of hard to get off your case when you're in love with a guy."

James glared at him icily and felt his face grow warm. He knew Carson was watching them warily, not saying anything. "So you're a homophobe? Is that it?" he asked bitingly.

He clenched his teeth together and the words were caught on his tongue before slipping out like a hiss. "Oh, not at all. It's just interesting, that's all."

"I don't want to talk about this right now, Will." He put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back, to get him out of his face.

Will lost his balance and stumbled back. Slowly he gained his footing and brushed hair out of his eyes. He straightened his tie, stalling for time, and watched him. Softly, he said, "This isn't you, James. You're not the one who would get angry. I don't want you to get mad at me because I said something stupid." He walked toward him.

"You always say something stupid. Every word that comes out of your mouth is stupid." His hand twitched at his side and he wrapped his arms around his torso. He looked away and felt Will's and Carson's curious gazes on him; the thought made his face grow warm.

"One minute you're mad, and the next you want nothing to do with anything," Will said slowly, getting used to the idea. "What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know," he murmured and suddenly turned to the wall. He wheeled back and slammed his knuckles against it. He turned back to Will, looking at his hand. A second later he whimpered and cradled it against his chest. He pulled it back to look at it and found the pale skin covered in angry red blotches.

Will barked in sudden laughter and his mood lightened greatly. "What was that?"

"Well, it was better the wall than your face," he said through clenched teeth.

"You would've hit me just now?" he asked and turned to look at Carson in amusement.

"I _did _have a clear shot."

"_Duck, you idiots!"_

The three South boys jumped and halted in their tracks. Matt, Jon, and Nick could be seen at the end of the hall, rounding the corner and racing toward them. Nick's tie hung out of his blazer and Matt was hopping on one foot, trying to fix the hem of his pants; Jon held one of his shoes and had trouble not sliding on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Will demanded as they sped past them. "Where are you going?"

"Bird! Saw him!" Matt choked out.

"Would be nice if you helped us!" Jon added.

"Now!" Nick's voice echoed back to them. He disappeared around the next corner, followed by Matt and Jon.

William threw his hands up in the air, agitated. "Oh, for the love of—Let's go!" he declared and took off in their direction.

Carson and James looked at each other tiredly and ran after him.

* * *

"Do you think Kurt's going to get mad at us?" Dex asked.

"Probably."

"He'll probably not talk to us again."

Leo sighed, "Oh well. It'll be fun to see their faces."

"Totally."

* * *

The three teams of Warblers collided at the first elevator on the ground floor. Their shoes skidded on the slick parquet floor and they literally crashed into one another.

Blaine and Kurt ran head-first into William and his crew. It sent the five boys sprawling on the floor at the base of the elevator. The cage clattered from Carson's hands and rolled to the space where the floor met the wall. Nick, Jon and Matt ran forward when they saw a blur of gold feathers, but stopped when it disappeared in the high beams. Simon and Adam were not far behind; they scanned the area and hurried to help their friends up.

"Where did he go?" Blaine asked in short breaths and allowed Simon to help him stand. He brushed off his blazer and whipped his head around to search.

"I _just _saw him," Nick reported irritably. "How can one bird be so annoying? I mean, it's a bird, for crying out loud!"

"What happened to your hand?" Adam murmured to James and reached out to touch it, but his hand was swatted away.

James looked up and instead of biting back at Adam or looking at him, he stared at Will for so long that he turned away. "If I say I fell, would that be an adequate excuse?"

Adam stared at him numbly. "But you can't—"

"That doesn't matter right now," Blaine snapped fiercely and in the middle of the group. "What matters is finding Pavarotti. You can battle it out later in your wing on your own time, but not right now."

Kurt nodded supportively and so did the others. James rolled his eyes, but gave up the fight for now. Simon shot one final glare at him before turning another direction with a huff. James crossed his arms, but then decided to tuck his hands in his pockets.

"I really wish you guys wouldn't yell," Matt spoke up in a soft voice. He was gazing up at the ceiling with the cage in his hands. "You'll scare the bird and then we won't be able to catch him."

That caught everyone's attention.

All eyes flew to the high beams. A small dot of yellow was perched on one of them and made slight chirping noises. The ding of the elevator behind the boys stopped the chirping and Pavarotti hopped onto the nearest rafter. Everyone was on the edge, half watching the elevator, the other half watching the warbler.

The doors slid open to reveal a professor in a tight bun and pencil skirt. Over the lid of her coffee mug, her eyes widened. She lowered it.

"Hi, Professor Anna!" Simon greeted, though he was distracted by keeping an eye on Pavarotti.

"Simon, what are you boys doing out here right now?" she questioned and stepped out of the elevator. "Aren't you supposed to be in your dorms? And Simon, I know I assigned a test for you to be studying for."

"Yes, but—_Bird! Duck!_"

Professor Anna raised her head to see Pavarotti glide over her and into the elevator. She jumped out of the way of some of the lunging Warblers, their arms outstretched. Kurt, who had been standing on one side of the door, had immediate access and jumped first. He darted into the open elevator to see Pavarotti cleaning his feathers as he sat on a handrail. Another boy joined him, but he didn't turn around to see who it was.

There was a ding of the elevator that made the Warblers outside cry, but none of them could stop the doors before they closed. Kurt and the other boy were enclosed with Pavarotti. He turned with a little relief.

"This bird is driving me crazy," James sputtered and leaned against the door to catch his breath.

Kurt nodded in agreement and stepped back. "I wish we could just catch him without any more trouble. I don't know how much more I can run before I pass out."

He chuckled and parted his lips to say something more when the elevator lurched. The two boys were thrown from their feet and grabbed on to the wall to keep from falling. Pavarotti chirped loudly and fluttered to the ceiling before floating back to a handrail. It was silent.

"What was that?" James asked, his crystal eyes wide.

"I don't know," Kurt replied and stood up fully.

The panel with an array of buttons seemed to be working: the arrow pointing up was lit and the downward arrow was not. The rest weren't tampered with. Kurt reached forward to tap the upward arrow, only to have it do nothing. There was no sound.

"Please tell me that we're not stuck in here," James said with his eyes shut.

"Well, we're not moving, so I think we are," Kurt replied glumly.

James responded by moving to the back of the enclosed space and plopping down against the wall; the top of his head brushed the handrail and he tucked his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Kurt nothing else to do but join him and he watched Pavarotti. At least they found him. Kurt's phone vibrated in his pocket.

"_Kurt? Are you okay?"_ came Blaine's voice before he'd even said hello. Kurt was comforted by the soft sound of his voice and he smiled a little.

"We're fine," he answered. He pulled the phone away and set it to speaker mode so James could hear what was being said.

"_Why aren't you on the second floor yet? We're all waiting up there for you, but nothing is really happening."_

"That's because the elevator is stuck," James put in.

"_Stuck? What do you mean by that?"_ Blaine asked skeptically. The low voices of the others could be heard in the background.

"It means the elevator isn't moving. Kurt and I are stuck in here with the bird." James leaned his chin on his knees.

"_At least you know where he is,"_ Blaine grumbled. Louder, he said, _"Don't worry, you'll be out of there soon. We're sending Adam to do something technological on the wiring system."_

"Let's hope he's as smart as everyone tells me."

"_Trust me, he is. As an added bonus, Simon will be helping, I think. He knows a few things about Math."_ Blaine's voice suddenly disappeared and crackling filled the phone. James and Kurt glanced at each other with worry before a new voice came onto the speaker.

"_As Blaine said, don't worry."_ They were confronted by Adam's fast-paced words. _"I've got the entire thing under control. You should be out of that elevator in ten minutes flat. At least, let's hope so."_

"Hope so? What does that mean?" Kurt squeaked. "Are we getting out or not?"

Adam laughed_. "Of course you're getting out. I was just joking with you."_

"I don't think we're in the position to be joked with," James said bluntly.

"_Okay, okay, sheesh. I can see you don't have a good sense of humor,"_ he mumbled and his boastful mood dropped. _"I'll have you both out soon."_

"Thank you, Adam," Kurt said and hung up. He sat down with his back against the wall and set his phone beside him. He looked at James as he did the same. He asked, "Hey, what happened to your hand?"

James visibly stiffened at the question. He shifted and licked his lips uncomfortably. He blinked and said, "I have a habit of punching the elevator doors, remember?"

"I know that, but your hand didn't look near as bad during rehearsal," he said. "It looks worse, if that's even possible."

"Okay, fine, maybe I punched a wall right before this," he sighed and James pushed back his sleeve and held up his hand. Kurt saw that his hand was covered in red blotches and he gasped. He moved to where he was sitting and took his hand in his own. James winced when he did so and he turned his head away.

"Why?" Kurt asked and lowered his hand.

"I got mad," he mumbled. He looked at Kurt to see his shocked expression. "Hey, be happy it was the wall and not Will's face, where I was planning for it to go originally."

"Why?" he repeated and brushed his fingertips along his knuckles.

He shrugged. "Will was being an asshole. But don't worry. Everything will blow over soon with us and we'll go back to being best buddies for life." He tried to smile energetically. _Ha, like that's going to happen. William is never going to let me live this down._

"Well... okay," Kurt said, but he wasn't about to let it go that easily. He looked back down at James' hand and ran his fingers along another red line on the top of his hand. "Where did you get this from?"

"Punched the elevator doors, remember? And the wall."

"Right," he muttered. He pushed back the cuff on his blazer and James tugged against his hand. "What?"

"Nothing." He let Kurt hold his hand and he swallowed.

Kurt came across another red line, stretched across the top of his wrist. "James, what happened to your hand? It looks horrible. Surely you didn't get this all from punching the doors _and _the wall." He pushed his sleeve up all the way and turned his arm over and was faced with several red lines in row.

"It's nothing," James said sharply and yanked his hand away. He winced faintly and cradled his hand to his chest.

Kurt stared at him. "That doesn't look like nothing," he argued. "It looks like you..." He paused.

"Like what?" James snapped. "What exactly does it look like?" Abruptly, he stood up and walked to the other side of the elevator, not facing him.

Kurt slowly got to his feet and stared at him, concerned. "It looks like you're hurting yourself, James," he said and found his voice came out as a whisper. The words tasted funny in his mouth.

"I'm getting away from it. I'm not doing it anymore," he protested and whipped around. He clenched his fists at his side and Kurt almost thought he would punch something else. "I'm done with it all. I'm trying to stop for—"

Suddenly the elevator lurched and startled Pavarotti and the two boys. Kurt squeaked and reached to grab the handrail and James dropped to the floor in shock, pressing his hands against it. The bird took flight and soared to the other side of the elevator. The contraption groaned with metal against metal before dropping abruptly and stopping shortly after. The motion made Kurt's stomach turn upside down like a rollercoaster ride.

"Oh, my gosh," James was muttering under his breath, "oh, my gosh."

Kurt cast him a confused look when the lighting was cut off. The space was pitch black for a moment, and then the lights flickered back on. Kurt looked up to the ceiling and wondered what the hell Adam was doing with the wires. The groaning of metal came to a halt and slowly the elevator inched upward. The quick vibration of Kurt's phone startled them both.

"Hello?" Kurt answered shakily. His heart was hammering in his chest.

_"You okay in there?"_ Adam asked, seeming out of breath.

He looked to James, whose face was white as a sheet; his eyes were wide like dinner plates. "Fine, fine. No broken limbs or bloody noses. Did you fix it?"

_"I think I did. I don't know if it will fix it for good, but it will get you and James out for sure."_

"Good," Kurt sighed. With the phone still up at his ear, he stood and offered James a hand up. The bird also seemed frightened by the way he looked around in short movements. "I think you cut off the lights while you were trying to fix it."

_"Yeah, sorry about that." _Adam's tone was sheepish. _"We think I cut a wrong wire while I was dealing with the motor of it all and it kind of got confusing from there. But it's working for now and that's all we need to worry about."_

"Thank goodness. I guess we'll see you up there."

_"I guess you will."_

"Oh, Adam," Kurt said before he hung up.

_"Yeah?"_

"Make sure you have the cage ready when the doors open," he said sternly. "I think Pavarotti is tired of being in the elevator as much as James and I are."

_"Roger that. See you when you get up there." _With that, he disconnected the call.

* * *

Adam, his glasses clipped onto the front of his blazer, trailed down the hall with Simon in tow. He grabbed his glasses and wiped the lenses on the soft fabric of his shirt before straightening them on his face. They arrived at the clump of Warblers surrounding the elevator. He had his phone in hand.

"Alright, guys," he presented, "James and Kurt are okay. The elevator should be working right now. Carson, grab the cage and make sure it's ready. We're catching that bird when the doors open."

Carson nodded and held the gilded cage tightly in his hands. William stepped in to hold the other side. They moved to the doors. All eyes were on the dial that formed a half circle over the lift. The metal arrow that was stuck between the one and the two jiggled and started moving to the left. The number two lit up and there was a satisfied ding. Adam let out a breath, thankful that his efforts had worked.

The Warblers held their breaths when the sound of metal cogs grinding ceased. The doors had slid open barely an inch when Carson and William charged forward.

Cody, who had arrived recently with Wes, David and Thomas, covered his mouth to prevent gasping and said, "You're going to hurt him!"

Cody was right about someone getting hurt, though not in the sense of the bird.

William snagged the toe of his shoe on the grooved track the doors slid on and stumbled forward. He pulled Carson down with him, and the cage came after; it clattered against the floor. Pavarotti, sensing immediate danger, leapt off the handrail and soared to the ceiling. He breezed through the opening doors and flew over the group of boys. They looked up, shell-shocked.

Kurt stepped quickly over the two fallen boys and stuck his head out the elevator. James hung back to make sure Carson and William were not seriously hurt. The others outside the elevator followed Kurt's line of sight, only to see Pavarotti swoop down the corridor and in the direction of the main staircase.

"Well, _damn,_" Thomas said in a flat tone.

* * *

"What are we going to do now?" Cody asked desperately as half the group stayed on the second floor, still in pursuit of the missing yellow bird. The North and East Warblers offered to search the rest of the upstairs classrooms; South and West resorted to exploring the ground floor.

Blaine shrugged unenthusiastically. "I have no clue. As much as I love that bird, I kind of want to forget about him."

"Ditto," David said and rubbed his temples soothingly.

"I swore I saw him go down the main stairway," Adam mumbled almost to himself. "He's probably somewhere on the first floor."

"The rest of them should be able to find him," Thomas finished. "We'll just stay up here and let them do all the work."

"And let South get the bragging rights?" Wes looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "No way. William will never let me live it down if he finds that bird before we do."

"Then make it a race!" a voice declared and startled the boys; they jumped back at the sight of Leo materializing in front of them. He laughed and tossed his white-blonde head back.

"Wait, what?" Cody asked and shook his head.

"I said, make it a race. Are you deaf or something?" Leo repeated. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, a sweet smile on his face. Blaine felt his stomach turn. "If you don't want South to get the bragging rights, make the search for Pavarotti into a competition. But don't you always do that?"

Wes pointed a finger at him. "Are you behind letting him out? Because it really seems like you are."

He laughed again. "Jumping to conclusions, are we?"

"Yes, actually, I am!"

"Then jumping to conclusions is very good and you are extremely accurate in your guessing!" Leo cheered and clapped his hands once, looking at all the boys individually. Silence washed across the group.

"So are you behind it or not?" Thomas asked to clear things up.

"What did I just say, Mr. Reid? This school is a little too boring for me. It needed more fun."

Blaine sighed and rubbed his face. "Leo, I am really starting to not like you."

"When have you ever?" He propped his hands on his hips and looked at him in a stately manner.

"Good point. Do you know where Pavarotti is?"

Leo took a moment to answer and pressed the toe of his shoe against the floor. "Yes. Maybe. Oh, I don't know."

Wes ran his hands through his short hair. He was already under enough stress as it was. "Make up your mind already! We haven't got all day!"

"Of course I know where he is. Sheesh, calm down," he ordered. "If I didn't know where he was, why would I be bringing up the topic of racing with you, hm? Now, are you going to accept the task to get your bird back or not? As you said earlier, it's all about who gets the prize. And I'm the only one who knows where he is."

Wes shut his eyes for a brief moment to compose himself. He turned around and walked ten feet back in the opposite direction, beckoning the other boys to follow. They formed a tightly knit circle similar to a football huddle. Kurt smiled when Blaine stood by him; he felt as though he was experiencing the elevator stomach flip all over again.

"Alright," Wes said in a quiet voice, eyeing the blonde monstrosity over Blaine's shoulder, "I say we don't listen to anything that brat says. It will only get us in more trouble than we are in already."

"What are we going to do about Pavarotti, then?" Kurt questioned.

"South and West will find him."

Adam laughed shortly, staccato. "There is no way we are letting this go to _them. _One: South and West will have full rights to brag about this. And two: William will never let Wes live this down, as stated before. I say we take the challenge and kick their asses profusely."

He finished the explanation with a cheerful smile and an expression that showed that a plan was hatching inside his head. Jon and Matt nodded and leaned across the huddle to give him high fives.

Nick smiled and added, "Adam's right, like usual. It's about time South got what it deserves. And Will's face when he sees we've got Pavarotti will be priceless."

This got the other boys murmuring to one another, smiling and concurring.

Wes sighed and looked down at his feet, muttering to David, "I don't think we can talk them out of this one."

"Nope, I don't think you can!" Leo piped up as he wriggled into the space between Kurt and Blaine.

"Fine, fine!" Wes surrendered. "We'll take the damn challenge, or race, or whatever you call it."

"Good!" Leo smiled widely, showing a majority of his white teeth, and stepped into the middle of the circle. He fished in the breast pocket of his blazer for something and thrust a folded Post-It note into Wes' hands. "Here is your first clue! Good luck!"

"First clue?" Wes repeated and glanced down at the paper. "Leo, what the hell does—"

"You'll find out!" Leo sung loudly and quite off-tune, which made Cody and some of the others hold their ears. "Read the clue and if you get to where you're supposed to be, you'll find the second one!"

"Leo!" Wes roared as the blonde snuck his way out of the Warbler huddle. He jammed the paper into David's hands to watch the boy skip merrily down the hall and out of sight.

* * *

The first floor was practically silent as the South gang and a few West Warblers patrolled the halls. Carson held the gilded cage in one hand and stood on one side of Will; James stood on the other to make the last point of the triangle and nibbled on his pinky nail. Simon trailed behind them, watching the trees sway outside beyond the windows. The West students acted like they weren't there, quiet and invisible and in the back of the group.

"We almost had him," Will grumbled and looked down at his feet. "If Hummel hadn't been in the way, we would've got him."

"Kurt wasn't in the way," James said and didn't meet his eyes when Will turned to look back at him; his eyes sparkled greedily, like he knew the world's biggest secret.

"Then if he wasn't, you were," he said.

"Could you stop blaming everyone else for once?" James asked with a sharp edge to his voice that he had never spoken with before. "It's getting a little annoying."

"I only speak the truth."

"And so do I when I say you're getting on my nerves," he snapped. "Do you want me to punch for real this time?"

"Whoa, cat fight," a voice said delightedly. Dex leaned in with inquisitiveness. He made a clawing motion with his hand and made a purring noise. "Meow."

The dark-haired boy and the blonde glared at him and spoke in unison, "What do you want?" After the words came out, they immediately glowered at the other.

"Simply passing by," Dex said with an innocent expression. "Though I heard Hummel lost the little birdy. Shame."

"It is a shame," Simon said and watched him with cautiousness. "What's it to you, anyway? You're not in the Warblers. You shouldn't care about whether or not he lost the bird."

"That may be correct, my friend, but I have a way for you to find him first." He snapped his fingers to accentuate the last word.

Will ignored the heated stare coming from James and asked, "What do you mean when you say _first_?"

"Well..." He paused. "Aren't you into that whole racing thing with the other two wings? I mean, Pavarotti _is _a prize, isn't he?" He continued when he received nods. "Leo ran into the other half of the Warblers—North and East. Said they were teaming up to find Pavarotti before you guys." Dex waved his hand like it was no big deal. "But it's nothing you should be worried about."

"Why does it matter if they find him before we do?" James asked, snapping out of his stare towards William. He turned to face the redhead.

"Obviously, North is setting us up to a challenge," Carson said. "I mean, it's Pavarotti, for crying out loud. That bird is like a sacred golden monkey head, or something."

"Of course. That seems like Wes," Will moaned and rubbed his face, annoyed. "Always turning things into stupid games."

"Does that mean you're up to the challenge?" Dex tempted and dug through his pockets. Before the blonde could answer, Dex handed him a neat slip of paper. He gave them a brief nod and resumed walking down the hall. He waved his fingers at them. "Enjoy, boys."

William glanced from the paper in his hands to the redhead disappearing into one of the classrooms. "Challenge? Dex, get back here!"

But the boy was already gone.

"What is this, anyway?" Carson questioned and peered at the paper.

James stole it from Will and read the words. "'One, two, the race is starting off new. Three, four, your next clue is on this school's most important door.' What the hell does this mean?"

"Oh, god, please tell me this isn't a scavenger hunt," Will sighed pleadingly and ran one hand through his hair. "This is pathetic and extremely immature if it is."

"Even if it is, it might get us to Pavarotti," Simon piped up quietly.

"Who cares if we get to the bird first?" he snapped. "I'm almost considering letting North and East have the damn bird. It's _that _stupid."

"Suit yourself," Simon said coolly and slipped the paper from James' hands, walking the length of the hall. He kept his eyes down and focused on the print until he made his way around the corner.

Without saying a word, James took off after him, leaving Will, Carson and the West Warblers speechless.

* * *

After he was sure they were gone, Dex crept back into the hall. He walked the length of the hall and peered around the corner. Footsteps could be heard clomping up the main staircase and he waited.

Leo made it to the landing. He looked around and whispered, "Dex?"

"Right here." The redhead came forward with a smile. "Is the plan all set?"

He grinned. "All set."

They exchanged high fives.

"They're going to _flip_," Leo chuckled.

"I can't wait to see their faces," Dex agreed.

They started back down the staircase, stifling laughter.

* * *

The band of North and East were not having much luck with the clue Leo had given them. After Adam put his two cents in and used logic, they were able to find a scrap of paper written in Leo's chicken scratch hidden in the leaves of a potted plant that sat under a window. They had moved on to the next one and Kurt learned shortly of Wes' issue with impatience.

"This is so idiotic," Wes mumbled as Cody wiped his hands of potting soil, his nose wrinkling. "Why are they putting us through this mess? Can't he just show us where the damn bird is?"

"Calm down already," David ordered as he read the next clue. "'Violets are blue, roses are red, your next clue is a well-known redhead.'"

All eyes flew to Thomas. "What?" he stammered. "I'm not the clue."

"How do you know?" Diego asked. He leaned over David's shoulder to read the print again. "It says redhead, and you're a redhead."

"But I don't know anything!"

Jon nudged Matt in the ribs and muttered, "He's right, he doesn't."

"Hey, I heard that!"

"Good, you were meant to."

Thomas rolled his eyes and said, "I don't have anything to do with this clue about redheads. I'm just—"

Out of the blue, Cody stepped forward and reached onto his tip toes to stick his hand into Thomas' breast pocket. The redhead glanced down at him oddly until Cody retreated. He smirked and waved a thin piece of paper in the air. Thomas snatched it from his hand and studied it for a moment. He shoved it back into Cody's hands with the roll of his eyes and a sigh.

"I rest my case," Diego said proudly and crossed his arms.

"I don't even want to know _how _he managed to get that thing in my pocket," Thomas mumbled, peeking into the pocket once more with a dazed expression.

Cody stretched the paper in front of him and cleared his throat. "'The twinkling of stars on a lovely night, a gabble of geese as they take flight, a passionate look in your lover's eyes, the graceful ballet of a butterfly. Your next clue lies where the trees grow tall and also where the glowing stars fall.' That is downright confusing, not to mention a mouthful."

"It sounds like a cheesy romantic poem," Nick commented with a grimace.

"It's got to be somewhere on campus. That much we know," David mused, ignoring Nick.

Jon looked at him with confusion. "The last time I checked, trees didn't grow inside the building and stars don't fall."

"Maybe it's not _inside _the building," Kurt suggested and pulled his pinky nail to his lips, nibbling daintily.

Like a routine motion, Blaine reached up and pulled Kurt's hand away from his mouth. Kurt sucked in a breath at the contact of his skin against his wrist. Blaine offered a small smile to him before turning back to the clue. Kurt smiled a little too late and stared down at the floor, fearing his face would heat.

Nick bounced on the balls of his feet. "It's outside!" he exclaimed at once. "Since trees don't grow inside, it has to somewhere outside."

Light bulbs sprung over everyone's heads, with the exception of Kurt; he stood there numbly, still savoring the contact of Blaine's hand against his wrist. He watched his friend's faces' light up.

"The garden!" they said in unison and started off in the direction of the main staircase.

Kurt furrowed his brows in confusion, watching them, and Blaine grabbed his wrist. "Come on," he urged.

"What—where—I'm confused," Kurt finally said as he allowed Blaine to tug him along behind the others. Their shoes were loud against the steps as they wound down the spiral staircase and took a right that would lead them to the doors to outside.

Nick hung back to hold the door open for everyone and instead of taking the winding path that connected the main building and the dorm building, they cut to the right along a narrow stretch of pavement. It hugged close to the side of the building.

"We're going to the garden," Blaine explained and released Kurt's wrist; their hands dangled freely, in range of intertwining fingers. Kurt was exceptionally aware of that and tried not to make it seem so obvious. "It's a little section of the grounds cut into a place where students can socialize, but no one goes there anymore. It makes sense that the clue talks about trees because there are two oaks on either side. Last year, before summer, Wes, David and I put together a swing for fun. We haven't tried it in awhile." Blaine abruptly stopped talking as if he was conscious he was babbling.

The group of Warblers followed the pathway around the building for what seemed like hours. As Kurt's feet were beginning to ache, they reached a point in the brickwork and moved around the corner. There, the pavement turned into cobblestone steps and Cody made the effort to hop on them with a separate foot each time. The first thing Kurt saw was one towering tree, and then another.

The oaks loomed over the garden, their branches stripped and bare of luscious leaves. A gaping hole was marked off in the center of the farthest one. A sector was marked off with weathered gray stones; it went on for no more than fifteen or twenty feet. Between the trees sat a concrete bench that was worn from ages of wind and rain. In front of it, sidling up against the brick wall, was a patch of what was supposed to be flowers. Kurt could see the dried, cut off stems sticking from the soil.

It was in the perfect location, set far behind the school and away from the athletics fields. If Kurt squinted, he could see the football posts and oval track. The dorm building wasn't far off.

Wes sighed and moved to the closest tree. He tugged on a thin rope that hung from the sturdiest branch and looked to Blaine and David. "I guess Markus doesn't like our swing much," he reported glumly and let the rope swing.

Kurt pressed his lips together. "I understand the part of the clue about the trees, but what about the falling stars?"

"I'm sure it's a metaphor," Jon answered and sat down on the bench.

"It probably means fireflies," Matt suggested and plopped down next to his brother, gazing up between the empty branches at the cloudy sky.

"We get loads of them during the spring every year and they all come out at night," Adam said and he adjusted his glasses.

"Sure, they're annoying as hell," David shrugged, "but they're gorgeous."

"I guess that makes sense," Kurt nodded. "But where is the clue?"

The question forced the boys into a thoughtful moment of silence. Adam pulled his glasses off to clean the lenses; Matt and Jon fiddled with their thumbs staring at the soil at their feet; Nick stood by Thomas with a blank expression.

Kurt lifted his hand to nibble on one of his nails again and Blaine stopped him. He grabbed his wrist and lowered it to his side before letting go. He looked as though he wanted to say something when Diego said,

"I know!"

He hurried to the farthest tree and looked it up and down. He peered into the carved hole in the trunk and stuck his hand in to everyone's horror. Cody squealed in fright and Kurt's eyes widened. He turned back to the others with a positive expression when he yelped and was tugged closer toward the tree, which set everyone on the edge. His arm was into the hole almost to his shoulder.

Diego laughed and easily pulled his arm from the hole. "I'm kidding, guys. Don't worry."

Livid gazes followed him as he walked back to the group. He held his arm out and opened his hand, palm up. A little strip of paper was crinkled in his hand and Kurt grabbed it before anyone else could. He smoothed it out and cleared his throat. "'Double double, toil and trouble. Find your next clue where everything, and I mean everything, bubbles.'"

"Bubbles," Wes repeated, sounding the word out in his mouth.

"Like, soap bubbles?" David asked.

"Is there any more to the clue?" Blaine wondered and gently pulled the paper out of Kurt's hands. He turned it over to see a blank back. "What bubbles?"

Adam licked his lips happily when the thought came to him. He looked around the group to see if any of them had the same idea and no one did. He smiled and said, "Follow me, boys. I know exactly where to go."

* * *

"I know it's in there. Positive. Go get it," William hissed.

"Why me?" Simon whispered back.

"Because you're the one who wanted to do this in the first place. Now go get it. We don't have all day."

"Fine."

Simon stood up from their hiding place outside the main office. He looked back at the South and West boys, only to have them egg him on. He took a deep breath and moved into the reception area.

The secretary, a woman in her forties, smiled softly at him as he passed. Simon let out a breath when she didn't ask any questions. _Three, four, your next clue is on the school's most important door. _The Dean's door. He gulped.

Simon felt himself walk faster as he moved toward the door. A small white square of paper was taped to it, smack dab in the middle. He feared that if he reached out to snag it, the door would pop open and he would have to come up with a pretty good reason for standing outside his door.

Thankfully, the door did not open and he was able to tuck the note in his pocket. He quickly fled into the reception area, where the secretary paid him no mind, and he escaped into the hall.

"Well?" Carson said and stood up as soon as he saw Simon. Will joined him and the others did as well.

Simon pulled the paper from his pocket and studied the words before reciting aloud, "'You're doing well on this journey for the bird, we have to say, now find the location of foods almost gourmet.'"

"That's stupid," William scoffed.

"You think everything is stupid," James muttered under his breath. Whether or not it was intentional, it came out harshly.

"No, I mean it's stupid," he corrected irately, "because it's so obvious. It's talking about the lunch room. Hello? Food? This one is a give-me."

James brushed it off and started in the direction of the lunch room. Simon cast Will an evil glare before walking after him. The rest of the group fell behind with the dark-haired boy leading. They moved through the school until James stopped at the wooden double doors. He waited for the rest of the Warblers to catch up before tugging one open and heading inside.

The dining hall was dimly lit and empty. The tables were wiped clean and smelled of cleanser and bleach. James fluidly dodged them and came up in front of the kitchen. He waited for the rest of the group, seeming impatient. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching William crossly.

"So," he said, directing his sentence at the blonde, "where do we start, all powerful leader?"

"You don't have to be a jerk about everything," Will snarled and twisted his hands into fists at his sides.

"You don't have to act like the world revolves around you," he fired back suddenly. "Just tell us where to start looking so we can find the damn clue already."

Will wrinkled his nose, stepping back, and divided up the group. The South clan would search the seating area of the dining hall and the Wests would scour the kitchen. The groups set to work.

After almost ten minutes of glancing under tables and chairs and checking in various appliances, Carson stood up and called, "I found something!"

The sound of his voice attracted everyone to the middle of the eating area. They had been working in the quiet and Simon saw James and William fire heated stares at each other every time one looked up or whenever they passed one another.

The group surrounded Carson as he read the clue aloud. "'We didn't think you would get this far. Good job, boys. Your next clue is in the place where there is the most noise.'"

James took the paper into his hands and read the words once, and then a second time. He looked up to the boys to find them all staring at them, even Will. "What?"

"Do you have any ideas?" Stephen of the West Wing asked.

"Not a clue," James said shortly and handed the paper to Will with rigid movements. "But I'm sure he knows where it is. Right, Will?"

"Of course I do," the blonde said and took the paper. He took a moment to read the words in his head before saying, "It's in the choir room."

"How do you know?" another West Warbler questioned.

"Noise. A room where there is a lot of noise," Will repeated. "Because of all the singing, the choir room has the most noise. Now come on."

Various glances were exchanged, but no one objected, before they slowly followed the leader out of the lunch room and into the halls. They passed several closed classroom doors and navigated the maze until they reached the main staircase. The choir room was located not far from it.

The doors were still shut and Ms. Lovett's loopy notice about being in the auditorium was still tapped to the surface. William jiggled the handle once, finding it locked. He gritted his teeth and shook it a tad harder, only to be greeted with the same results. Behind him, Simon sighed and pushed gently on his shoulder to get him to move out of the way.

Simon bent down in front of the handle and fished inside his blazer. He came up with something sharp and metal and red and inserted it into the lock. He learned how to pick locks from Adam, but even though he knew how, he hated doing it when he wasn't supposed to. Sure, it was okay when his roommate locked him out frequently, but not when he was trying to get into a room that was meant to stay locked.

The lock waivered under the small pocket knife and the latch fell away. Smiling, Simon pulled the knife out and quickly slipped it back into his blazer. He gestured for Will to open the door and when he did, the door opened smoothly and easily. Will nodded and stepped inside. The others quickly followed and Simon shut the door behind them.

The choir room smelled heavily of plaster and paint. It was so thick that they all had to cover their noses. The hole above the mahogany desk was fixed and smoothed over and most debris had been vacuumed up. The rugs and hardwood floor were blanketed with white dust, as were the book shelves and tables. There were other signs of construction—droplets of paint on the desk at the front of the room, furniture moved out of place and stuffed in the back of the room.

William took his hand away from his nose long enough to order, "Everyone start looking for something."

The boys dispersed around the room. Simon checked under the sofa cushions; Carson searched behind the overbearing drapery; and James looked under the corners of the rugs. The sounds of shuffling filled the air. Will sat down behind the desk in the plush chair and opened and closed various drawers, half expecting to find a sheet of paper somewhere in there. He only discovered a novel and he tossed it onto the desktop, making a loud smacking sound.

James jumped and dropped the corner of the rug he held. He shook his head and abandoned searching the floors. He moved around the desk where William was sitting and looked at the towering bookcases behind him. Spines of all different colors filled the shelves and James thought of checking them, but it would take too much time to go through every single one.

He dismissed the idea and looked down at the boom box sitting between two books. It was wrapped with its own black electrical cord and James pulled it away to tap the eject button. The lid flipped up sluggishly to reveal a shiny silver disc. On top of the disc was a fortune cookie-like sliver of paper. James glanced behind him and picked it up.

_Congratulations. You've finished the hunt! We can't believe you completed it already! Go back to where the problem started. There, you may claim your warbler. Plus, we're sick of writing in rhymes. You're welcome._

"I think this might be over," James said, a smile growing on his face. He whipped around and handed the clue to Simon. He read over the words carefully and gave it to William, who sighed happily.

"We are out of here, boys," he crowed happily and stood up from the chair.

"It's about time," Simon chuckled and made his way to the door.

* * *

_Crash!_

"Oh, my god!"

"Holy hell!"

"Nick, what did you do?"

"I swear I didn't do anything! It was Matt!"

"No way! It was Jon!"

"Whoever it was better clean it up!" Wes roared over all of them. He stood in the doorway of the chemical closet of one of the many Chemistry rooms of the school.

This one, in particular, was empty because the professor was in a meeting and fortunately kept his room unlocked. They had already checked the other Chemistry rooms in the school, but they all came up empty.

A shrill shatter of glass had brought he, David, Kurt and Blaine rushing to the threshold. Someone—either Nick, Matt, or Jon—had bumped into one of the shelves containing beakers and flasks and the result was catastrophic. Shiny bits of glass littered the floor around their feet.

"Guys," Blaine said, exasperated, "I'm sorry to say you're all idiots."

Nick smiled cheerfully as he stepped over the mine field of glass. "At least you don't have to deal with us on a daily basis."

"Be lucky, Blaine," Adam called from the other side of the room as he and Cody searched through rows of desks.

Nick nodded in agreement. "He's right, you know."

"When has he ever been wrong?" Wes asked rhetorically. He reached behind the door to grab one of the brooms and a dust pan from the hooks and held them out to the three East boys. They took them grudgingly and started to rid the floor of the broken beakers and flasks. Under his breath, Wes mumbled, "This professor, whoever he is, is going to throw a fit when he sees most of stuff broken."

"Let's just hope he doesn't come in right now," Kurt prayed and leaned his head through the doorway to check on the classroom door. It had stayed closed for the past fifteen minutes they were in the room. "I don't know if I could stand another trip to the Dean's office. The first time was horrifying."

"You never told us how that went," David mentioned as he left the closet and stepped into the classroom. "All I heard from Blaine was the various stains on your uniform that you complained about for more than twenty minutes."

Kurt gave Blaine a dirty look; he responded with the sheepish shrug of his shoulders and left to assist Cody and Adam.

"Let's say it was not fun and leave it at that, shall we?" Kurt sighed and turned back to David.

"Guys, I found something!" Matt hollered and dropped the broom.

"No, I found it!" Jon claimed.

"I'm not even going to be a part of this," Nick said and joined the others outside the chemicals closet. He jerked at thumb in their direction. "I think you should listen to them. They did find something."

"For Pete's sake, it better be another clue..." David trailed off and disappeared into the closet. He came out a moment later with paper in his hand, Matt and Jon following close behind. He handed the paper to Kurt. "It's another clue."

"What do you know," Adam said, amused, from across the room. "I guess they are useful after all."

The boys abandoned what they were leafing through to circle around Kurt. He handed Blaine the paper to read instead and he cleared his throat. "'Congratulations. You've finished the hunt! We can't believe you completed it already! Go back to where the problem started. There, you may claim your warbler. Plus, we're sick of writing in rhymes. You're welcome.'"

"I guess that settles it," Cody concluded with the firm nod of his head.

"Thank goodness," Diego sighed and leaned his palm against one of the desks. "I was getting tired of this rhyming crap. Let's go."

They made their way to the door. The halls were as silent as a cemetery and the thought sent chills up Kurt's spine. He hung back to walk with Blaine, giving him a slight smile.

"Hey," Blaine said, his tone low, "what happened in the elevator between you and James? He came out looking like he was going to punch something, and you didn't look much better."

Kurt shook his head and didn't make eye contact. "It's nothing you should be worried about."

Instead of trying to investigate further, Blaine only sighed and kept quiet. _Nothing I should be worried about, my ass. But I'll wait._

At the back of the group, Wes glanced at Matt and Jon out of the corner of his eye. "You two cleaned up the closet, right?"

They kept straight faces and kept walking.

* * *

The two halves of Warblers met up precisely at the end of the class period in front of the auditorium doors. William and Wes automatically growled at each other and crossed their arms over their chest.

"Did anyone find the bird?" Blaine called over the group and stood in front of the doors to get attention.

"Sadly, no," Will reported, his eyes locked on Wes. "We couldn't."

Kurt's face dropped. "That's all right, I suppose."

"Wait, you didn't find him?" Simon furrowed his brows in confusion.

"We'll find him eventually," Kurt said dismissively and shook his head.

"And eventually starts now!" a voice chimed from behind them. They whipped around to see a certain blonde standing behind them with a cheery smile on his face. "We're sorry for making this one whole big mess for you, but let's face it: Dalton is boring, and it needs spice."

"I hate you, you little—" Will started but Carson gripped his shoulder to make him stop talking.

"I know. Doesn't everyone?" Leo said and moved to stand in front of them.

"What did you mean when you said 'we're' sorry?" Kurt asked and laced his fingers together, looking back and forth between he and Blaine. Leo only laughed and waved to someone down the hall. As he did so, Dex came around the corner. On his shoulder was the little yellow bird. The Warblers' jaws dropped instantaneously.

"You—I—we—" Wes sputtered and pointed a finger at them.

"How long have you had him?" David asked in place of what Wes meant to say.

"Not long," Dex answered and took his place beside Leo. He held out his finger and Pavarotti jumped on it eagerly. He tweeted once and looked at the boys with beady eyes. "We've been keeping him with us this entire time."

"May I use one of them to kill the other?" James asked after raising his hand. Kurt swallowed when he caught sight of the red blotches on his knuckles and James looked at him in warning; he lowered his hand.

Carson handed the boys the cage and Pavarotti was safely slipped inside. He sat happily on the bar that extended across the cage and Kurt stepped forward to take him. He gripped the handle protectively, afraid they would try to take him again, and turned back to the group. "Well, crisis averted there," he said with a slight chuckle.

But everyone looked too annoyed and tired to laugh with him. Slowly the group parted and returned to the dorms, leaving Kurt with his bird and Blaine standing by the auditorium doors, waiting for him. As Kurt took a step toward him, a hand caught his shoulder and he jumped.

"Shh, Kurt. It's only me," James said as he dropped his hand. He nodded to Blaine once over Kurt's shoulder and got a fierce glare in return. Blaine made no move to step forward and interject. The only thing he did was offer a, "I'll see you back in the dorms," and reluctantly give them privacy.

Kurt watched him leave, restraining from calling out to him. "What do you want?" he asked as he turned around to face James. He used Pavarotti's cage as a wall between them and saw that James was slightly irritated that it put a foot of space between them.

"I wanted to talk to you about... about what happened in the elevator." Kurt's ears burned.

"I don't," Kurt answered and he saw something break in James' expression. "I don't want to talk about this. If you're coming to me for comfort, I'm not going to help. I can't. I'm not the one to come to for psychological help."

"It's not psychological," he said, his voice low.

"Really? I always thought taking a kn—" He stopped to choose his words again; his tongue was tied. "I thought hurting yourself was always inside your head, something that was mental."

"I don't hurt myself." James gently laid his hands over Kurt's on the top of the cage. Kurt could feel the roughness of a scab brush against the top of his hand, but he didn't pull away. "I don't do hurt myself at all."

Kurt grabbed his hand and held it up. A red line stretched across his palm and he gestured to it, saying, "Then what is this the result of? Falling? Punching the elevator doors? Punching the wall?"

James let him hold his hand and didn't flinch at all. He could tell Kurt was getting a little annoyed with him and that was the exact reaction he expected, but didn't want to happen. He turned his head and said, "Be thankful it wasn't Will."

"He always needs to be punched, but that's no reason to actually _want_ to!" Kurt said and his voice rose with anxiousness. He smoothed his thumb across the scar on his palm and his tone dropped significantly. "I honestly don't know what's gotten into you, James. I never expected this from you at all."

"Maybe you're not the only one with problems," he snapped, making Kurt let go of his hand. "Maybe you're not the only one who has a hard time trying to keep his grades up, or get a solo in class, or make something of my life, which basically seems nonexistent right now."

Kurt stared at him oddly and almost didn't hear Pavarotti chirp as he sensed anger stretching between the two boys. "I hope you don't mean what you think I mean by that last statement, James," he said and his voice cracked a little at the end. He swallowed and had trouble looking him in the eye.

His features softened as he realized what Kurt was getting at. "No," he said breathlessly, "no, not at all. I would never take it so far that I would actually kill myself."

"Then why are you doing _this_?" Kurt set down the cage to grab one of James' hands in his own. His skin was cold under his warm hands. He pointed to the array of lines that covered his wrist. He stared at them more closely. "There's more," he said. "There's more than the first time I saw it." He pushed his sleeve back all the way, despite James cringing away from him.

The skin between his wrist and his elbow was littered with crisscrossing scars, all the same crimson color. Some of them were on their way to healing, while others weren't. Some, Kurt noticed with a gasp, were new.

"So what if there's more?" James barked at him.

"It means you're getting closer and closer to going off the deep end," Kurt said and traced one of them, one that wrapped around his upper wrist like a bracelet. He looked up at him. "I don't want that to happen to you," he said.

James felt his breath hitch as he said that. He stared back at Kurt, taking in every bit of his murky blue-green eyes. He looked slowly down at his arm and he stepped forward, without the cage blocking him. "It helps," he said flatly.

"It helps with what?"

"The pain," he stated and felt Kurt grip tighter onto his arm. He yanked back, yelping, "Don't do that!"

Kurt retracted his hand and stooped to pick up the cage, once again forming the barrier between them. The look in his eyes was frightful, and so was James'. "If I knew this is what you were like, I would never have talked to you in the first place." He took a step back. _Did I really just say that to him?_

"Kurt," James sighed and stepped forward in an attempt at closing the space between them. It didn't work: for every step he took, Kurt retreated. Finally he gave up all together and stayed where he was. "I'm sorry you think of me like this—"

"Sorry? _Sorry _doesn't cover it. Sorry is when you step on someone's foot while dancing," Kurt snapped and never thought he would hear his voice as demanding as it was now. He never looked down the hall to see if anyone was eavesdropping; he didn't think about it. He lowered his voice. "Sorry is most certainly not telling who you consider your friend you're _harming yourself_. It changes the way you look at people, James."

"For the record," he murmured in reply, "I didn't tell you. You accidentally found out when you weren't supposed to."

"Same instance!" he exclaimed. "I-I don't want you to put yourself through this."

James whipped his head up to look at him, his mouth open slightly. "What?" he said. He looked so innocent.

"I don't want you to cause yourself pain all the time," Kurt elaborated and started to edge away. "I don't want that to be an issue between us, between our friendship, because of that. I think you need to have a little time to yourself."

"Kurt! Come on!" James called after him as he started to walk away. He couldn't move; his feet were glued to the floor. "I don't want there to be any trouble!"

Kurt slowly turned around to face him, gripping the handle of Pavarotti's cage so hard his knuckles turned white in opposed to James' red ones. He said, "We're still friends, if that's what you're implying. You're too good of a friend to lose, and I don't want to lose you to this, of all things." He turned to face the hall in front of him and picked up pace again.

The only thing James heard as he watched Kurt walk away was the little fading _chirp-chirp-chirp _of Pavarotti as he bounced in his cage.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Kurt is under more stress than ever with his work, trying to pull up his grades; he and Blaine perform their duet in front of Ms. Lovett for approval before Regionals; Mercedes drowns him in questions over dinner at Breadstix and when he returns, he is faced with an insane change in the plan, headed by the person he least expected._


	11. Issues

_Hello, readers!_

_I apologize for the lack of posting. Ten days, I think. Anyway, I'm glad to be updating this story. The next few chapters are on the way, no doubt._

_And, finally, after a four-week hiatus, Glee is coming back on Tuesday! It will be insane to sit down on Tuesday night and actually watch it. I'm extremely excited for it!_

_Short author's note, nothing much going on in my life. Well, none of you would want to hear about it, anyway._

**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David. I do own my OCs._

* * *

**Issues**

* * *

_**SUDDEN adj. happening, coming, made, or done quickly, without warning, or unexpectedly, occurring without transition from the previous form, state, etc.; abrupt. – Merriam-Webster Dictionary**_

_**FRIGHT n. sudden intense fear or alarm; an alarming shock – Merriam-Webster Dictionary**_

_**NERVOUS adj. easily excited or irritated, jumpy; timid, apprehensive – Merriam-Webster Dictionary**_

* * *

Kurt flipped another page in his book. The library around him was silent for this time of morning. The one wall that was made up of several panes of glass let in the early morning light, letting pinks and oranges and hints of purple splash across his table. The librarian sat behind his desk with his glasses perched on his nose, not bothered by the clicking sounds of the computer in the corner, or the rushing sound of air from the air conditioner.

Kurt looked up for a moment, not surprised to see the walls of shelves surrounding him. He'd chosen a table in the far corner of the library by the windows, where he could be left in peace without anyone bothering him for any reason. The night had been hard to sleep through and after hours of tossing and turning with the same thoughts going through his head, he'd finally gotten up at 6:15 and dressed for the day. He had made a cup of coffee in the kitchen, helping himself to one of the tarts Cody had made the day before, and headed off for the library to make good use of his time.

He flipped through the book in front of him and wrote down another set of answers on his worksheet. He moved onto the next book that sat in front of him when he found he couldn't keep his focus without his thoughts wandering every minute or so. He shoved the book away and sighed, putting his head in his hands.

Kurt admitted to himself that he shouldn't have snapped at James when they were looking for Pavarotti the other day. He had been a little too startled by the fact that James was hurting himself to act any different, and that caused James to act the same way. Though he looked completely pissed off, James had tried to talk to Kurt about it.

He didn't want to face it. He didn't want to listen to James at all. He wanted to push everything away and pretend the remaining things were somewhat okay. He did not want to accept the fact that his friend was keeping secrets from him.

To be honest, Kurt felt afraid. He was afraid of what was wrong with James, and what was wrong with everyone. Blaine had been distant with him lately, and so did Cody, and Wes and the others. That was another thing he didn't want to accept.

_They're all my friends, _Kurt thought as he pulled the book closer to him again. _They're going through problems like I am. It's no big deal. They're not avoiding me for any reason. I'm being paranoid. _He paused. _And I shouldn't snap at James again._

Kurt's phone buzzed on the tabletop and sounded like a jackhammer. He jumped and his heart rate jumped with him. He snatched the phone and held it to his ear, thankful to hear a familiar voice on the other end.

"Hi, Mercedes," Kurt said into the receiver.

"_Hey, Kurt! How are you?" _she said excitedly. He sighed at the sound of her unnervingly perky voice, even though the clock barely struck seven.

"I'm fine," he said and held the phone away from his ear.

"_So..." _she said. _"Are you and Blaine coming tonight?"_

Kurt flipped a page in his book in fright. "What?" he asked, the tension rising in his tone.

"_Are you and Blaine coming tonight?" _she repeated.

"Coming to what?" he asked and he knew he would feel stupid once she told him.

Mercedes gasped on the other end. _"Really?" _she asked._ "You'd forget about our own dinner date tonight at Breadstix?"_

Kurt almost dropped his pen to cover his mouth. "I'm so sorry, Mercedes! Really, I am. I just forgot about it, that's all!"

"_So you're not coming?" _she asked and her voice dropped.

He shuffled through the worksheets in front of him. There were so many things due on Monday that he had in front of him: Physics essays, a Literature analysis... "I don't know," he said into the phone. "I'll try to make it, but I know Blaine won't be coming."

Blaine had been called in by Ms. Lovett to rehearse his solos in the opener and the closer and also wanted to get Kurt in once to run the duet. He would have to stay much longer with her than Kurt would, which meant he had no time to squeeze in the dinner and get back before it got too late.

"_That's too bad," _she sighed. _"But hey, if it helps you get one step closer to being more prepared for Regionals, why not?"_

Kurt nodded. "Let's hope."

"_At least I'll be seeing you tonight," _she said to confirm it and he could see the smile forming on her face.

"You will. Eight o'clock, right?"

"_Eight o'clock. I'll see you then."_

He hung up and dropped his phone on the table. A figure loomed over his shoulder, watching him work. "Blaine!" he screeched and caught the attention of the librarian, who gave him a concerned look.

"What?" Blaine replied and pulled out a chair next to him. He shifted the pile of books over to the other side of the table and sat two coffee mugs in front of him. He pushed the empty one Kurt had brought in earlier and slid a full one in front of him. Kurt instantly smelled the thick smell of cream and sugar.

Kurt placed a hand over his chest. "God, you scared me! Don't do that!"

Blaine smiled and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Okay, I'm sorry. I thought I made my presence clear when I almost tripped over some encyclopedias on the way in." He paused to laugh, but continued when Kurt took an unamused sip of his coffee. He cleared his throat. "Um, you're up awfully early. What's the occasion?"

"Studying," Kurt said and gestured to the worksheets and books in front of him. He turned the cup in his hands and took another sip. "Thank you for this, by the way. But I think I'll need a few more cups to get through the day. Or the morning, at least."

Blaine laughed and took a sip from his own mug. Steam wafted from the lip and disappeared into the air. "I can believe that. The coffee part. So, are you ready for the duet run through today?"

"Don't even remind me of that," Kurt said and shook his head. He set down the cup and pulled his books toward him. He stopped when Blaine reached out and laid his hand over his. Kurt looked up at him, feeling heat overcome his cheeks.

"Can you stop worrying about homework for one day? It's making me feel like an under achiever," Blaine said. The light hit his eyes in a way that made them sparkle.

Kurt sighed, saying, "You're an _over _achiever, Blaine. I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's only in rehearsal," he pointed out. "But come on. Be excited for today. We're premiering our duet for Lovett. She'll love it, I know she will." His hand tightened in his eagerness.

"I know." He felt Blaine's thumb smooth across the back of his hand. "Why are you up so early? Surely it wasn't to come to the library to hold my hand and watch me study while drinking coffee."

Blaine shrugged and said, "No particular reason. Just running over a few vocals in the opener and closer." He removed his hand from Kurt's and stood up, pushing his chair in. "Meet me in the auditorium around three for the duet run through, okay?"

Kurt nodded with a shaky smile and curled his fingers together in the absence of Blaine's hand. He watched him pick up his coffee cup, smile once more, and leave the library. The only thing he could remember about the conversation was the pink spreading across Blaine's face at the last second, right before he left, and Kurt sighed. He smiled tremendously into his drink and bit his lip.

* * *

"I'm sorry again for almost punching you in the eye, William," James said for the umpteenth time. He fiddled with his nails, looking between the blonde and his hands.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Will snapped. "Just don't do that, okay? I don't think I could stand having a bruise on my face. Who knows how long it would take for it to go away?"

James nodded and sat down at the edge of the couch. The commons were dark with the shielding of the drapes covering the window, not letting any light seep inside. The rest of the boys were all right with it, seeing as most of them seemed to thrive in the darkness. He had never seen any of the lamps in the room turned on, or the curtains drawn back. Once in awhile, they were, but it wasn't the most common sight to see. South was a cave and also a field house, looking at the various sports equipment lying around.

Whenever he left the room and entered the hallway, it was the same lighting. When he returned to his room, however, his eyes would take minutes to adjust. He kept so many lights on that Will had once told him he was possibly hoarding the sun in his room.

"What was with that, anyway? You don't usually break out in fights and start punching whoever's in front of you. I'm glad you hit the wall, though," Will asked as he clicked through channels on the television. He stopped briefly on a football game, but turned flipped it; he hated football, pro to be specific.

"It was nothing," he murmured.

"Then why did you punch the wall?" Will chuckled and the channel landed on some historical documentary on the Cold War. He always watched those kinds of shows. Claimed that it was the only thing that mattered. Plain facts in the form of a sixty-minute presentation, not something useless, like cooking shows or sports. Though he was in the wrong wing to be in if he didn't enjoy sports.

"It was there. Plus, I didn't want to shed any blood," James said, bringing a small smile to his face. It quickly left.

William kicked his feet up on the table, something he did regularly. He folded his arms behind his head and looked at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. "Was it because of what I said?" he asked. "About you being gay?"

James blinked. "Partly."

"Do you not like talking about it?" He removed his feet from the table, straightening a few magazines he'd messed up in the process, and sat back. He looked at him and waiting for a response.

James shook his head in silence.

"And would you care to tell me about it?"

Again, another head shake. "Didn't I just say I don't like talking about it?"

"James," Will said and his voice was calm, "if you don't talk about any of this with anyone, then I'll have to start wearing a face mask every time I see you. I don't think I could handle having you come at me every time I bring it up."

"Then don't bring it up. I'd prefer to not talk about it," James stated.

"That's a given," Will scoffed. When he found James unwilling to talk, he said, "You know, it's only going to get worse if you keep it bottled up inside. Talk to me, to Carson, though he's a bumbling idiot sometimes, or even Simon, for crying out loud. I think he's pretty good at dealing with, you know, emotional stuff." William stood up and brushed off his uniform with one hand.

"Can I talk to Kurt?" James asked as the blonde moved to the door. Even though he was sure Kurt was still pissed at him, he was still the first person he considered wanting to talk to.

Will cast him a look that hinted at something unidentifiable. But it was masked with curiosity in a flash. "If you think it would help, then yes. By all means. I'd like to protect my face from any future blows," he said.

James allowed himself to smile. "Or maybe you'll learn to stay out of my business when we're not in private."

"That, too," he sighed as he left the commons.

* * *

The stage in the auditorium had never appeared so long, or so tall, until Kurt found himself walking down the aisle between rows of chairs toward it. He had his phone clutched in his hand, seeing as he'd left his bag in his room, and he usually used that as a life preserver. He didn't need it if all he was going to do was sing. _With Blaine, _he reminded himself and he took a deep breath to keep his heart rate down. But that didn't work too well when he saw Blaine onstage.

Blaine was basking under the middle spot light's bright glow with his guitar strapped over his shoulder. He strummed a few notes and hummed under his breath as he walked around in a small space on the stage. He wasn't wearing his blazer and that caught Kurt as he started up the stairs. His tie hung around his neck looser than school required and his sleeves were rolled up and bunched together at his elbows. Suddenly Kurt felt overdressed.

"Hey," Blaine said as he noticed him take the stage. He dropped his hand from the guitar and instantly smiled at him.

"Hi," Kurt replied and was thankful his voice didn't break.

"So, are you ready to sing?" he asked. He turned in a circle under the light and toyed with the buckle on his guitar strap.

Kurt fiddled with his hands and slowly joined him under the spot light. Finally he tucked his phone in his pocket and hoped it wouldn't fall out. "As I'll ever be," he said with a shaky sigh. Instead of facing Blaine, he stared straight at where the audience would sit. The seats were nothing but pitch black, like they weren't even there. Just...nothing.

Blaine narrowed his eyes at him. A smile played on his face. "Kurt Hummel, are you nervous?"

His eyes went wide immediately and he turned his head, playing with the top button on his blazer. "What makes you say that?" he asked. "I'm perfectly fine. Peachy, in fact. I'm not nervous at all."

Blaine's hand found his shoulder and he spun him around gently. "One," he said when Kurt faced him, "you over exaggerate things when you talk. And two, you don't make eye contact. Those are two sure signs that you're nervous. And plus, you're blushing."

Kurt put his hand to his face and said, "Okay, maybe I am a little nervous about this. Why aren't you nervous? You said you had stage fright."

"I don't see a reason for you to feel nervous. We're only singing in front of Ms. Lovett, not the entire school, which is why _I _am not nervous." Blaine removed his hand from Kurt's shoulder to strum the opening chords of the duet. Kurt watched the way his hands moved perfectly in synch to produce soft, radiating notes. "But I will guarantee you that I'll be sweating bullets by the time Regionals comes around."

"I realize that I shouldn't be," Kurt said and let his hands hang by his side, "but I get nervous if I sing in front of anyone. It's a habit. Like Cody cooking when he's nervous."

He nodded and studied the strings. He adjusted one to make the note come out in a perfect pitch and looked back up at Kurt. "It's okay. If you mess up, we can start again. It's not like this is a one-time shot. There are re-dos."

Kurt nodded again and heard sharp _click-clack-click-clack _sounds behind him. Ms. Lovett strode across the polished wood floor of the stage and sat down on the piano bench, crossing her legs. Her dark hair was pulled into a smooth pony tail, but there were strands sticking out of the back in odd places. "Hello, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Hummel," she greeted with a smile. "How are you boys doing today?"

Blaine looked to Kurt with a reassuring smile and turned to their director. "We're doing well."

"That's good. Now, I hope you're prepared for your featured duet. It's surely a big part of the program," she said and smoothed her skirt down to get out any wrinkles.

At her words, Kurt's throat closed up and his joints stiffened in anxiousness. He could only nod while Blaine said, "We are plenty prepared. We could sing this in our sleep if you asked us to."

She looked up in surprise. "Well, that's certainly good to hear, isn't it?" She rubbed her hands together and met each of their eyes. "Well? Show me what you two have planned!"

Blaine nodded and gestured for Kurt to stand at one side of the stage. Kurt could only stare at him, still under the haze of his nerves. His feet were glued to the hardwood. Blaine laughed lightly and took his arm and guided him to the side of the stage opposite from the piano.

Blaine backtracked and positioned himself correctly. He looked at Kurt, starting to play, and the light glinted off his hazel eyes. Kurt hadn't realized he'd been staring at them for so long until the guitar playing stopped and Blaine had to tell him that he'd missed his cue.

"Sorry," he muttered and shook his head. His gaze was cast down at his shoes and he brought his hands out of his pockets to pick at a nail. He nodded to Blaine to show he was ready to start again and concentrated carefully on the music.

Kurt came in when the time came and he was centered on that being a relief. He moved with the faint pulse of the song, singing the words, and came to stand under the spot light. Blaine did not miss a note in the melody, but winced and took his hands away from the guitar.

"What happened?" Kurt choked out and brought his hands to his mouth in shock. "Are you okay, Blaine?"

He looked up at him and rubbed the top of his foot. "It's okay," he said dismissively and put his hands back on the guitar. "You just stepped on my foot. No big deal. We'll start again."

But apparently 'starting again' for Blaine meant 'one more time.' For Kurt, on the other hand, it was 'the seventh time in a row to step on your foot and/or miss the cue.' By the time the pair had gotten through the entire song without a mistake from either of them, Kurt was red in the face, and not just from singing and dancing.

"Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous," Ms. Lovett said, clapping her hands together appreciatively as she stood up. "I'm looking forward to seeing it under the lights on the big day! Keep up the good work." As she passed them, she clapped each of them on the shoulder and disappeared backstage. She appeared a moment later.

"Oh, boys? I know I'm going to discuss this during rehearsal sometime in the week, but we've got signups for the Valentine's Brunch slots set up," she announced and looked between the two. "We've got solos, and duets, and trios, so feel free to think about what you're going to do, okay?"

"Is singing for the brunch mandatory?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"It's not, but it's highly recommended," she said with a nod. She started edging away. "I'll let you boys think on that. And Blaine? I expect your name to be first one the list." She winked at him. She gave them both a charming smile and vanished backstage and a door opening and closing signaled her leave.

"Are you not going to sign up for a solo or something?" Blaine asked as the door shut. He sounded disappointed.

"No, not at all." Kurt shook his head worriedly. "I mean, if I can barely make it through a run through in under ten times, what makes you think I'll be able to get up on stage and sing in front of an entire crowd with one shot without messing up? To me, that's like trying to land the space shuttle, or perform brain surgery, or something you have to be trained for."

He shrugged and said, "I only asked because you have a good voice. I thought you might've wanted to take a shot at it. You know, it would get you used to singing in front of people."

"I know, I know," Kurt sighed and paced a section of the hardwood. "But I've always had a nerve issue. I feel like I'm going to positively die if I get up on stage."

"You won't die. I don't think that's ever happened before in the history of the Warblers," Blaine laughed and looked up at the spot light; he used his hand to shield his eyes and looked back at Kurt.

"Then let me be the first to start that tradition."

He only shook his head and moved toward the piano. He tugged his guitar over his head and set it tenderly on the bench, pausing to brush his fingers over the keys.

"And let me guess," Kurt said and propped his hands on his hips, "you're going to sign up, aren't you? What Ms. Lovett said at the end, it sounds like you're a regular."

"Obviously," Blaine smiled and sat down on the bench, scooting his guitar over a little. "I always sign up, every year. It's sort of my thing."

"Being in the spot light, in front of many adoring fans?"

Blaine cracked a smile. "Singing, actually. Just singing, any chance I get."

* * *

_Why me? Why do I have to be stuck like this? _were Kurt's thoughts as he entered the restaurant. The glorious smells that wafted from the kitchen helped take the edge off what he was worrying about and his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He shed his coat and draped it over his arm, scanning the tables for a familiar face. As soon as he spotted her, he maneuvered past chairs and people until reaching the booth in the back corner of the joint.

"Finally," Mercedes exclaimed as he slid into the booth on the other side of the table. She was dressed in a shimmery silver top and bright neon jeans, an array of jewelry hanging from her neck, wrists and ears. "What took you so long, boy?"

"Troubles," he muttered as he folded his coat in the empty space on the seat next to him. He rested his elbow on the table and stared at her. "What? Is my hair messed up? Oh, I knew it was from the rain. I swear—"

"No, that's not it," she said. "You just look like you've been in a tornado recently." She pushed a bowl in front of him, offering him a famous bread stick. He shook his head and she took one for herself. She munched on the end.

"Far, far worse." He rubbed his temples in an attempt to make his growing headache go away. "I'm having...difficulties with two guys."

"At Dalton?"

"No, in my made-up fantasy dream land called Kurt's Fantasy Dream Land," Kurt said flatly. "Of course, at Dalton!"

She held up her hands in defense. "Sorry."

"It's okay. It's not your fault," he sighed.

"So who are these two guys you're stuck on?" Mercedes asked with the raise of an eyebrow. "Is one of them Blaine?"

"Obviously."

"Speaking of, where is that bird boy?" She craned her neck to scan the restaurant, but her search proved negative. She sunk back in her seat, disappointed.

"He wasn't able to make it, remember?" Kurt answered. "He has to stay back and talk with our director about our music for Regionals. The group's been shifty between what we have and what we want and I don't know what we're doing anymore, to be honest."

The past few days, murmurs had been going around the group about switching songs in the set list. Some were completely opposed, others were for it. No one knew quite what to do about it.

She reached across the table to pat his hand. "It's okay. It'll be all over soon when we whip your asses then." She smiled charmingly.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm going to let that happen. I don't think the rest of the group will stand for that, considering how hard we've been working. It would be a waste to put all this effort into it, then let it go down the drain."

"Afraid we're going to win?" Mercedes smirked.

"Something like that," he sighed. "All I'm trying to focus on is keeping my mind straight. It hasn't been recently. There have been so many troubles and it's hard to keep them all in line. And that's where the second guy comes in, if you were wondering, and I know you were."

"Of course I'm wondering. Now go ahead, dish out all the details on this other guy." She took a sip from her water glass and prepared to listen.

Kurt sat up straighter and played with the frayed end of his cloth napkin. "Well, it's complicated..."

"Oh, like I haven't heard that one before." He glared at her. "Sorry. You were saying?"

He rolled his eyes and continued. "I've got Blaine figured out—hell, he made me _blush _when we sung today—but I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this other guy."

Mercedes stared at him slack jawed. "What?" she asked. "Repeat that for me again. You and Blaine _sung _today?"

"We're in a duet for Regionals, remember?" Kurt said quickly and tried to shush her when she squealed. "It was insane. I was completely nervous about singing, but he makes it like we're alone. It wasn't even like our director was watching. I did accidentally step on his foot once...but that doesn't signify anything," he added and caught her glare.

"Sure," she drawled and took a lazy sip from her cup, "I'll believe that. It sounds like things are getting serious between you two. I sense a Facebook status change in the near future!"

"Don't try and go all clairvoyant on me," he snapped. "There's nothing happening between us." Kurt paused. "Okay, who am I to say anything? I don't know what's going on at all. First the song, then I start making things up in my head. I don't know anymore." He buried his head in his arm and he felt her pat his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Now enough about Blaine. Tell me about the other guy that's got you down."

Kurt lifted his head. "Well, he's tall, very tall—"

"The least you could do is tell me his name," she interjected.

"James." And Kurt noticed his stomach flip as he said the name. _No. This is not happening. I will not allow myself to do this every time I mention him, or talk to him, or think about him. God, I do a lot of things that concern him. Wait, that came out completely wrong! What is going on with me? I can't even think straight anymore._

"Sounds sexy," Mercedes said with a grin.

"As many times as that word could be used in a sentence with his name, I don't know if that's the case. He's got...issues." _Did I really just say that? The first part, I mean. Wait, what?_

She laughed. "Don't even start on that with me."

Kurt leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "I'm serious, Cedes. He's got some kind of self-abuse issue going on here and it's scaring me. He's acting differently, and I have no idea how to act around him."

"Self-abuse?" she repeated. "Like, starving, or something?"

"Worse," he said. He lowered his voice. "He cuts himself. That's not good!"

Mercedes nearly dropped her water glass. But she kept a good grip on it and set it on the table. She was about to say something when the waitress swung by to collect meal orders. She wrote them down without another word and disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot, Mercedes continued. "How do you know he cuts himself? Maybe you're imagining it, Kurt."

"I'm not imaging anything at all. I saw the scars on his wrist. I held his hand and I _touched them, _for crying out loud. He's not stable mentally, and I don't know what to do." He rubbed one temple soothingly.

"Can't you just step a few feet back and let him get some elbow room for awhile? That's probably all he needs," she said.

Kurt shook his head and looked down at his hands in his lap. "I don't think I can. I mean, I've never tried it before, but I don't think it would have very productive results. He's clingy, Mercedes, and that's not good, either. He's clinging onto _me._"

"There seems to be nothing right with this boy," she murmured.

"You're telling me. As much as I love him—not in a romantic sense, don't go there—I don't know..." Kurt trailed off. He couldn't remember what he was going to say next. He took a bread stick and snapped it in his hands, numbly chewing on the end. "And it's scaring me because I think he likes me, in that sense."

"It sounds like you're scared because you're in love with _him,_" she said and one eyebrow went up.

"I am not in love with a Warbler who harms himself and apparently has a controlling father!" Kurt said a little too loudly. He checked the restaurant to make sure he wasn't heard by too many and turned back to her. "He told me about his family, and how he isn't favored to be in the choir, and all this other stuff, and it's all just one big mush pot of insanity. It's making me worry about him."

"Well, that's always your first instinct. You worry about him and want what's best for him."

"I know." Kurt sighed and put his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Mercedes. I feel so bad for getting mad at him the other day..."

"He'll understand, I bet." She took another sip of her water.

"That's exactly the problem," Kurt said and lifted his head. "I don't think he will." The waitress returned with their orders—a Caesar salad for Kurt, and a bowl of three-cheese lasagna for Mercedes—and refilled their glasses. He waited until she was a good distance away before continuing. "He almost punched another Warbler."

Mercedes eyed him as she picked up her fork. "What? He seriously almost punched someone? Who would've gotten it? Blaine?"

He waved his hand at her. "Thank goodness, no. You don't know him... William. He's been off and on friends with James and something got to him and he snapped. Will's not hurt, but he's a little more wary of James now." He picked at his salad, stabbing a leaf. His appetite was fading, but he knew if he didn't eat at least half of it, Mercedes would force it down his throat.

"At least it wasn't Blaine," she murmured and stirred her food in a circle. "How's he holding up?"

"Blaine? He could be doing a little better." He speared another leaf. "He's locked himself in his room after class every day and I don't know what to think of it. I really don't want to think of it right now, actually. If that's okay with you, I mean."

"By all means," she said, and they ate the rest of their dinner in silence.

At least, Kurt thought it was the rest of the dinner. Not more than five minutes later did she pipe up with, "So how are you doing on your Regionals music?"

"You know we can't talk about glee related issues over any form of food, Mercedes. It will cost me my head and possibly the Warblers a shot at going to Nationals." Kurt took a sip from his drink and the ice cubs clanked around his glass.

She smiled. "I know. But give me progress. Like, have you got all the songs picked out?"

Kurt made a so-so gesture and finally lifted a leaf of lettuce to his lips. He chewed on it thoughtfully. "Half the group wants to change it, I'm sure, but the other half wants to keep it the same. It's a mess."

"That's much more than we've got," she snorted. "We've only got the first song, and barely that. We don't have the dance routine set up or anything. It's all because everyone keeps fighting over every little thing." She looked up at him. "This competition has got everyone picky about everything."

"What do you fight about?" he asked.

She shrugged and set down her fork. "The usual...who's dating who, why Rachel should or shouldn't get a solo, why Santana's being a bitch..." Then she looked away. "And Karofsky's part of it, too, if you wanted to know. He seems more concerned about Regionals than the rest of the group is, to be frank."

Kurt almost choked on his bite of salad. He grabbed his water and swallowed a few gulps, recovering. He stared at her. "What?"

"I told you he was in the glee club with us."

"But you didn't tell me he was staying long enough for Regionals!" he exclaimed and dropped his fork. "I thought it was just one of the little things Schuster and Beiste put him up to that he wouldn't have to follow through with!"

She shook her head sadly. "Nope, he's here to stay, unfortunately."

He could see something lingering on her lips. "But? There's always a but, Mercedes."

"He's actually really good," she sighed and looked at him. "I know you had a big deal with him and everything, but I believe in second chances—"

"Well, I don't!" Kurt crossed his arms.

"—and he's actually good. He taught us all some dance moves Brittany and Mike might work into our opener and he sings well, surprisingly. I thought he would sound like a squawking chicken."

Kurt rested his chin in his hands and took a deep breath, then another. "This is not happening at all. He did not join the glee club. He did not—"

"What is your problem with that?" Mercedes asked. "I mean, I understand he made your life hell before you transferred, but you need to realize that you don't go to McKinley anymore. He's here, and you're at Dalton. There's a two hour difference between you."

Kurt looked up at her tiredly. He pushed his salad bowl in front of him to show he was finished eating, though it had barely been touched and though he was starving; his stomach grumbled at the thought. "Yes," he said, "but need I remind you that we're all going to Regionals together? That's not good for my health if he so much as looks at me!"

"We'll make sure he's nowhere near you," she promised and reached across the table to hold his hand tenderly. "You and the Warblers have your own greenroom, and we have ours. When you perform, we'll be in the audience, and when we perform, you'll be in the audience. After the awards ceremony, we're gone."

"Your point?" he said and his words came out snappier than he planned.

Mercedes glared at him. "The point is that you two won't have any point of confrontation, and if you do"—Kurt stiffened—"Finn or Puck will be with him. Finn will want to keep him line. He's your brother, after all. That's the least he could do."

"I know, but I don't want to have to deal with him," Kurt muttered. "I already dealt with him enough when I was at McKinley."

"You'll be okay," she promised and patted his hand, going back to her meal.

* * *

Kurt drove home in the downpour that flooded the highways. The rain tore at the car, lightning illuminating the sky. He'd always hated thunderstorms, and this was no exception. The almost two hours trapped in his car in what might as well have been the sea instead of the freeway gave him more than enough time to replay the day's events over and over and over again... He shuddered as he realized he could still see the smile on Blaine's face, the redness that had came to his cheeks that morning...

And then James. He didn't even know where to begin about that guy, and he didn't want to start thinking about him, even though he had been on Kurt's mind since the Pavarotti rescue mission. He hadn't seen him once that day and there was a compelling urge to head right into the South Wing and find him, but he knew he couldn't possibly do that.

It was too much for one boy to handle.

Kurt was soaking when he stepped out of his truck after getting back to Dalton. He switched off the car and stuffed the keys in his pocket. He burst out of the car, facing the headstrong downpour. He reached the doors soaking wet, water dripping down his face and chilling him to the bone. He wouldn't be surprised if he got sick from this. Shivering, Kurt tried to open the doors, but to no avail. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message. In less than thirty seconds, Cody was letting him inside.

Kurt peeled his soaking coat off and hung it by the peg on the door. His sweater underneath was wet, but he pushed that aside as he walked through the dimly lit halls with Cody to the commons. The doors were open, letting golden lamp light spill onto the parquet flooring. Kurt unwrapped his scarf from his neck and walked in, seeing the usual sight: Wes and David battling it out on Halo, Diego and Thomas on the couch watching them with less than interested expressions.

"So, Kurt," Cody said as he returned to his seat at the table in the back. He pushed aside a large textbook and a packet of papers to offer him his attention. "How was dinner with..."

"Mercedes," Kurt finished as he pulled out a chair. He sat down and folded the scarf in his lap. "She's doing fine. She sends her best regards to everyone."

"That's good," he said and pulled his packet in front of him again.

"What did you do while I was gone?" He looked over his shoulder to watch David and Wes bark at each other over the video game. Shaking his head, he turned back around.

Cody held up his papers and pointed to the textbook. "Homework," he said. "I'm trying to keep my grades up for Regionals. Lovett will seriously get pissed if any one of us can't compete because we're not pulling at least a solid C in one of our classes. It happened last year at Sectionals to Diego and she was not happy whatsoever." He shook his head.

"That's one way to spend an evening," Kurt sighed.

"Attention, all North Warblers!" All heads turned to see Blaine standing in the doorway. He was gripping the frame like he had run from somewhere and he smiled at Kurt when he saw him. A flicker of something flashed across his face and he seemed like he lost his train of thought for a moment. Then he said, "We have a surprise meeting to attend to."

Wes flicked a switch and the TV went black. He turned to stare at him. "What?" he asked. "A surprise meeting? Who called it?" He stood up with David at his heels; both looked particularly goaded.

And so did Blaine. "Will and James," he stated, and his tone was less than happy. "They said it's about Regionals music, which makes it mandatory, so we can't opt out, no matter how much we want to."

"They can't call a meeting by themselves unless you have a chairman's approval," Wes scoffed.

Blaine shrugged. "They didn't call it themselves; they convinced Simon to."

Wes and David shared a look. They sighed and nodded in somewhat agreement. Thomas and Diego stood up and followed them to the door. Cody closed his book quietly and got up and Kurt did the same. As he was passing through, Blaine caught his arm. "How was everything with Mercedes?" he asked, watching the others move on ahead.

"It went well," Kurt said, smiling. "She wishes you would've come along."

"Yeah, I know." He let go of his arm as they walked shortly behind the others. "But what can I do? Lovett wanted me to run through a few parts in the songs and it was coincidently in the same time frame as the dinner."

"It's okay," he said. "But she told me to bring you next time, or she'll come to Dalton herself. Which, I told her, is completely against the rules and to not do it," he added.

A smile appeared on his face. "Well, we could always use a little excitement around here. If you haven't noticed, it's a little boring."

_Where have you been? _Kurt wanted to ask. He only shrugged and nodded.

"But she should come up sometime," Blaine continued and let his hand brush against Kurt's. He took it gently, smoothing his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. "It would be nice to see her. I know she misses you."

Kurt tried not to show how caught off guard he was. Blaine's palm felt warm against his own and he didn't want to pull away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine smiling.

They followed the rest of the group into the dining hall where the Warblers were crammed in at one table. William was easily visible, standing at one end of it with his hands clasped behind him and a superior mask on his face. James and Carson were seated on either side of him, looking around the room at the others.

Blaine dropped his hand from Kurt's to take one of the two empty seats between James and Simon. Kurt longed to grab his hand again, to feel the warmth it provided, but sat down and tucked his hands in his pockets. James watched them as they sat down, smiling at Kurt when he looked up. Since they were sitting side by side, Kurt could smell the faint scent of vanilla on his uniform.

"Thank you for coming tonight," William said and it stopped everyone short. His tone was demanding, like it usually was. He smoothed back his already slick blonde hair with one hand and his gaze swept over the room coolly.

"I swear, Will, if this is-" Wes started and motioned to stand.

"You haven't even heard what he has to say, Wes," James chirped suddenly and placed his hands on the table. He looked like he was taken aback by his own outburst. "At least listen to his idea before shooting it down. And odds are, you're going to shoot it down." And the relationship between he and Will appeared to have been mended, looking at his defense for the blonde.

Wes gritted his teeth. "But it would be quicker to shoot it down now so we don't have to spend all this time discussing it. There are other things I should be doing right now."

"Just listen to what he has to say, Wes. It's a good idea."

Wes sighed irritably, but sat down and waved Will forward.

He nodded gratefully. "Thank you. As James said just now, I have an idea for the group that everyone may want to take into consideration." He met the eyes of each person in the room; when he came to Kurt, he lingered slightly longer and Kurt felt his face flush. He looked down. "But let's have our newest member introduce the idea," he said and grinned like a cat. He waved to the dark haired boy and promptly sat down.

James looked as frightened as a deer caught in headlights. Kurt saw him tense in his chair before stiffly standing up. He shot foul glances at his two friends before awkwardly turning to the rest of the group. "We want to change the set list," he said after a minute.

"_What?" _Simon exploded and jumped up from his seat. The chair was knocked backward and the sound of wood hitting the floor was sharp and sudden. He pointed across the table at him and stammered, "We can't possibly—there's no—No! We're not changing the set list! That's final!"

"Well, it wasn't completely my idea!" James added hurriedly after he noticed the mixed reactions. He held up his hands in protection. "Will offered it up." Will glared at him pointedly.

But no one seemed to care whose idea it was. The fact that changing all the songs when they were this close to the actual competition was their worst nightmare. Well, half the group's worst nightmare. Murmuring started around the table until it grew to full blown talking. While Simon was on the midst of having a meltdown, Wes was laughing hysterically, which was the exact opposite reaction Kurt expected him to have.

"You really think you can get the entire group's vote on changing the set list? You've probably got half, at best. And this late in the game, too!" he cried through fits of chuckles. "You're insane! You're absolutely insane!"

James held up his hands. "I know this may seem like a stupid idea to all of you—"

"Because it is!"

"—but I—we—know what one half of our competition is like," he finished and lowered his hands. "The Chamberlin Institute will surely knock us out of the way if we can't scrape up something better than what we've got already. New Directions is already a shoo in to do well." He directed the statement at Kurt more than anyone else and for a moment he seemed to lose his words; he stopped talking and looked at Kurt. He shook his head and resumed. "We have no chance at making it to Nationals unless we change it."

The word _Nationals _made everyone freeze.

"You're still crazy!" Wes laughed and buried his face in his arms. The chuckling was muffled by his sleeves. Kurt caught something else like, "I can't believe you would even _suggest _something like that!"

"Hear us out. The Institute is good. I mean, _really _good," James persisted. "We'll never have a chance at beating them if we don't change it."

"All right," David spoke.

Simon whipped around to face him and Wes raised his head. Gasps were shared around the table. Kurt turned to gauge Blaine's reaction, which was a mix of shock and anger. Half the boys' expressions were similar.

David merely glanced at them without showing an ounce of anger or frustration. "You heard me. I'm willing to look into it after seeing all the evidence. James, how much of the set list do you and Will and Carson want to change?"

The South boy fiddled with his hands and suddenly became the sheepish boy Kurt had met so many weeks ago. He looked to his friends, who didn't look back. "Well, all of it." The murmuring dropped and everyone stared at him like they were watching the scariest part in a horror movie. Now was the time that David's face dropped. "Except the ending, I mean. The closer's good," he said with a slight smile.

"We have to fix everything else?" Kurt asked. There was no way that could happen. He liked the songs too much to change them, particularly the duet, but he wasn't about to admit that to everyone. Time limits were pressing down on them, shortening their rehearsal hours significantly. The days were dropping like flies in the summer.

James licked his lips when he replied. "Yes. Basically everything else."

"There goes the duet," Blaine mumbled just a bit too loudly.

"There are others out there, Blaine," he said, overhearing his words. "I'm sure what you had picked out in the beginning was good, but we need something better."

Instead of arguing, like Kurt feared, Blaine kept his mouth shut and only nodded. He sat back in his chair with a flat look on his face. Kurt could only guess what was running through his mind at the moment.

"What about Ms. Lovett? What do we tell her?" Kurt wondered and pinned his glare on James.

When he answered, it seemed only to him, not everyone else. "We'll get it by her whether she likes it or not."

"Again, you're crazy!" Wes crowed and leaned back so far in his chair it almost toppled over. David had his hand on the top of it to keep him from falling backward.

"I think it's a capital idea," Will stated and stood up. At his side, Carson agreed and got to his feet as well.

"Of course you think it's capital, it's your idea!"

"Why do we need to change it?" Simon said firmly, far from being calm, but calmer than Wes. "It's fine as it is. It would be too much work to change it now."

"It's boring, that's what it is," James said, and it came out harsher and shorter than he'd wanted it to. He appeared to want to bite back the words, but they were already out. He continued on. "We need exciting material. That's the only way we're getting to Nationals. That's our main goal, right?"

"I hate to agree," Thomas said, easing himself into the conversation, "but he's right. The music Ms. Lovett's got for us is a little too boring. Sure, we can pull it off well, but we need more extravagant stuff."

"More pizzazz," Kurt chimed in to Blaine's silent disapproval. He smiled, which made James smile as well.

"All in favor of changing everything but the closer?" Will announced and raised his hand. Kurt found himself raising his hand. He gained eighteen of the total twenty-one. "All opposed?" Blaine rose his hand so fast Kurt thought it would catch fire; Simon and Wes raised their hands as well. James slowly grinned. "I think we've come to a majority vote. Six to one ratio."

"Then it's settled," Carson beamed. "We switch the duet and the opener and leave the closer as is."

"I can't believe we're _actually _doing this," Wes mumbled and stood up from his seat. Kurt watched him trail out of the room unannounced with David saying good night and following him out the door.

Chatter blossomed around the table. Kurt looked at one end of it, to James in particular. The dark haired boy shrugged and turned forward. Kurt turned to him, still dripping water from the ends of his hair from the rain. "Are you sure this is the best thing to do right now?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Absolutely," James answered without missing a beat. He rubbed his hands together, intertwining his fingers. He looked at him and smiled.

Kurt bit his lip and decided to go a different way. "I can't believe everyone's going through with this," he said.

James smiled and stood up. "Me, too. I thought Simon was going to rip my head off." He gestured to the figure currently leaving the room.

"He doesn't like change very much, from what I know," Kurt commented and got to his feet. He noticed that James stood with an unusually relaxed posture, despite the situation.

"I can see that."

Kurt clasped his hands behind his back. "And David and Wes. They went through with this, too."

"I know. It's weird," James said, nodding to the door again. "I'm not even a chairman, and they listened to me."

"I think it's because Will got it started. You just followed through."

"Probably. And you agreed. Thank you."

Kurt blinked and he looked away, anywhere else. "It's not a problem," was the only thing he could think of to say.

"It's not too late to change your vote, if you're having second thoughts." James leaned his hands now against the table, watching the rest of the group leave. He looked up at Kurt and part of his hair fell in his eyes; he brushed it behind his ear.

"No. I'll keep it the way it is," Kurt murmured instantly and he remembered the feeling of Blaine's glare when he raised his hand in approval. "What are you changing all the songs to, exactly?"

James deflated and appeared to lose his confidence. He ducked his head. That seemed to be the flaw that he never considered. After a moment, he looked back up. "I have no idea."

"What do you mean you have no idea?" Kurt stared at him in disbelief.

He stood up straight and waved a hand at him. He laid it on Kurt's shoulder comfortingly. "It'll be fine. We'll think of something if I can't."

"So you're picking the duet?" Kurt's eyes flickered to Blaine, who sat still in his seat, staring at the grooves on the sides of the table. He was one of the only ones at the table currently and he looked up at Kurt, waiting for him to finish talking.

"No, no, you and Blaine can discuss that on your own terms. I wouldn't take that right away from you."

"Then why can't we stay with the one we have planned?" Kurt fired and shrugged off his hand. It felt cold, temperature wise, and gave him a bad feeling.

"Just pick something else. From what I heard in the auditorium this afternoon, it was good, but like you said, more pizzazz," James requested tiredly and stepped back to push in his chair. He met Kurt's eyes in a way that sent shivers up his spine and patted his shoulder lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow in class."

Kurt swallowed and nodded. He exhaled a breath. How did James know what he and Blaine were singing as a duet? Had he stood there and watched them perform in front of Ms. Lovett?

Kurt jumped when he felt James' hand on his shoulder again. He whipped around, shrugging off his hand. "What?" he asked, aware of Blaine watching them. But Liam pulled him to the side and started to talk. Wes and David were there as well and Kurt began to wonder what was going on. But James stepped in front of him.

"Just wanted to mention that you're talking to me again," he said. He smiled and Kurt looked away. "Oh, come. You're not still...not happy with me, are you?"

Kurt was silent.

James pursed his lips and said, "I guess that lovely talking was short-lived, then."

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. If you'll let me."

"Why wouldn't I let you?" he chuckled and let a warm and inviting tone take over. Even his skin seemed to take on a pinkish glow compared to the ghostly white that was there earlier.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior I've been displaying the past few days," Kurt said finally and brought his arms away from his chest. He let his hands clasp together in a familiar pose. He dared to look James in the eye; the brilliant sapphire blue that he found sent chills up his spine.

James watched him as if searching for signs of lies in his words. Then he said, "You don't need to apologize for that."

"I do," Kurt insisted quickly. He took a breath. "I shouldn't have acted that way towards you, James. I was just...not expecting it. I'm sorry." He shook his head.

Over James' shoulder, Kurt saw Blaine talking with Liam. He attempted to read Blaine's lips as he talked with no success. He looked frustrated with something and his clenched one fist at his side. Wes put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to take a breather and David did the same on his other side.

Then Kurt noticed Cody standing next to Liam; his hands were knit together nervously and his eyes darted between Liam and Blaine.

"Are you even listening to anything I just said?" James asked and cocked an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitched and made it look like he was trying to hold back laughter.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, but watched the group over his shoulder still, trying to decipher the words.

James looked behind him curiously, then turned back to Kurt. "Then you aren't concerned in whatever I'm saying?"

"Yes, I am," he said and pulled his eyes away from the group. James did not look pleased with his lips pressed into a thin line. "Continue."

James clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and said, "No, it's okay. I can see your attention is somewhere else, so I'll let you go for the night. But we can talk later, if you want to."

Kurt stared at him. So many words bubbled up on his tongue, ready to fire, but he held back. He licked his lips and nodded obediently. "Okay," he said, "we'll talk later."

A pleased look crossed James' face. Gone was the anxiousness and what looked partly like frustration. It was replaced by a smile that creased the chalk-tinted skin of his cheeks. It was halfway to touching his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and turned on his heel. He walked out of the dim dining hall without another glance back at him and Kurt tore his eyes away from the door.

Kurt looked to the group huddled together and was about to approach them when Wes and David pulled away, Cody with them. Liam stayed after a moment longer to say something to Blaine, who nodded but didn't look at him.

Eventually Liam patted him on the shoulder and followed the others out of the room. Blaine rubbed his face and let out a deep breath.

"What was that all about?" Kurt asked as he approached him.

Blaine looked up. "Nothing," he said and pulled a smile on his face. "Let's go. If James wants us to pick a new duet, we might as well start now."

* * *

"I can't believe it, I can't believe it!" Cody said as soon as they were far into the North dorm corridor. All the doors were shut and no one littered the halls. He collapsed onto one of the benches that leaned against the walls and put his hands over his face. "This is insane! Are you sure you heard right, Liam?"

"Positive," he said with a nod. "I heard Will and Carson talking to him about it after the meeting about the Institute. I have exceptionally good hearing, and I know what I heard was right."

"And besides, even if he hadn't heard it right," David said with a dragging sound to his voice, "we already told Blaine about. I can't believe he hasn't completely freaked out about it. I thought he would be throwing things right about now." He checked down the hall to make sure he and Kurt weren't coming as they talked.

"He's trying to stay cool in front of Kurt," Wes said. "He doesn't want him to know about it."

Cody grabbed the pillow behind him and stuffed his face into it. He said something, but it was muffled by the fabric. Liam tore it away so he could say it again. "I _said, _this is insane! James _cannot _be in love with Kurt! You're positive you heard right?"

"I already told you, I'm positive! I heard it with my own ears!"

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Wes demanded. "This is information crucial to keep everyone from killing everyone!"

"Not good, not good, not good," Cody muttered in a loop. "Not good at all." He jumped to his feet and started off down the hall.

"Cody, what are you doing?" David called after him.

"I'm working off my nervousness!" he said loudly and hurried out of the corridor.

"What is he doing?" David murmured back to the group.

"He's going to bake," Wes explained.

Liam stared at him. "What? It's, like, nine at night. He doesn't really think he's going to bake, does he?"

"Oh, yeah, he will. I wouldn't be surprised if he showered us with a dozen cookies, muffins, pies, and tarts in the morning. Be prepared."

* * *

Blaine and Kurt walked down the corridor to the North dorms. They'd seen Cody zip by them on the way to the kitchen and Blaine explained that he was probably going to bake, as it was a way to push down his nerve levels. When they entered the dorm corridor, a door was just shutting, which left the place empty and quiet.

"So..." Kurt said as they walked. He noticed that as he passed a lamp, his shadow was thrown onto the wall. "About the duet..."

"We're keeping it," Blaine said adamantly.

"What?" He looked at him oddly. "But we're supposed to change it."

He stopped when they made it to their rooms. He turned to him and said, "Do you want to change it?"

Kurt felt his face grow warm. "I-I don't know. I love it the way it is, but if you want to change it, you can. It's up to you."

Blaine smiled and let out a sigh. "Then I guess we're keeping it. I don't care if we're supposed to change it or not. It's staying the way it is."

He nodded and started to edge toward his door. He said, "I really do like it. I don't know why James is opposed to it."

_I have a few good ideas, _Blaine thought. Aloud, he said, "I don't know. He's never really heard us sing together. But we're keeping it the way it is, and that's all that matters."

Kurt nodded and placed a hand on the knob to his room. He turned it and pushed the door open. "What an eventful day, I suppose. I'll see you in the morning." He smiled and slipped into his room.

As soon as Blaine saw the door click shut, he turned on his heel and strode to his room. It took all he could to not slam his door, though he did shut it hard enough to make the frame vibrate a little. He raked one hand through his hair and leaned against the door, eventually sliding down to sit on the floor.

_This is not happening. This is not happening at all. Liam is being paranoid. James is not in love with Kurt._

Pause.

Then, _If he is, he's not going to date Kurt, or anything. I won't let him._

* * *

_In the next chapter: The North Warblers throw a Super Bowl party in honor of the game; Blaine comes to terms with his feelings and he might have to do something about it, and quick; Adam receives a surprise call from the last person he'd expect; Kurt starts to retract on his feelings, only to realize they were more prominent than ever._


	12. Game Time

_Hello, readers!_

_I apologize for the late update. I was supposed to post this last week, but I got distracted with other things, so here it is, a week late. And I love this whole testing week at my school where I don't have to be there until 11. And it's almost 10:15 now so I better get dressed._

_This chapter was annoying for me to write. I'm actually glad I got distracted with things last week because I was able to edit this so much its not even funny. I hope you find it an okay read for today._

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David. I do own all my OCs and the plot._

* * *

**Game Time**

* * *

**People say they love truth, but in reality they want to believe that which they love is true. – Robert J. Ringer**

* * *

The television set flickered back and forth between newscasters and commercials. The North commons was practically empty, seeing that most of the wing had gone home for the weekend. Which left the Warblers to throw their own party for the biggest Sunday of the year.

But the remnants of the conversation the night before still lingered in the air like rotten eggs, souring the mood. The room was bogged down with the idea of changing the set list that seemed good enough to win. But it wasn't, and changes for the opener and duet were requested, though most didn't know that the duet was to be kept. Half the Warblers were put off by this, but Wes was the most affected of them all by a landslide.

"I can't _believe _him," he growled as he forcefully punched a pillow into place and jammed it behind him. He crossed his arms firmly when he got comfortable. "He isn't even a proper Warbler yet and he suddenly gets the idea to change practically everything when we're this close to Regionals? The _nerve _of him!"

"Just deal with it, Wes," Blaine mumbled irritably and shifted in his spot on the floor, leaning against the couch. He wasn't too fond of the switch, either. It wasn't so much the opener that was bugging him: it was the duet.

He had picked the duet because it was decent and showed off he and Kurt's vocals nicely. Having it all planned out perfectly was something he took pride in. To have the new guy come and mess everything up was enough to make Blaine want to throw something at the wall. Preferably one of the vases in the hall. Yes, one of those would shatter quite nicely.

"You're not too happy about it either," Wes snapped and looked down at his friend. "Why aren't you arguing?"

"Because I'm mature about it, unlike some people."

"Can't we accept the fact that we're doing undercover work behind Lovett's back and get over it?" David complained loudly. He was tired of hearing it bounce back and forth between Wes and Blaine.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," Wes grumbled and took to sinking into the couch cushions.

"Then you should've done something about it when you had the chance!" Blaine said. He turned around to face him. "You're a chairman and he's not. Make a choice and tell him that's the worst possible thing to do right now."

"Drop it, Blaine. We're done talking about this. What's done is done," David said in a hard tone.

"And what's with _you_?" he asked him, turning away from Wes. "Why'd you say 'you'd look into it'?"

"The kid may be new, but he's on the right track," David defended, startled that Blaine had turned on him. "You saw New Directions at Sectionals. If we'd let our guard down for even a second, they would've gone on to Regionals without us. Just think of what Will came back with from his spying trip. He says the Institute was amazing."

"If he says the Institute was that good, I say we believe him," Thomas cut in quietly. "He's been right before."

"But he's been wrong before, too," Wes snapped and sat up straight. He ran one hand through his short, dark hair. "He's been wrong too many times before. So many times, in fact, that it outnumbers the times he's been right."

"I don't think he would joke about this, Wes. He cares about this competition as much as we do, and apparently, so does James. They're trying to help get us to Nationals."

"We don't need their help," Wes said shortly.

"No way. Don't pull that card again, Wes," Cody said suddenly from his spot across the floor in front of the television. "You said that two years ago, caused a fight between everyone, and we ended up not having enough people to go to Sectionals because they all failed their classes on purpose. And that was when you weren't even a chairman yet. We don't need that to happen again."

"Whatever James and his sidekicks come up with, we'll deal with it," Thomas said flatly. "And besides, I don't think there's any way to go back to the original set list because everyone seems to want the change. I don't think anyone was really into singing Kings of Leon in the first place. Sure, we were excited at first, but—"

"It's the other way around," Wes interrupted and folded his arms over his chest.

"What?"

"I said, it's the other way around. Will isn't a sidekick; he's the leader."

Thomas snorted, "Well, it looks like things might change between them. James looks ready to snap his head off and take charge at any moment."

"Let's hope nothing changes and Will stays the leader, or something." He paused to rub his forehead. "Wow, I can't believe I'm saying that. Please don't quote me."

"Well, you're not the only one. I'm not quite warming up to James, either," said Blaine. He stared blankly at the screen over the mountain of snack foods that covered the coffee table.

"You warm up to _everybody_," Cody said in realization. "This must be a problem if you don't like James."

Blaine glared at him, thinking of what Liam had told him. His heart sunk. "And you do?"

Hesitation. "He's okay, I guess. Good voice, but—"

"But the fact the he likes Kurt?" Blaine finished. "That's not something for me, personally, to like about him."

"Can we just drop everything for a little while and focus on what God has bestowed upon us this magical Sunday?" David ordered and gestured widely to the television. "It's the least we could do."

The commons went quiet for a little while with the exception of the buzz of the television. Blaine could tell, without looking over his shoulder, that Wes was gnawing nervously at his nails. He wanted to tell him to stop, but he did not want to start another fight about something else, too.

Finally, after a string of blaring commercials, Wes broke the silence.

"So, since we're not talking about the competition anymore..." he mumbled and moved on from nibbling his nails to picking at his cuticles. He lounged on the couch with one foot dangling over the edge and the other tucked under him. He looked down at Blaine, who sat on the floor by his foot. "When are you going to make a move?"

"Apparently not," David mumbled to himself as a continuation from his previous statement.

Blaine stared at him in a daze. He glanced behind him to make sure he wasn't talking to David, who sat on the other side of the couch with the remote in his hand. He turned back to Wes with the same lost expression, and laughed nervously. "Um, excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said shortly and looked back down at his nails. "When are you going to make a move? I'm getting bored of you two making googly eyes at each other. Frankly, it makes me want to vomit profusely."

Blaine felt his face go up in flames. He knew what Wes was talking about, but he said, "I'm lost here."

"You. Staring at Kurt all the time," Wes clarified and spoke extremely slow. He sat up and pulled both legs under him. "When are you making a move on him?"

Blaine laughed and looked at him like he was crazy. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"There's nothing going on between us," he denied and grabbed a handful of chips from the bowl that sat on the table in front of him. He chewed thoughtfully, yet fretfully, trying to keep his eyes on the pre-game commercials on the television.

Cody sat up from his stretched-out position on the floor. He propped himself on his elbows to look Blaine squarely in the eyes. "That's not what I see," he sung with a sly grin.

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You do, too," Thomas said, matching Cody's creepy grin. "Just ask Kurt out already and spare us of your sappy love song singing."

"I don't sing sappy love songs."

"Not in public, at least."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Blaine turned around to face him.

"Don't play coy with us," David snapped and bopped him on the top of the head with the foam finger he wore. Blaine swiped at his head irritably and missed the finger. "We know you've got David Cassidy on replay in your room. On the same song, too."

"I do _not _listen to David Cassidy, either," Blaine defended, but he knew his face was red.

"That's not what we hear. You do realize you play your music louder than you think you do, right? And you belt it out like you want people in China to hear," Wes joined in. He sighed and draped his arms over the arm of the couch. "Do us a favor and ask that boy out already."

"Can't you see he's in love with you?" Cody asked with wide eyes. He had positioned himself with his legs crossed Indian style.

Blaine whipped his head to keep a close eye on each of them. "I feel like everyone's ganging up on me for some reason," he droned.

"Then you would be absolutely correct."

"Kurt is practically falling into your arms," Thomas said with a graceful tone to his voice and looked wistfully up at the ceiling, "but you're just not paying close enough attention to catch him."

"Kurt is _not _in love with me," Blaine said shortly and chewed on another mouthful of chips to avoid further conversation. He groaned inwardly when they starting back talking anyway.

"I think you need glasses," Cody commented.

"You need a psychiatrist," suggested Wes.

"You need to _ask him out_," Thomas insisted, "before we all go insane of the intense lovey-dovey, googly-eyes-making thing between you two. I mean, seriously. Do we need to lock you two in a closet or something until you two—"

"I swear, everyone in North will drag you by your heels to his room so you can ask him out, or vice versa," David said quickly to cut into Wes' comment.

"There is nothing going on between us!" Blaine said stubbornly and faced forward to focus on the Chevy commercials that whipped by. All talking around him ceased instantly and he sighed at the sound of the quiet. It was silent for ten seconds at best.

"Need I remind you of his facial expression when we sung 'Teenage Dream' that day he came as a spy for McKinley?" David mentioned. Blaine sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"He obviously fell in love with you when he saw you," Wes said. "His face showed it all. I remember it perfectly. A 10.0 on the lovesick facial expression-o-meter."

"It was just 'Teenage Dream,'" Blaine mumbled and hugged his football to his chest. He'd brought it from his room in spirit of the Super Bowl airing live on television. It was a little flat from having played with it multiple times and not filling it back up.

"_Just _'Teenage Dream'?" Thomas repeated. He swung around in his recliner and gripped the arms. "That song is the epitome of falling in love with someone! I'd be lying if I said if it wasn't love at first sight on one side of the chain."

Suddenly Wes grinned. "_You make me feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream_!" he started to sing obnoxiously loud and his pitch wavered from center. Some of the other North Warblers that sat at the back of the room looked over with curious expressions, but said nothing.

"_The way you turn me on_!" Thomas chorused just as loud and he grinned when he saw Diego give him a sharp glare from the back of the room.

"_I can't sleep, so let's run away and don't ever look back_!" Cody chirped with a wide smile on his face. His voice ranged a little higher up on the scale than the others', but matched nonetheless.

"_Don't ever look back_!" David finished.

Blaine shook his head deniably and did not make anymore indications that he was annoyed by it. As much as he convinced himself that what they were saying wasn't on the true side, it wasn't working. Blaine had this little tendency to lose his train of thought whenever he saw Kurt. Every single time he would forget what he was going to say next and stand there looking like an idiot.

He had butterflies in his stomach, but he wouldn't admit it. He did not know how to get rid of them, or how they got there in the first place. He only knew that whenever he was around Kurt they came back in a whirl wind. He didn't know whether that feeling was good or bad.

But he that James butting in was not good. Not good at all. He didn't need something else to complicate the already difficult matters and honestly, he felt a little protective of the countertenor.

Blaine had wanted to talk to James about Kurt, about his little—dare he say it—_crush _on Kurt, but he hadn't gotten the chance. The dark haired boy was always flanked by the two blondes, therefore unapproachable without several snide comments in a row. James seemed to never have time to himself and was constantly with Carson or Will, more often Will. That, in particular, was something Blaine would have to look into later, after he got his priorities sorted out.

"Dude." Wes kicked his shoulder lightly to grab his attention and he tilted his head back. "Did you hear anything we were saying? Preferably the singing?"

"Yes, I heard the singing. And if you were talking about Kurt and I dating, then no. I'm glad I didn't." He promptly turned around. "There will be nothing going on between us."

"What is your problem?" Thomas asked in all seriousness; his tone surprised Blaine, as he was used to hearing the redhead crack jokes frequently. "This boy is freaking in love with you, and if you tell me one more time you don't have feelings for him, too, I will hit you with David's lacrosse stick until make you see stars."

"Or hearts, rather," Cody added helpfully.

"You make googly eyes with him during class," David listed, checking each finger with what he said, "you smile at him a lot, you sing with him during class, you sing _to _him during class, you invade his personal space more often than not. I mean, you could have a whole couch that was a mile long and be sitting shoulder to shoulder with him."

"And do I need to remind you that James is also supposedly in love with him?" Cody squeaked.

Blaine fell silent. "Don't remind me. I don't want to deal with that right now. I don't want to deal with you guys pushing me to ask Kurt out, either." Even though he wanted to hurl something through the window, his tone was surprisingly calm.

"But Blaine—"

"I'm a friend and a mentor to help him through right now," Blaine stated over him without looking his eyes leaving the TV screen. "I'm not his boyfriend." The word sounded funny on his tongue.

"You were his friend when he came to spy for New Directions. That's three letters short of boyfriend. I think it's close enough—" David said.

"What do you mean, mentor?" Wes asked suddenly, cutting into David's talk.

Blaine was caught. He bit the inside of his cheek and reached for the chip bowl. Wes leaned over him and grabbed the lip of it, taking it out of Blaine's reach.

"No, not going to happen," Wes said, holding the bowl away from him. Blaine tried to reach for it, but he held the bowl farther away. "You're not getting out of this by eating your feelings, Anderson. I want to hear this."

"Blaine, why did Kurt transfer?" David questioned. The only ones who did not speak were Thomas and Cody, who shot nervous glances at each other and remained eerily silent.

Blaine was caught and he knew it. He licked his lips and waited until David said, "You're not getting out of this one, Blaine. It's about time we knew why our only countertenor transferred from a perfectly good school."

Blaine slowly set the football in his hands, the flat one he'd brought, beside him on the floor to stall. He plucked the words to say carefully and arranged them in his mind the way they were to come out. He swallowed and started to tell the story. He told everything the way they happened and knew he was going to get it from Kurt if—when, really—he found out about it.

As Blaine spoke, he realized how troubled Kurt's high school life was. Bullied basically every waking moment of the school day, not being heard in the glee club by his peers, being judged on a regular basis for his sexuality. It made the hairs on the back of Blaine's neck stand up on end.

By the time he shut his mouth, the North boys were in awe.

"That's why," Blaine concluded sharply and took the football back into his hands. He also stole the chip bowl from Wes and started to munch again. "That's why I need to be his mentor and his friend, not his boyfriend. He's already had a bully force his first kiss out of the picture, and I don't want him to feel uncomfortable about anything between us."

Wes was the only one who spoke. He straightened up in his seat and nitpicked his uniform. "I'm sorry to hear that, Blaine. It makes me think differently of him."

"You shouldn't. He's still Kurt. He's not another person."

"Speaking of, someone should go get him," Thomas suggested blindly and gestured to the TV set. "Kickoff's going to start soon and he'll be mad if he misses it."

Cody clambered up from the floor and flitted out of the room in silence to leave a string of tension behind. Blaine took another handful of chips. He shoved them in his mouth and refused to look at any of the others.

"I'm not talking to you anymore about this, just to make things clear," Blaine said loudly as soon as he swallowed. "End of discussion. No more talking about Kurt and I."

"As you wish, all powerful master." Thomas attempted to bow from his chair. Snickers erupting from the back of the room to let Blaine know that the others were hearing everything.

"Shut up."

* * *

"What are you doing in there, Kurt? Digging a hole to China? Kickoff is in ten minutes!"

"Calm down! I'll be out in a minute," Kurt called through the bathroom door. He grabbed his brush to fix his bangs and studied himself in the mirror. Sort of satisfied, he took a deep breath and opened the door, preparing for instant ridicule. "Okay, I'm ready."

Cody stared at him for a total of ten seconds before rubbing his face. He tried to pretend Kurt wasn't even standing there. "What on earth are you wearing?" he moaned.

"What? I'm supporting my team," Kurt explained, giving a short twirl to display his form-fitting Green Bay Packers jersey and mustard-colored jeans.

Today was the day of the famous Super Bowl. Two teams battling it out over a ball on live television with thrilling halftime entertainment. It was the day pretty much everyone in the United States took time to watch. That meant a party, thrown specially by the North Warblers. The commons were rigged with the necessities—chips, dip, endless liters of soda, and much more.

The pair had spent the last twenty minutes in Kurt's room as he got ready for the event, which took too long for Cody's liking. Cody covered his face with his hands. "The guys will absolutely chew you out if they see you wearing that."

Kurt crossed his arms and examined his friend's opposing jersey. "Well, Mr. Steelers fanatic. How many of them are on your side?" he asked.

"All of them."

"All of them?"

"Yes. Well, not Thomas," he said with a frown.

"What about Blaine?" Kurt asked.

Cody's frown disappeared. "Yes, Blaine is a Steelers fan."

"Oh."

"If you want to change, I have a spare jersey." He looked smug and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Kurt laughed and started toward the door. "I think I'll pass on that, thank you very much," he said lightly.

"Suit yourself. But you're asking for it." Cody shrugged and followed him out the door and down the hall.

When they arrived in the commons minutes later, everyone that had stayed for the weekend was seated, which consisted of the North Warblers. The TV roared with the cheers and applause of the crowd that surrounded the football field in Arlington, Texas. The coffee table in front was set up with liters of soda, bowls of chips and dip and other snacks, and assorted kinds of candy. The back table, where others were seated, looked similar.

On the couch, Wes cradled a bowl of popcorn that he and David took turns nibbling out of. Blaine sat on the floor at the foot of the couch with a tired expression, cradling something brown, and Thomas was in one of the single chairs with his legs slung over the arm. They were all dressed in jeans and hoodies and jerseys.

"Did we miss anything?" Kurt asked as he disregarded the open the seats on the couch and took the set next to Blaine.

"Not yet," Blaine answered. The brown thing he was holding was a semi-flat football. "They're doing all that pre-game stuff, like announcements and such. It's not the most exciting part, obviously."

"My best bet is that the game won't actually start for another half hour," Cody predicted glumly as he grabbed a pillow from the couch and spread out across the floor in front of the TV, propping the pillow behind his head. "Happens every year."

"Kurt," Blaine said and blinked, "what are you wearing?" His eyes trailed over the other boy's frame, taking in the outrageous amounts of green and yellow.

Kurt shook his head and reached for a bottle of water sitting between the soda bottles. "Go ahead. Make fun of me. I'll be the one laughing when the Packers win."

"In your dreams," Wes sneered with a mouth so full of popcorn, his words were barely decipherable. "The Packers suck."

"I don't care who sucks and who doesn't," Kurt said over him and held up his hands in defense. "I just pick one team and hope they win. I don't know anything about team statistics. I'm as sports savvy as a penguin."

Blaine snorted as he tipped the last bit of soda into his mouth. "What?" he asked and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled slightly. "A penguin?"

Wes was quiet for a minute and he raised an eyebrow at Kurt's comment. "Either way, the Packers still suck," he concluded and went back to munching on popcorn.

Kurt rolled his eyes and ignored Wes' comment. He turned to Blaine and said, "Yes, I'm as sports savvy as a penguin. Get over it." He saw Blaine's smile grow out of the corner of his eye and he tried not to smile himself.

Fifteen minutes of talking amongst one another passed and the screen changed from previewing a slide show of commercials to the start of the football game. The boys tensed excitedly at the sight of the grassy field and the teams lined up on the sidelines. The referees finished talking and appeared with a football in hand.

The team broke onto the field with some staying behind with the coaches. The crowd in the stands cheered like mad, whooping and hollering. It was a full house. Within minutes, the game was on the edge of kickoff.

Kurt stared at the screen while the boys around him cheered for their team. He sipped on his water and looked from side to side at them. Cody was wound up, his hands shaking at his sides from the anticipation. Wes and David were arguing over the popcorn bowl more than they were watching the game which wasn't surprising, and Blaine's attention was half on the screen, half looking out one of the large windows, his fingers flexing around the leathery surface of the football.

The first quarter passed as slow as a snail. Kurt had no interest in football whatsoever. He was only on the McKinley team to impress Finn, not because he was interested in the sport. That hadn't work out well for him and he'd left the team within a few weeks of joining. He rested his chin on his knees and waited out the first quarter. Commercials appeared and the boys moaned.

"I swear, they show one good play, and then it goes straight to commercials. What is this foolery?" David complained and proceeded to toss a handful of popcorn at the screen. The next handful he grabbed he jammed in his mouth.

"It's getting to the best part of the first quarter," Wes agreed.

"And then they just go ahead and kill us with commercials," Thomas finished glumly. He rested his chin on his hand, unamused with the string of never ending advertisements. He reached for a soda that sat on the edge of the table and toppled out of the chair, hanging over the edge. He sighed loudly and proceeded to stay like that, watching the TV screen upside down.

Another five minutes of commercials and just about everyone was prepared to rip their hair out or throw something. Then a lush green field showed up on the screen and everyone perked

"Hey, shut up! The game's back on!" Cody screeched out of nowhere, even though no one had been talking, and Kurt covered his ears.

Once again, the TV was the object of focus and everyone was sucked into the sport. The quarter finished up in five minutes and then broke for commercials, before the start of the second quarter. Kurt sighed heavily and rested his chin on his knees.

Blaine nudged his shoulder. "It's okay. One quarter down," he said softly and smiled as the commercials rolled past and boys started to talk with one another.

"And three left," Kurt said and leaned his head back to stare at the plain ceiling.

"Don't forget halftime," Blaine added cheerily.

"Don't remind me."

* * *

On the next floor up, the East wing wasn't much different.

Adam Harvey sat in a recliner, watching the game with the rest of the Warblers in his wing. Matt and Jon sat on the floor in front of the screen and refused to budge. Nick sat on the sofa with a soda can to his lips. A few others were sitting on the sofa beside him. Adam sighed obnoxiously and rested his chin on his hand.

"Why do I hang out with you guys if I don't even like the same things you do?" he asked, hoping someone would answer. He would rather be in his room, finishing up a project for one of his classes, not wasting time watching a stupid sports game. He didn't even like football.

"Because you love us," Nick supplied after half a minute of delay and didn't look at him.

"And you all but dragged me out of my room, kicking and screaming," Adam added dully.

Super Bowl Sunday was something he imagined the South Wing would be all excited for, and maybe the North Wing. But not East. East was known for their abnormally high grades and they continued that streak every year, beating out the three other wings by a landslide. When Adam had first come to Dalton, he pictured East to be filled with nerds and geeks, but no. It was just regular guys who liked sports and kept their grades in tiptop shape at the same time.

"Shh!" the brothers chorused, whipping over their shoulders with fingers at their lips. They turned back around just as fast to see the next play in the middle of the second quarter.

Only Adam seemed to notice when his phone rang loudly in his pocket. Startled, he reached for it, but held off. He looked to the others, but no one shushed him. Matt cast an evil look over his shoulder, but that was it. Adam pulled the phone out and checked the caller ID. A number that he did not recognize lit up the screen. He hit a button to send the call straight to voicemail, slightly curious.

His phone rang again three minutes later and it was the same number calling. Sighing, Adam passed in front of the boys on the way to the door and protested when he blocked the television screen. He moved out into the hall with the phone pressed to his ear. He shut the door behind him and cautiously asked, "Hello?"

"_Hello?"_ the voice echoed. It was fuzzy and the sound of cars was in the background. Whoever was calling sounded like they were at the side of an interstate. _"Is this Adam?"_

"Who's calling?" he asked immediately, his voice rising. The fact that they knew his name set him on the edge. The only thing he could gather from it was that the caller was female with a high, chirpy voice, dripping with sarcasm. He started to grow anxious, only knowing one person that could speak with that much enthusiasm.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "_I can't believe you! Of all people!"_

Adam glanced down the hall to make sure no one was coming. He moved away from the doors, holding his other ear to block out outside noise. "I'm sorry, but what?"

"_You, of all people, should know it's me!"_

He stared at his shoes and rubbed his temple soothingly. Hearing the voice sent the hairs on the back of his neck on end and he swallowed. "I swear, Marissa, if this is you, I'm going to—"

The caller interrupted in a game show host voice, "_Right on the first try! Congratulations! It's about time you figured out it was me!"_

"Marissa?"Adam repeated into the receiver a little too loud to pass as an inside voice. He checked quickly to make sure he wasn't disturbing the peace of the dorm rooms as he passed in the corridor, farther away from the commons. Then he realized that the only people here for the weekend were the East Warblers, and there weren't that many.

It couldn't be his insane sister, the one who always wore an array of jeans that looked like they were painted on, or the one who always had a new piercing every other week. She even had a small tattoo on her ankle and loaded up on the raccoon eye makeup, for crying out loud.

His sister couldn't be calling at all. She should be too involved at a tailgate party in honor of the Super Bowl, hanging out with friends, or doing whatever she thought was fun.

"_Of course it's me, you nimrod,"_ she chuckled and he could hear the smile in her voice. "_Who else would be calling from the side of the highway on a pay phone because she was stupid enough to forget to charge her cell before she left the house?"_

"Of course. That sounds just like you." He paused. "Wait, what are you doing on the side of the interstate? Why aren't you home?" he asked.

"_Adam, Adam, Adam,"_ Marissa sighed and shifted the phone to her other ear. "_Always asking questions. I can see why you're so smart."_

"Answer it!"

"_Okay, okay! Sheesh! I'm coming to see you!"_ she chirped excitedly.

Adam's hands grew numb and he dropped the phone. He scrambled to pick it up and could hear his sister asking what was wrong. "No, I'm fine, I'm fine. What do you mean you're coming to see me? I'm in Ohio!" he said.

"_I know!"_ she replied. "_I'm in Minneapolis right now. I'm taking a break to get something to eat and maybe buy a charger for my damn phone... but the point is that I'm coming to see you!"_

"You're driving?"Adam clutched at his heart and grabbed the cloth of his shirt in his hand tightly. "Why the _hell _are you driving? You can't drive worth crap!" He knew from the day she got her license that she was bound to be a horrible driver. She'd accidentally run their mom's car into a tree trying to get out of the driveway the day she got her license.

_"Well, it's not like I have the money to buy a plane ticket and rent all those stupid cars to get there. That money could be used for something else,"_she huffed and he could tell she was crossing one arm over her chest, holding the phone with one hand.

"Do Mom and Dad know about this?" he asked. The words sounded funny in his mouth and it took a few seconds to realize he hadn't said them in a long time. He hadn't called his parents "mom" and "dad" for the last two years. Actually, he hasn't seen his parents in two years. He shut his eyes.

_"I hate you, I hate you so much!"_

_"You don't mean that. Please tell me you don't mean that!"_

_"Get out of my house. You're not my son anymore. Just get out. Go!"_

_"But Dad, please—"_

_"Go, I said! I don't care where you go, just get out of my house, you fag!"_

_A blind sprint to the door, phone in hand. Dialing a number that he knew by heart, even with waterlogged eyes. Stumbling to the end of the walkway and collapsing there as Simon picked up the phone. He tried not to sound distressed._

_"Yeah, you can stay with us. It's fine with my parents."_

_"Thanks, Simon."_

_"So, why are you coming? Not to be rude, but—"_

_"No, it's okay." Hesitation. "Just want to get out of the house for awhile. Parents, you know? What are you going to do?"_

Adam pulled his eyes open suddenly, feeling his pulse race slightly. He hadn't realized his sister had been talking the entire time and tried to get back on track with her.

Marissa pulled the phone away from her ear, letting him hear the whiz of the cars on the highway. She brought it back to her mouth and hesitated. _"Er, no, but—"_

"You didn't tell them where you were going?" Adam jumped to conclusions. "What? Why not?"

_"No, because if I said, 'hey, Mom, I'm going to visit my gay brother—you know, the one you've seen to forgotten, the one who lives a few states away—see you in a week or so', they wouldn't let me go. See what I'm getting at, bro?"_

"Marissa!" he screeched. "Don't say that!"

_"It's not like I actually said that to her! Calm down!"_

"I wish you wouldn't use that word," he muttered and considered flinging the phone on the ground and going back to the game and forgetting that she'd even called in the first place.

But he knew that wasn't going to happen easily. If he was going to keep talking to her like this, he might as well miss the entire game. She could talk for hours as long as she had the time and the topics of conversation.

She sounded like a kicked puppy. _"Sorry." _On cue, the phone suddenly blared, "Please insert another quarter for an additional three minutes."

Adam heard the phone drop from her hands and swing in the air as she rummaged through a coin purse. Until she slipped a quarter in the slot, he was greeted with a consistent dial tone and her cursing under her breath. She grabbed the phone again and held to her ear. "_Sorry about that."_

"S'okay," Adam mumbled. He hadn't realized he was standing in front of his dorm room door until now. He faced the door and probably looked like someone who was waiting for it to open from the inside. He pulled out his key and let himself in.

_"But seriously," _she continued. _"I just have to come see you. There's been a lot of things going on at home that aren't ending well."_

Adam knew that tone. It was the specific one she used—number nineteen, to be exact—that showed she was nervous and fidgety about something. It sent chills up his spine. "Like what? Can you tell me?" he asked.

_"I'll tell you when I get there. I'll be there in a few days, tops." _He took a breath to reprimand her when she butted in._"Don't worry, I'll be stopping at a hotel to get some rest. I took all the money out of Mom's cookie jar cash fund before I left, so I'll be able to pay for a few nights of rooming when I stop."_

Adam let go of his breath. He didn't know much to say. "Okay, then. You know she'll be pissed if she finds out you took all the money." The corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile.

_"Yeah, I know. It'll cost me for awhile, but it's worth it. I'll call you when I get into Westerville so you can give me directions to your school."_

"How are you even finding your way there so far?"

She laughed. _"It's called GPS, bro. I thought you of all people would've guessed. I mean, you're all with that technology crap, aren't you?"_

"Yeah, I am." Adam's slight smile grew a tad wider.

_"Okay, cool." _There was a rustle on the other end. _"Look, I've got to get going, but I'll call later, okay?"_

"Marissa!" he interjected suddenly. She replied and waited for him to say something. "Why are you calling me _now_?"

_"During the football game? Ooh, are you watching? Who's winning? I can't get good reception on this damn radio and it completely sucks dick—"_

Adam rubbed his forehead and refrained from getting irritated with her. "No," he interrupted through gritted teeth. "I mean, why are you calling in this time of the year?"

Silence. _"I got an email from that choir teacher of yours. She says there's some Valentine's Day crap going on and is inviting all the parents to come. Thankfully, I saw the email before Mom deleted it, so it's all good. I'll be able to see you perform!" _He could see the smile spreading across her makeup-coated face.

Then his smile dropped. "But I'm not in the choir. I don't perform. I only help out."

Marissa Harvey shrugged on the other end. _"Oh well. I got an email about it and I'll try my dammed hardest to get there and see it, whether you're not in it or not."_

"Well, okay," Adam sighed. He got up from his bed—he didn't remember falling sideways on it after letting himself in—and moved to the door. The hallways were eerily silent and he started back in the direction of the commons. "I'll see you when I see you, I guess."

She laughed again. _"Oh, don't worry. I'll be calling in like, three hours to check up. There's got to be an electronics store around here for my phone. I'll call you later. Don't hurt yourself in that time, bro. And Adam?"_

"What?"

_"I love you, just so you know."_

He stopped in the middle of the corridor. He let the words ring in his ear and moved his lips to reply when he found the call had already been disconnected.

* * *

The South Wing was known for its unanimous wins in sports across the board. Soccer, lacrosse, track, baseball, basketball—every sport Dalton offered. That was every boy in South, not just the Warblers, was piled into the commons, crowding the television.

James sat at the long table in the back of the room, munching on popcorn lazily and checking his phone every five minutes. He was not a fan of football whatsoever; he had no idea why he was even in the commons watching snippets of it. What was the point of making a play, stopping to flag it, then starting again? He felt that way partly because of that, and also because he didn't know how it worked. But he wasn't about to tell anyone about that.

"Hey, why the long face?" James looked up to see William watching him. After the second quarter had ended, he left to grab something from the kitchen. He held a bottle of water in his hands and unscrewed the cap, taking a long sip.

"I don't have a long face," James muttered. Then he smiled a little and looked up. "But you could've had a black eye, if I'd chosen you over the wall."

Will made a face at him and pulled out the chair next to him. "Don't remind me. I'm glad that wall was there to save my face," he said and took another sip of water. He watched the screen from there, seeing the plays being carried out at the end of the second quarter. There was a flag and the play stopped.

"I'm still sorry about that," James said, though there was a part of him that wasn't. This little section of his subconscious was thriving to punch him again, but the rest of him—the part that felt horrible and didn't know what it was doing—overruled.

"That's maybe the seventh time you've apologized today. Are you usually this remorseful?" He looked over at him with a curious glance. His eyes seemed to glow in the little bit of light in the room that came from the lamps.

"I'm fine. Tired, that's all," he said and looked down at his hands on the table. They were pale, his fingers thin like twigs. He'd also heard people say to him that he was cold, temperature wise. He didn't feel cold.

Will took a long sip from his water and stared at James for a minute, like he was memorizing the other boy's features. He snapped the cap on the bottle and said, "Suit yourself."

* * *

"Oh, my God. I didn't know the Black Eyed Peas were _that _horrible live."

"Apparently, they are."

"But they sound so good on an audio recording!"

"_Everybody _sounds good on an audio recording, Cody."

"Blaine, hand me a tissue, will you? I think my ears are bleeding."

Kurt wrinkled his nose in distaste at the TV screen. He had survived through the second quarter of the Super Bowl, but just barely—Thomas and Cody had gotten into a very verbal discussion over a call by one of the referees. Thomas was a hardcore Packers fan, and that led to more discussion between he and the small Warbler. Kurt had jammed pillows to the sides of his head to keep out the yelling for the most part.

Now it was half time, and the show was proving to be absolutely dreadful. The Black Eyed Peas sounded awful live and Kurt resisted the urge to reach for the remote, knowing someone would cut his hand off at the wrist. Finally, halfway into the song, he stood up and moved around the couch without a word.

Seeing Kurt stand up, Blaine instantly got to his feet too, the football tucked under his arm, and followed close behind.

"I can't stand anymore of this," Kurt sighed as he walked into the hall, Blaine shutting the doors behind them silently. He rubbed his temples soothingly and looked back at Blaine, who was tossing the ball up in the air repeatedly, eyes trained on the ball as it fell back to him.

"I usually can't stand the halftime show, either," he agreed and caught the ball between his hands. "I have to leave the room or do something else to keep from going insane."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Kurt asked and started walking the length of the hall, letting his fingertips trail against the wall. The ornate wallpaper was rough with patterns and indentions under his fingers.

Blaine was in the middle of a toss when he watched Kurt. It fell between his hands, which were parted a little too much, and it bounced repeatedly on the floor. He scooped it up after realizing what had happened and slapped one against the side. He grinned widely. "We should go outside," he suggested.

His eyes narrowed, Kurt looked back at him, like he was debating on Blaine's sanity. Which he was most certainly doing. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

Kurt chuckled almost nervously. "It's cold outside, Blaine. I don't see why you would want to play football in the cold when only one of us is capable of throwing a ball properly."

Blaine sped up so he was in step with the other boy and resumed tossing the ball in the air. "Oh, come on. It'll waste some time until the third quarter starts up again. And you know how to play football, so it won't be that bad." He nudged Kurt's shoulder playfully.

"Again, I was the kicker," Kurt corrected and dropped his hand from the wall. He knit both together in front of him. "I only kicked the ball when the coach wanted me to. I never played on the field with the others. I would've gotten flattened if I did."

Blaine caught it again. "Still. It would be fun. Please?"

Kurt looked at him flatly.

"You won't have to watch the halftime show," he reminded with a smile.

No answer and Kurt turned forward, not looking at him.

"I'll go to the mall with you next month, or week, or whatever, and we'll wait outside Bluefly at insane hours of the morning to be first in line for that sale you keep talking about."

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks. "You had me at mall," he grinned. He snatched the football out of Blaine's hands excitedly. "Let me go get a coat." Then he tossed the ball back to Blaine, who fumbled with it before dropping it finally.

Kurt raced into the dorms and found his room. He dug through his closet for a suitable coat with a matching scarf and hurried back to where he left Blaine in the hallway. Blaine was tossing the ball up in the air again and as soon as Kurt slipped on his coat, he stole the ball in mid-toss. Blaine shot him a look and Kurt handed it back with a shy smile.

The air was not too cold, but not warm enough for Kurt's liking. A steady, chilly breeze swept across Dalton's grounds and scattered various piles of crisp leaves. The sun shone through breaks in the clouds that spread across the sky. The smell of freshly mown grass was mixed in with the breeze and Kurt sneezed. They moved a ways out into the grass, their feet causing loud crunching noises here and there, and spread out.

"Aren't you cold?" Kurt asked incredulously and looked over Blaine, who was wearing a simple pair of jeans that hung on him and a thin football jersey. He tried not to linger on the fact that his jeans sat low on his hips and he brought his eyes back up to Blaine's face as he talked.

"I'm fine. It's not like I'm going to die of hypothermia," he replied with a grin. He arranged the football in his hands with his fingers against the white laces. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Kurt called unenthusiastically and held his arms out, leaning back in anticipation. Blaine tossed the ball skillfully and it swirled through the air.

Kurt saw it hurtling toward him and reached out to bat it away. He squeaked when it hit his hand and he pushed it away. It bounced in front of him before settling in the grass. He hadn't realized his eyes were shut and they flickered open. The first thing he saw was Blaine doubled over in laughter with a hand over his mouth. Kurt could tell his friend was trying not to laugh, but it wasn't working out.

"Stop laughing!" Kurt ordered and lowered his arms. "I know I obviously did something wrong..." He trailed off and picked at the hem of his coat.

"Are you sure you were on the football team?" Blaine choked out as his laughter died away quickly. He stood up fully and tried to hold back a grin.

"You threw it at my face!" he shrieked and tried to keep his hands from shaking horribly as he went to retrieve the ball.

"Sorry. I would've thought you learned how to catch throws that high."

"I'm a little rusty," Kurt admitted guiltily and instead of throwing it back, he closed the distance between them and placed the ball in Blaine's hands.

"A little?"

Kurt glared at him, not amused in the least, and stormed back to his spot.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. You ready?" Blaine called after him and arranged the ball in his hands and arched his arm back.

"Don't throw it so high this time, okay? I'm fearing for my face." Kurt held his hands up to where he could see Blaine through his fingers when they were spread apart.

The football spun through the air lower this time. Kurt dropped his hands and squeaked, ducking. He threw his arms over his head and his knees touched the ground. The football landed in a pile of leaves behind him.

"Don't laugh at me!" Kurt burst out instantly before Blaine could say anything. "I'm still getting used to this!" He rose unsteadily from the ground.

"I can see that," Blaine called and humor colored his tone.

Kurt brushed the dirt off his knees. He clapped his hands together and retrieved the ball, dusting it off. He arranged his hands on the ball and held it up. "Am I holding it right?" he called.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh, but called back, "For the most part."

Kurt nodded, feeling a little embarrassed, and cranked his arm back. He brought it forward and released the ball. It soared through the air end over end, which Kurt knew was not what it was supposed to do. The ball took a nose dive and landed feet in front of Blaine. He caught it on the rebound.

"Not bad," he commented. "Use more power next time so it will go farther. Now, when I throw it to you again, can you not duck or anything? I'd like to see you catch it for once."

"Hey, I'm trying my best here," Kurt said stubbornly. "It's not every day I go out and play. I have better things to do with my time."

"I know, I know. Just try to catch it once before the day is over." Blaine squinted to look at the sun and turned back to Kurt. He twisted the ball in his hands and prepared to throw. "Are you ready?"

Kurt nodded timidly. Blaine tossed the ball, much gentler this time, and Kurt watched it. He held out his hands and it fell into his grasp. In surprise, he hugged the ball to his chest and stumbled back a few steps. He glanced down at it in his arms and then looked up at Blaine.

Blaine clapped appreciatively with a smile on his face. "Nice job. You didn't bat it away this time."

"Haha, you're funny." Kurt held the ball up with a sense of pride around him. He never thought he would touch a football after he quit McKinley's team. He walked forward, fingering the laces and smiling, and Blaine met him halfway.

"Do you want to go in for the rest of the game?" Blaine asked and checked his phone for the time. He was slightly shivering now and wished he had a jacket.

"It depends on a lot of things." Now Kurt was the one tossing it up and down, catching it each time. He was a little more into playing catch than he had at the start. Blaine made a sudden swipe for it and left Kurt empty handed.

"Like what?" Blaine asked with a large grin and protected the ball with his arms.

Kurt glared at him heatedly and crossed his arms. "Like how much of the game is left."

"I'd say we're about to get halfway into the third quarter."

"Have we really spent that much time outside?" he gasped.

Blaine nodded. "Time flies. So what else does it depend on?" he asked.

A chill ran up Kurt's spine when a stronger gust of wind swept across the grounds. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket and wondered why Blaine wasn't blue from the cold yet. "On whether I want to go in just yet or not."

He watched him with confusion. "What?"

"Believe it or not, but I'm actually having fun," Kurt confessed and pressed his hands together. He smiled and tugged at his scarf. He wished his fair skin wasn't so easy to show color. "I never thought football could be this enjoyable."

"That's why people play it for a living. Do you want to stay out here a while longer or go inside?"

"I don't know. It looks like you're about to freeze," he observed and brought both hands to his neck. He carefully unwound the scarf and folded it neatly into a square. He held it out to Blaine and the other boy looked at him in surprise.

"You don't need to..." Blaine started to shake his head and trailed off. But then he saw Kurt's insisting glare, his eyes hard like glass, and finished, "Okay, then. Thanks."

He dropped the ball to the ground to wrap the scarf around his neck. It was still warm in some places from Kurt wearing it earlier and Blaine bit his lower lip. He picked up the ball again and twisted it in his hands. "Now I think I'm fine. For a little while longer, at least."

"All the more reason to say outside," Kurt said. He lunged forward and stole the football away from his friend. He held it away as Blaine reached for it. Blaine was held at arm's length as Kurt pressed his hand against his chest to hold him back. He grinned at Blaine's frustration and felt the faint pulse of his heart under his warm skin.

"Is there any more you want to teach me?" Kurt asked and raised one eyebrow.

"I would teach you tackling"—he laughed when Kurt gained a fearful expression and removed his hand, letting Blaine fall forward a little—"but I think I should spare you."

"Your thinking is correct," Kurt nodded and clutched the ball between his hands. "If you ruin this coat, you are going to be sorry. I'll have you know it's Marc Jacobs. And so is that scarf, so be careful with it."

Blaine pressed his hands against his face in mock fright. "Ooh, I'm so scared! Speaking of, I can't believe you let me borrow the scarf. I thought you never lent clothes," he commented and twisted the end between his fingertips.

"Maybe for a friend I will," he said shortly, looking away, and lightly dug his nails into the exterior of the ball. "And you should be scared," he added with a grin.

"Or what?" Blaine laughed. The way he laughed was rich, like chocolate.

Kurt shoved the ball lightly into his chest and said, "Or...something bad! That's what! I just haven't gotten that far yet."

"Yeah, sure." Blaine clasped the ball and caught Kurt's hand in the process. As soon as he caught it, though, he let his grip slacken.

"I think I might want to go in now," Kurt answered and shivered against the upcoming breeze. He tucked his hands in his pockets to shield them from the cold. It seemed to get colder as the minutes wore on. "I don't know if I'll be able to last out here much longer if you threaten to teach me anything else besides throwing the ball."

"Oh, come on. I was kidding about tackling you," Blaine said lightly.

"Not taking any chances with that." He glared at Blaine pointedly.

Blaine stuck out his bottom lip in a pout and held up the football. "Please? Five more minutes? What happened to you being so keen about staying outside for a little longer?"

"You sound like me when I was younger," Kurt laughed and turned his body away.

"Is that a yes or a no? I can't tell." Blaine smiled hugely. He moved quickly to stand in front of Kurt. Every move Kurt made away from him, he made a move toward him, until they were going in circles.

"Come on, the game can wait a bit longer," Blaine said after a time of Kurt not replying. "It's not like you like watching football with a dying passion, right? You looked like you were going to fall asleep on me in the first quarter. Like, literally on me."

Kurt felt his face grow warm at the recollection of him dozing off a little with his head against Blaine's shoulder. "Not going to lie, but the first quarter is always the slowest of the entire game," he said.

"It is. Please?" He said please like a toddler asking for candy.

"Fine, fine," Kurt surrendered reluctantly and held out his hands. "Give it here."

Blaine nodded and pressed the ball into his open palms. He kept his hands on the top of the ball with Kurt's supporting it underneath.

Kurt tried to not to dwell on the little bit of distance that was between them. He could practically feel Blaine's warm breath washing over his skin. He blinked and looked down at their hands on the football.

Blaine waited. Finally he removed his hands and asked softly, "Are we going to throw it some more?"

Kurt pursed his lips in thought and tossed it from hand to hand, looking up at the slightly cloudy sky. He looked back to Blaine. "No."

Then he took off in the opposite direction. Kurt heard Blaine sigh loudly, followed by the crunch of leaves as he ran after him. Kurt couldn't help but let the smile onto his face as he tucked the ball under his arm and hurried to the door. The air sliced through his jacket like knives as he ran and he shivered.

"You're annoying, you know that?" Blaine shouted after him. Excitement threaded through his voice and he gave up all attempts at sounding annoyed.

"Just one of my many talents!" Kurt said over his shoulder. He reached the door with him on his heels. He gratefully slipped inside and hurried down the hall. Before the door had a chance to close, Blaine grabbed it and swung inside after him.

The doors to the commons were still open and the television could be heard well, including the moans of everyone inside. Kurt skidded to a halt in the doorway and peered in, almost forgetting about Blaine sneaking in behind.

"Is everything—Ah!"

Kurt made contact with the floor sooner than he thought he would. The parquet flooring came up under him and he fell on his stomach with his hands out to cushion the fall. The football flew from his arms and rolled down the hall a few feet. He wasn't worried about the ball; he was more anxious about Blaine's arms around his waist.

"And _that_, my friend," Blaine said, his voice uncomfortably close to Kurt's ear, "is how you perform an adequate tackle."

"Oh, gosh, Blaine, get off me!" Kurt squeaked and wriggled in his grasp. "I don't remember asking for a lesson on tackling! I'll have you know I'm extremely claustrophobic!" He managed to turn onto his side and glanced up at the ceiling; it was so far away. He full well knew his face was beet red.

Blaine unwrapped his arms almost reluctantly and sat up, crossing his legs. He smiled pleasantly when Kurt propped himself on his elbows. "Happy?" he asked.

"Yes," Kurt panted, feeling his head swirl from sitting up so quickly. "My _goodness_. That actually hurt. I think I might wake up with a few bruises tomorrow." He gingerly touched his right shoulder and winced.

"And I will do you the favor of getting ice for that." Blaine stood up and offered him a hand. He helped Kurt to his feet and he fetched the football from where it landed at the end of the hallway. He placed the ball in Kurt's hands and left to grab ice from the kitchen.

Kurt watched him as he disappeared through the kitchen doors and felt his face go redder, if that was possible. He found himself clutching the football like it was a life preserver. He loosened his grip and moved into the commons to check on the game. When he walked in, everyone had their faces stuffed into a pillow. Everyone that had stayed, at least.

Most of the Warblers that were present at the start of the game were long gone now. Vacant chairs littered the back with almost empty snack bowls and crumpled napkins. The only ones left were Wes, David, Thomas and Cody.

"Did I miss something here?" Kurt asked curiously and set the football on the table in the back. He leaned against the back of the couch and peered at the screen.

No one said anything to let him know, not even Thomas, who looked too stunned or excited to speak. Wes raised his arm blindly without lifting his head. He pointed sluggishly at the TV from his stretched out position along the entire couch.

Kurt knitted his brows and stared at the screen for the longest time. "I don't see what you're—Oh! Oh, my gosh!" He clapped his hands excitedly and, despite his back aching and his head throbbing, jumped up and down continually.

"What happened?" Blaine demanded as he returned to the commons with a Ziploc bag of ice in his hand. He handed it to Kurt, who pointed at the TV boastfully. Blaine sighed and covered his face. "This is _terrible. _The world might as well come to an end right now."

"What did I tell you?" Kurt shrieked happily and gestured to the TV screen again. "What did I tell you?"

"I think all humanity has come to an end," Cody wailed, lifting his head for a moment before replacing it in a plush pillow.

"This is fabulous, I say. Fabulous," Kurt exclaimed and cradled the ice bag in his hands. He sat down at the end of the sofa that wasn't being occupied by all that was Wes.

"I cannot believe that the Packers are winning right now," Blaine stated and lifted Wes' feet out of the way, sitting down beside him.

"I can," Thomas said smugly to Blaine.

Kurt smirked with him, but it faded when he attempted to maneuver the ice pack on the spot around his right shoulder blade. It slipped off easily or his arm would get tired of holding it there. Finally Blaine took the ice and pressed in the spot where Kurt had fallen. Kurt tried to keep his heart from racing as they watched the remainder of the third quarter, which morphed quickly into the fourth and final quarter.

Outside, the sun sunk below the horizon as time passed. The warm golden light slowly faded, leaving darkness in its wake. The lamps in the room provided a soft glow.

As the last five minutes of the game played out, no one said a word. All the Steelers fans kept their faces smashed against couch pillows that muffled their ability to talk. Kurt was bubbling with excitement, but chose not to say a word in fear of being too boastful. He licked his lips as the last minute counted down.

"Come on, boys," he said and looked around the room. Blaine shifted with the other boy's movements to ensure the ice pack stayed in the same place. "Aren't you going to watch the last sixty seconds?"

"What's the point?" David asked dramatically and peeked up from his pillow. He was currently sprawled across the floor beside Cody, who was so still he could be sleeping. "We're only going to lose. Might as well turn it off now." He reached blindly for the remote, though it sat on the corner of the coffee table. He dropped his arm lethargically and buried his face back in the pillow.

"They take this seriously, don't they?" Kurt turned to Blaine with surprise.

"Well, it's football. What do you expect?" He appeared unusually calm compared to the others.

Kurt gestured to the lack of energy around them. "Nothing less than this, I suppose."

The TV erupted in cheers and green and yellow confetti nearly blocked out the shot of the camera. The sounds only made the boys moan once more and Cody turned onto his back with the pillow still over his face. Kurt and Thomas were the only ones who watched the award ceremony that followed and lasted ten minutes.

As it broke for commercials, Thomas tossed David the remote. It landed on his stomach and he moaned and hit buttons randomly. The channel changed to a cooking show.

"There goes a successful Super Bowl Sunday," Wes said sarcastically and sat up. He rubbed his head tiredly and stood up with unsteady legs.

"I had fun," Kurt nodded eagerly. "And that's saying something."

"It is," Blaine agreed somewhat cheerfully, though his team had lost, and handed him the half-melted bag of ice, "because you hate football."

"I don't hate it," he corrected. "_Dislike _it."

"Such a difference." He rolled his eyes and watched David flip through various channels.

"Actually there—Wait." Kurt peered at him. "Are you being sarcastic with me because the Steelers lost?"

Blaine looked at him with a blank face. "When did you _ever_ figure that one out?"

Kurt only rolled his eyes and pressed his good shoulder against Blaine's playfully.

"Okay, I'm going back to my room to wallow in self-pity. Please, hesitate to knock," Wes concluded sadly and tossed the pillow back into place on the sofa.

David didn't stand but said, "Don't lock me out, okay? I want to wallow, too."

"You snooze, you lose, man." Wes, with his room key in hand, bid his farewell to the group. He walked out the doors. Soon after, David got to his feet and tossed his pillow on the couch before heading off after him.

Blaine turned to the remaining two Warblers. "Are you guys going to help us clean up?" he asked and looked at them expectantly.

The words caused them to sit up straight in seconds. They shared a hesitant look before standing up and brushing off their uniforms. Thomas tossed the remote on the table. "Well, we would, but—"

Blaine held up his hand. "Save it, guys. I think Kurt and I can handle it."

They both sighed. "Thank you, Blaine. We'll see you later!" Cody said chirpily.

Together they walked out of the commons. Kurt was able to hear Thomas' commentary about the game from the kick-off to the green and white and yellow confetti rain shower. His voice faded as they moved down the hall.

Blaine put his head in his hands, his fingers tugging at his dark hair. He peeked up at Kurt and asked, "You don't mind helping with this, do you?"

"Not at all," Kurt said and stood up. He grabbed two of the snack bowls and balanced them in his hands.

Blaine reached for the remote and clicked off the television. He held two liter bottles by the necks and followed Kurt across the hall to the kitchen. They made back and forth trips between there and the commons with assorted snacks and drinks, picking up bits of trash along the way. The commons had been cleared of the evidence of the party and they stood in the kitchen, moving food into Tupperware and drinks into the fridge.

"Does your shoulder still hurt?" Blaine asked as he ran an empty plastic bowl under the running water.

"A little, but it's not so bad now," Kurt reported. It ached a little when he moved. He shuffled around in the fridge, arranging the shelves properly. He stood up and shut the door, leaning against the appliance. "I still can't get over the fact that you tackled me. I mean, _really_, Blaine?"

He shrugged and wiped his hands on a dish towel. He laughed. "It seemed appropriate at the time."

"Tackling people in the middle of the hallway is, under no circumstances, appropriate." Kurt moved to the counter to grab a stack of Tupperware containing chips and candy. He walked to the pantry and set them on a shelf closest to the door. He came out and licked his lips.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. I hope it's not too bad of a bruise tomorrow," Blaine said. He turned to the sink when he asked, "Did you see any flour while you were in the pantry just now?"

Kurt ducked back into the pantry and popped back out. "There's half a bag in there. Why?"

"I wanted to make sure we had some for the Brunch," he explained and rinsed out the sink thoroughly, "even though we're going to the Supermarket this week to get everything we need."

"That reminds me. What _are _we making for the Brunch?" He pressed his hands to the cool counter top of the island.

Blaine turned off the faucet and looked to him excitedly. "Well, I was thinking we could use one of my mom's old recipes for sugar cookies," he said happily.

"This is a brunch, Blaine. Not a bake sale," Kurt pointed out. "We're going to be eating in the morning."

"I know, but dessert is the best, right?"

Kurt waved a hand at him. "Okay. I guess I'm on the same page."

Blaine smiled. "Anyway, I have the recipe somewhere on my laptop. If I can't find it, I can always call home and get it. The cookies are really popular with all the neighbors. My mom and my sister make them for every holiday—Christmas, Valentine's Day, Fourth of July. All the main holidays. They're delicious, trust me."

"I'll take your word for it." Kurt did not know Blaine's mom. He didn't know if he liked her or vice versa. He didn't know if the cookies were actually good, or if he was simply exaggerating, but he nodded anyway. "Are they hard to make?"

He shook his head and wiped down the counter tops of debris and crumbs. "They're just like regular cookies—flour, eggs, milk. The basics."

"That's good. It sounds simple enough that neither of us can screw it up."

"Let's hope so." Blaine smiled. "The Warblers are planning on making this year's Brunch the safest."

"What does that mean exactly?" Kurt wondered. He moved out of the way so Blaine could wipe the island counter.

"It means no accidents," he said, point blank. "Last year, South had a kitchen fire, Thomas fell off a ladder trying to hang decorations, Cody's muffins were ruined, and we ended up pushing the entire thing back a whole two hours to get caught up. The year before, Will spent the ingredient money he was given on candy, Wes fell off the stage in the middle of his solo, and East's oven didn't work so they had to use ours, which made the kitchen super crowded. I'm pretty sure the year _before that—_"

"Okay, I get it. Dalton has serious issues with trying to not mess things up," Kurt said.

"Yes, we do. It's really more of North and South that have the issues, but East and West pitch in from time to time." Blaine nodded and tossed the rag in the sink. He sighed and admired the cleanliness of the kitchen. "We really bumped it up a notch, making sure we have everything ready to go. I wouldn't be surprised if Wes had a clipboard when we start decorating."

"When do we start decorating?" Kurt asked. He stood up straight and his shoulder ached in protest. He moved in the direction of the door and Blaine followed him. They turned out the lights and walked across the hall to check on the commons. Everything was clean and spotless. Blaine fetched his football from the coffee table.

"Probably sometime this weekend. Friday after classes or Saturday in the morning," he predicted as he came back to stand beside Kurt in the doorway. "Prepare yourself for an overdose of pink and hearts."

"I'm sure I'll survive," Kurt said as he and Blaine left the commons. They walked past the door to the outside on the way to the dorms, Blaine making sure to stay on Kurt's unharmed side.

"I barely did last year. Again, it was like someone puked up Pepto Bismol," Blaine said and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Kurt chuckled and his thoughts wandered to something Blaine said previously. "You know, you never told me you had a sister," he said and turned to look at his friend.

Blaine's eyebrows rose slightly at the statement and he puckered his lips. "Well," he started off, "it never came up." He shrugged as if to end the topic right there. But he continued with, "She's nice, I guess. You'll find out when she tags along to the Brunch."

"Interesting," Kurt nodded. "I look forward to meeting her."

"Don't," he warned. "She'll drive you absolutely insane."

"I've met worse." Kurt let his gaze linger on Blaine, hoping to get the message across. When Blaine narrowed his eyes at him and shoved his shoulder lightly, Kurt laughed and said, "I'm kidding, you know that."

"Yeah, sure."

Music could be heard faintly through one of the doors as they traveled down the hall. Lights were on in Thomas and Cody's room and Kurt could hear Cody carrying on about something, along with dialogue from their TV. The pair reached their respective rooms and they stayed in the middle of the hall.

"That was...an enjoyable Super Bowl Sunday," Kurt said, smiling contently.

Blaine waved a hand at him. "Only because your team won," he said.

"That," Kurt said, the smile growing bigger, "may have to do with most of why it was enjoyable. And trying to throw a football was interesting."

"You're telling me," Blaine sighed. "I thought I was going to get hit in the face or something."

"I'm not that bad of an aim!"

"I know, I'm kidding." He chuckled and suddenly handed Kurt the football; Kurt fumbled with it for a moment before cradling it against his chest. "You're actually decent for having not touched a football in a while," he observed.

"Is that a compliment?" Kurt ran his fingers over the bumpy texture of the covering and looked down at the laces.

"Probably."

"Good. Thank you. I just couldn't tell from all the sarcasm you've given out today already."

Blaine attempted to figure out whether that part was sarcasm, but with Kurt he never knew for sure. He ignored the last part and hopefully asked, "Does this mean you'll watch more football with me and won't complain?"

Kurt took a step back and clumsily tossed the ball back using the arm that didn't hurt. "As much. I won't complain as much. I'm still highly allergic to contact sports and nothing will change that."

"I'll deal with that." Blaine caught it gracefully with one hand. "Maybe we can watch golf. Definitely no contact there." He grinned teasingly.

"Golf is dreadfully boring," Kurt drawled and rolled his eyes. "And tennis is the same way. Volleyball is okay, unless they fall on their faces."

Blaine gasped in mock horror. "That's horrible!"

"What can I say? I dislike more sports than others." He smiled charmingly.

"What about baseball?" Blaine said as he twirled the ball in his hands.

Kurt made a face. "Ew, no. Too much dirt and pushing. Not my thing." Then he thought of Cody and his baseball in the spring and mentally promised to make an exception for his friend. After all, he would be the one playing, not Kurt.

"Please say you're not allergic to fencing," Blaine begged and tucked the ball under his arm.

"Why fencing?" Kurt asked as he rummaged through his pockets for his room key.

"I fence in the spring," Blaine explained. "It would be nice to have a cheerleader besides Cody."

"Then I guess I'm not allergic to fencing," Kurt concluded happily and produced his room key. He tossed it from hand to hand to keep them busy. "Tell me when you have a match and I'll be there."

Blaine beamed. "Awesome." He was silent for a moment, then added, "Let me guess: You'll be in your cheerleading uniform?" He raised one eyebrow and couldn't help but smiling obnoxiously.

Kurt's face grew red again and he said, "Why would I?"

"You're a cheerleader, right? If I know you at all, which I do, then you've still got the uniform somewhere," he said, grinning. He was pleased with Kurt's pink face, flushed like he had just finished running outside.

"But it's a McKinley uniform. This is Dalton, if you haven't noticed," Kurt argued.

"Really? Wow!" Blaine looked around jokingly, then laughed. "Kidding. But seriously. You need to come to one of my matches. They're bunches of fun."

"Don't worry, I will," Kurt assured. "And who knows? Maybe I'll get Cody to make me a Dalton cheerleading uniform. Then I'll really fit in." He rolled his eyes, but already his mind was putting together color schemes and fabric swatches and places to put the Dalton insignia.

Blaine whistled lowly, not loud enough to be heard by anyone behind closed doors, and said, "Now _that _would be something to see."

The statement made Kurt flush from his hairline to his toes. "Are you implying something here, Blaine Anderson?" he asked. His hands twitched nervously at his sides and he clasped them together in front of him, his room key brushing against his skin.

He rolled his eyes and looked away. "Maybe..."

Kurt arranged the keys in his hands and half turned to face his door. "On that note, _maybe _I'll see you tomorrow."

Blaine smiled at him and said, "Maybe."

Kurt felt his heart swell. As he turned to twist the key into the lock on his door, he heard Blaine call out to him. He turned around to see Blaine unwinding the scarf from his neck. Kurt was about to tell him to be careful with it when Blaine, as if reading his mind, gently folded it into a square. He crossed the hall and handed it to him.

"Get some rest," Blaine advised and pressed the soft square into Kurt's hand. Their hands brushed for a moment and then Blaine turned back to his room.

Kurt nodded a little too late, not really feeling the article of clothing in his hands, and watched Blaine disappear into his room. It took a moment for Kurt to realize he was still standing at the threshold and he let himself in.

As soon as he shut his door, he leaned against it and slid down to the floor, hugging the scarf to his chest, not so concerned about it becoming wrinkled anymore. The bruise forming on his shoulder ached, but he didn't pay it much attention.

* * *

Marissa Harvey picked up her phone for the first time after it sat in the passenger seat of her VW, charging, for the last three hours. She dialed her brother's number quickly and held it to her ear while pulling to the farthest lane.

The sun was already below the horizon and the street lights were on. She had made it to Madison, Wisconsin between the time that she was calling now to when she had called three hours earlier.

Adam was startled to see a bright blue glow start in the corner of his room, sending rippling vibrations on his desk. He realized it was his phone and scrambled to grab it, though he had to push aside a few advanced textbooks and his laptop to get it. He didn't have to read the caller ID and answered it immediately.

"Are you alive? Please tell me you're unscathed," were the first things he said, right off the bat.

Marissa chuckled and took an exit, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pickup truck in the process. _"Of course I'm alive, you idiot. I don't think dead people could figure out how to use wireless calling, though that would be pretty cool."_

"Enough about zombies," he said and crawled back onto his bed, hoping maybe to fall asleep earlier than usual. But it would take him hours to fall asleep, like every night. He expected to finally get some shut eye anytime past midnight. "Where are you?"

"_Madison. I'm stopping for a night at a hotel," _she reported to his relief.

"Good. I don't want you driving when you're tired, okay?" Adam sighed and flopped back onto his pillows. He stared up at the dark ceiling and ran a hand through his hair. "I can tell you got your phone charged."

"_Don't even get me started on that," _she growled. _"It took me forty-five minutes at some electronics store to find the right brand for my phone. I swear, it was a waste of time, but it did the trick."_

He nodded. "What happened at home, Marissa?"

She was struck by the suddenness of his inquisition. _"Um, lots of things. We got a dog. Cute little pug thing. The one with the smashed in face, you know? Dad wants to throw it out into the street though."_

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"_Fine. Adrian Howell committed suicide. Happy?"_

Adam almost tumbled off the bed and lost his grip on the phone. It fell to the floor and slid under his night table, and he rammed his head against it trying to retrieve it. After he got it back into his hands, he cried, "What?"

"_I wouldn't lie, Adam."_

"Why would he do that? Adrian's a nice kid." Adam couldn't believe he still remembered Adrian: average height, nice hair, thick, geeky glasses not unlike his own, good at sports with a reservation on the football team. The only catch: he was gay.

"_Adrian _was _a nice kid," _she corrected glumly with fear in her voice. _"I went to his funeral a day before I left. That's also part of the reason why I'm coming to see you."_

Adam chuckled though in the depths of a crucial situation. "I wouldn't commit suicide, if that's what you're thinking. That's stupid."

"_Well, he didn't think it was stupid when his crush—that Blake Stevenson, you know, quarterback—outed him in front of the entire team. It broke Adrian's heart because, well, he had a crush on Blake. You knew that, right?"_

"No! God, Marissa, you need to tell me these things when they happen!" Adam exclaimed. A faint part of him what else was going on at home if she hadn't told him something as big as this.

Marissa sounded like she was hyperventilating now. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Dad kept me away from the phone, and the school's been freaking out over the incident, and I—"_

"Why did they out him?" Adam's voice was suddenly soft.

Marissa swallowed on the other end. _"I don't know. I guess they decided that it would be funny for them. Adrian skipped practice that day and from what I heard, stayed in the bathroom until school let out. He came back the next day, hoping things would be better, but they weren't. They weren't at all."_

"And you think that's going to happen to me?" Adam asked, the volume of his tone growing.

"_That's not what I'm saying."_

He gripped the phone and resisted the urge to hurl it into the wall. "Well, it's very much implied."

"_Then I don't want it to happen to you!" _she cried and her voice dropped. He heard her breathe in sharply. _"Adam, does anyone at your school know you're... gay?"_

"I'm not gay!"

"_You kissed one of the guys in eighth grade at the last Friday Night Live mixer of the year, Adam! Remember? And you told me, 'Hey, sis, I think I like guys.'"_

"Okay, fine. I'm gay. But that's not exactly what I told you," he corrected. "What's your question again? Oh, yeah. No one knows. At all." Then he added, "And I'm not going to start going around and telling that to people."

"_Why not? Haven't you told Simon?"_

"Why not?" Adam repeated. He had to remember to keep his voice down; Nick was in the room to his right, Dex and Leo were down the hall, and Matt and Jon were to his left. He had no idea how thin the walls were and he whispered, "I'm not in the mood to have people stare at me when I pass. You do know that I go to an all-boys' school, right? People will start avoiding me like the plague! Especially Simon!"

Okay, he didn't know that for sure. Anything to get his sister off his back.

Marissa sighed heavily. She didn't say anything for awhile until she pulled up into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn. She parked the car and turned off the engine, just sitting there.

"_No, they won't. Especially_ _Simon." _She sounded adamant about it. _"Your school has some kind of no-bullying policy, right? So you won't be taunted for that. I think it would be good for you. I know you're having a hard time with this, Adam."_

"How do you know?"

"_You're not denying it." _Adam felt his face flush. _"That was what Adrian went through before his parents found him hanging in the closet. They didn't know he was gay until they got the word from the principal, who got it from the football coach, who nearly pummeled it out of Blake."_

Adam was short of breath, like he had been running a marathon. "That's not going to happen to me. I'm not going to do that to myself, and my friends."

"_And speaking of friends, Simon will not be affected by your coming out whatsoever," _she jumped instantly to the conclusion, always her optimistic self. _"He will treat you like a normal person no matter what."_

Adam blinked. "There is no way I'm saying anything about this to him. I really like him, and I don't want him to think differently of me."

"When _you tell him. Wait, you like Simon? Like, like like him? Really?"_

"Marissa—" Adam stammered as he felt his face grow red, realizing what he had said.

"_That's so awesome! I mean, he's a great guy, so you might as well—"_

"Marissa!" he said loudly into the receiver and pulled the phone away from his ear. "I'm going to hang up now."

"_Don't you dare! I feel the need to know about a lot of stuff, Adam, and—!"_

In a hurry, he tapped the screen and ended the call. He tossed the phone to the foot of the bed and waited until the glow of the screen to die down. He kicked it off the bed and flicked off the light, burying his head under the covers and a mound of pillows. He didn't dare look when the phone buzzed for the next five minutes at the foot of the bed.

_I've done it. Now she won't stop calling me to ask every little thing that pops into her insane head._

In front of the Holiday Inn, Marissa threw her phone into the passenger seat and banged her forehead once against the steering wheel in frustration. She didn't call her brother after the fourth time.

* * *

Kurt turned on his side in the dark.

_What was that?_

The blue numbers on the alarm clock cast a soft glow in the room and he reached over blindly to turn the brightness down.

_That was so weird. I mean, the tackling?_

With the light out of his eyes, Kurt turned onto his other side to face the wall. He was away from the empty bed and the mirror hanging over it. His shoulder ached terribly when he turned, but he ignored it.

_And the ice pack gesture? That was nice of him, but he knows I could've gotten it myself. I'm not that disabled._

He was wide awake. He sat up and flicked on the light. Gold reached every corner of the room. He propped pillows up to lean against and he stared at the bedroom door. The sound of the air conditioner comforted him greatly with its little ticks and bumps as the air rushed into his room.

_This is insane. Is he just being really, really nice to me?_

It was three in the morning. He would kill himself later for the lack of sleep, but he needed to think without getting distracted from class work. He might fall asleep in first period, but that was something he could handle.

Kurt played with one of the loose threads sticking out of the corner of the comforter. He twisted it between his fingers, looking down at it. He shook his head.

_He seemed adamant about seeing me in a cheerleading uniform. What does that say? That he likes me? Oh, please say he doesn't find the video on YouTube. Curse Mercedes for actually liking the performance and putting it online. Actually, curse Rachel for making a New Directions channel and posting the '4 Minutes' video on it. Curse them both._

Kurt groaned and pulled a pillow into his lap. He pressed it against his face in frustration and sighed deeply. After a moment he raised his head and leaned back. He stared at the ceiling.

_And then he folded the scarf I really like. He knew I like that scarf more than anything. Is he trying to get on my good side? Well, it's working. Is he nervous? Because Lord knows I sweat bullets every time I see him. No, he's Blaine, he doesn't get nervous. Wait, he has stage fright, never mind. I should just stop talking to myself._

Kurt softly hummed a tune from his music collection. Maybe a little music would clear his mind. He reached over and grabbed his phone from his bedside table, plugging in his ear phones. But after ten minutes of streaming 'Wicked', he still had his mind stuck on Blaine.

As if on cue, the little winged creatures stirred and he reached back to turn off the light.

_Good luck with getting to sleep now, _he thought as he irritably ducked under the covers.

_In the next chapter: Rumors of Kurt's past at McKinley trickle through the school and it starts to snow, causing a controversy between wings; he faces uncomfortable people with even more uncomfortable conversations and also learns a little tidbit about Blaine's past that he would've been better off not knowing._


	13. I Heard

_Hello, readers!_

_Sorry for the late update. I meant to post sometime last week, but got caught up with assorted things for band. We have auditions soon and I'm freaking out line you wouldn't believe. Our section is so competitive, it's crazy. I also had a piano competition this morning, so that's why this chapter wasn't up earlier today. I hope I did alright on the piano, and because I went to the competition, i missed out on my clarinet sectional :( Oh well._

_And writing the start to a new Klaine fic is taking up like ten hours a day. Wow. And I still haven't gotten the first chapter finished._

_Anyway, this chapter is urgh to me. I wrote it five separate times, all with different starts and endings. It's utter madness._

Disclaimer: _I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David. But I do own all my OCs. Enjoy, and reviews would be lovely!_

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**I Heard**

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**Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title. – Virginia Woolf**

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Kurt opened his door and stepped on something soft that made a crinkling noise.

He looked down in wonder and moved his foot to see a large coat folded up into a square sitting on the floor. On top of the coat was a pair of thicker-than-hell gloves and what looked like a scarf. A paper was pinned to the top, reading _Here are your defense mechanisms._

Kurt studied it for a moment before looking down the hall both ways to possibly find who put it there. But the corridor was empty. Either everyone was still sleeping—God forbid that, there was an hour until class started and they weren't even up?—or they were all in the commons.

Sighing, he bent down and picked up the bundle of clothing. He cradled it in his arms and looked back at the note one more time. The handwriting was recognizable: it was Blaine's. The soloist wrote in a sweeping kind of cursive, not the strict type. It was more fluid. He connected everything to the point where it looked like slanted scribble. Kurt knew no one else that had that writing.

So, with the bundle of clothes in his arms, he shut his door and started down the hallway. It was quiet as he walked and that set him off. Where _was _everyone? He wasn't about to knock on anyone's door to check, and he kept walking. He pushed into the main hallway and saw that the doors to the commons were shut tight. No sound passed through them to indicate that the TV was on or that people were talking. Kurt, his heart slamming against his ribs, approached the doors and jiggled the handle with a free hand.

The door fell open easily. He cautiously poked his head inside, the paper crinkling again as he tucked the coat to his chest. The blinds were drawn back on the windows to let in massive amounts of light. Through the windows Kurt could see a blanket of white covering the grounds. It glimmered and sparkled in the bits of sunlight that poked through the mess of gray clouds. Several figures bundled up were darting across the grounds and shouting, the sounds dulled by the windows. The shouting was the only noise. The TV set at the left of the room was turned off, as were most of the lamps around the room. One person sat at the table with his back to the door. Kurt recognized the dark hair anywhere.

Blaine sat in one of the chairs. He leaned back in it to make the chair balance on the back two legs. He observed the rest of his wing as they attacked one another with snowballs, and tackled each other to the ground. His coat and gloves lay on the table behind him, along with his scarf and his hat. Blaine brought the chair back to four legs and stood up, stretching his arms in front of him. There was a click behind him and he whipped around.

"Oh, hey, Kurt," he said with a smile and his shoulders fell in relief. He eyed the coat in the other boy's arms. "I see you found that."

Kurt looked startled when Blaine addressed him, but he walked in and nodded. "Yeah, I did. It's difficult to pass up when it's right in front of your door," he said uneasily. He unpinned the note from the coat and held it up. "What's this supposed to mean?"

"Oh, that." Blaine felt his face grow a little warm seeing his handwriting slopped over a page of loose leaf paper. "Well, that's what you'll be needing for this morning."

"What exactly is this morning?" Kurt questioned. He brought the coat, gloves and scarf over to the table and set the down. He placed the paper on top of it and looked back to Blaine, who had gravitated to the window.

He leaned his hands against the sill and peered through the glass at the rest of the boys. He caught Wes' eye as the boy sprinted past the window, in pursuit of David, and Wes stopped. He smiled and waved at him, and then waved at Kurt, who came to stand beside Blaine. Then he launched the snowball he was holding at the window. It thumped against the glass with a wet, sloshy sound that made Kurt jump and place a hand over his chest. Wes laughed and yelled something muffled to them. David reappeared to hit him in the face with snow and the pair took off again with Wes shouting after him.

Kurt's dazed expression made Blaine burst into laughter. "What was that?" Kurt asked and blinked as the snow dribbled down the glass.

"Wes was asking when we were coming out," Blaine supplied. "I was going to get ready with the rest of them, but offered to stay back and wait for you. You know, because it's your first time."

"First time doing what?" Kurt questioned. He raised an eyebrow.

Blaine laughed again and turned away from the window. "Every year, whenever it snows, the North and South wings always have this traditional snowball fight. It happens during the first snow of the year. It's been running through Dalton since the day it opened," he told him. "And since this is your first time in the snowball fight, I thought I'd wait for you."

Kurt nodded and said, "Thank you. I think."

Blaine smiled and wandered away from the window. He picked up his coat from the table and shrugged one arm through a sleeve. "No problem. You're going to play, aren't you?" he asked, pulling the coat on and zipping it up.

"Maybe," Kurt said. He fiddled with his hands and walked over to the table. He picked up one of the gloves Blaine had left him; it felt bulky in his hands and he set it back down.

"Oh, come on, Kurt," Blaine said in his best pleading voice as he picked up his scarf. "It's your first Dalton snowball fight. You _must _play."

"What is it, a rite of passage or something?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it is. If you are in either South or North any time you're at Dalton, you must play. No exceptions," Blaine said with a nod. "No one gets left behind."

Kurt smiled a tiny bit and muttered, "I like that movie." He played with the ends of the scarf and looked up to see Blaine glancing at him with approval. "What?"

"I see you know Disney movies," Blaine stated happily and wound the scarf around his neck. "'Lilo and Stitch' is one of my favorites."

Kurt laughed, "Then I know what to get you for your birthday." He picked up the coat and slipped it on over his blazer. He was wearing one too many layers but kept it on. It carried an odd déjà vu feeling and Kurt realized it was the coat Blaine had worn coming back from his trip, the one he had let Kurt use during Wes' track meet so long ago.

They got ready in silence. After bundling up, they left the common room. Kurt commented that he felt like the marshmallow man from 'Ghostbusters' and Blaine chuckled. The coat seemed longer than Kurt last remembered, falling at his knees. The sleeves were puffy and he was already starting to sweat a little from the warmth it provided.

The pair made it outside and both were greeted by a great gust of icy wing. It stung their eyes and they looked down as they walked. Shouts echoed around them as some chased their friends with snowballs in hand. Others were standing still and talking to one another casually. Without looking up Kurt picked out Thomas, his voice mixing with Cody's and Diego's.

"Finally!" Cody exclaimed as Kurt and Blaine approached them. "I thought you guys would never get out here."

"And miss the first North-South snowball fight of the year?" Blaine scoffed. "No way."

Kurt lifted his eyes from the ground. The sun brightly reflected off the snow and caused it to sparkle. Cold surges of wind blew over the grounds every so often, making all the boys shiver. Snow capped the roofs of the school and the dorm building. When he looked behind him, he found the white ice formed a thin layer over the sports field and the equipment house. It covered just about everything.

Thomas jabbed Blaine in the ribs to get his attention and muttered, "I think South wants to make a bet for our bird."

"Seriously?" Blaine replied. He rolled his eyes, which, when the light hit it right, looked like tiny kaleidoscopes in varying shades of brown.

Diego nodded unenthusiastically and the hat on his head bobbed with his motion. He pushed it snuggly back on his head. He looked less than thrilled to be out in the snow with the rest of his wing. "They always want the bird," he sighed as if he was used to it. "I mean, every time we have Pavarotti, they make up some outrageous bet to get him from us. When will they learn that he likes it in North?"

Since Dex and Leo's giving of the bird to Kurt, Pavarotti had stayed in the commons of North. The gilded cage sat in the corner by the window, where the little yellow bird was seen happily chirping away. The boys took turns feeding him and letting him out of the cage, even the ones who weren't in the Warblers. All seemed to like Pavarotti.

Diego's question was answered by several shrugs. A few chuckles spread through the group at a sight past the Precursor and he turned around. Not far away, David was in the middle of jokingly shoving Wes' face into a snow drift. He struggled in David's grip. Diego turned back to face the group and was not fazed by the sight.

"Aren't you going to do anything about that?" Kurt asked worriedly as everyone laughed. He gestured to the pair in the snow. "You know, like tell them to stop before Wes ends up hurt?" Wes was trying to shout something at his friend but kept getting cut off by mouthfuls of snow.

"Eh, they do this every time it snows. It's not going to make a difference if I tell them to quit it. As soon as you turn their back, one of them will ambush the other and it's chaos," Diego shrugged. "No harm done, really. Unless David breaks his nose."

"Now _that _would be a sight to see," a silky voice commented and all heads whipped around in that direction.

William Fitzroy stood with his arms crossed a distance away from the group. He was watching Wes get snow forced in his face like the rest and the corners of his lips tugged up. Carson White stood close by him, also watching. Both boys' blonde hair shined in the light.

James was there with them. He stood on the other side of Will with a cap tucked over his head. Dark curls peeked out from under the edges of it and curled tightly against his temples. His pale skin was colored light pink, and the tip of his nose was red. His eyes were wide and very blue as they landed on Kurt. A smile graced his lips.

Kurt gave half a smile after a moment of hesitation and directed his attention elsewhere, which happened to be Blaine. The soloist was trying not to laugh as Wes staggered up from the ground and tackled David. They tumbled together in the snow, laughing. But Kurt wasn't paying too much attention that. He was noting the bright color of Blaine's eyes, and the dark chestnut hair that was noticeably not gelled back. It was in its natural state of gentle curls. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled and that instantly made Kurt smile. Then Will was talking again and Kurt snapped out of his reverie.

"...so the bird will be ours if we win," he finished with a sweeping glance over the group of Norths, all of which were not paying him any attention. He snapped his fingers inside his gloves and it made a muffled sound. "Is it a deal or not?"

Diego waved a hand at him. "Will, it's always a deal. You and your ragtag group come up with a stupid bet without fail every year. Why would it be any different this year?" he said and turned away to watch Wes and David. The look on Will's face was strained and he pursed his lips as if debating whether to attack the North Precursor or not. He stood still.

"Ragtag?" James repeated and narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Oh, yeah, ragtag," Diego said without turning around. His abrupt answer made James start. "You know, scruffy, impoverished, indigent. Feel free to look it up." Unknown to him, he received three sets of daggers to the back of the head. His shoulders shook slightly as if in light laughter.

At his response, Thomas sucked in air through his teeth and nudged Cody in the shoulder. He cast a superior look at the Souths and bit his lip in an attempt to conceal his grin. Cody raised an eyebrow and smiled, too, which made Will and Carson and James grimace. The latter looked like he would object but he didn't.

"You're lucky Simon's not here," Carson retaliated. "He wouldn't stand for you insulting us like that."

Diego gazed at the lean boy over his shoulder and said, "You're right. He would be the one making the insult." And he left the group to finally pull David and Wes apart. They were shouting at each other over something.

"He's right, you know," Cody said shortly and raised his chin a fraction.

"Shut it, hobbit," Will remarked.

Blaine tensed at Kurt's side. He cocked his head to the side and said, "So I guess you're off calling me that now, right?"

The words made Will freeze. He turned to stare at Blaine with deadly cat eyes. "No, you're still hobbit in my book," he stated, his words clipped. Carson was getting anxious at his side with James looking between both of them.

To Kurt's surprise, Blaine full out smiled. "Just like you're still Lance Bass," he replied coolly. He ended it with a wink.

The blonde's face flattened and the sharp edge in his glare softened. The only movement about him was the fluttering of wisps of hair around his face. He dully watched Blaine, who was still smiling. Carson's jaw had dropped in shock and his expression was streaked with astonishment. Thomas and Cody had their gazes fixed on Blaine, both in obvious disbelief. Cody appeared on the verge of hyperventilating.

Kurt felt a twang of déjà vu at Blaine's words, quickly recalling that Noah Puckerman had dubbed him Lance Bass when he joined the football team as kicker. The words made him furrow his brow. He didn't see why that would cause the distress that constricted the group. He looked to Blaine for some explanation, but he was looking at the Souths with a smirk smeared across his face.

Then Will let out a laugh, accompanied by a smile. He held that for a moment before it faded. "Funny, Anderson," he said flatly.

"I know, that's why I said it," Blaine replied without missing a beat.

James stepped forward with the same mystified expression Kurt wore and said, "Okay, okay, explanation please? I'm clearly missing something here."

"Shut up, before we start naming you things, too," Will said without turning to look at his friend. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke. James glowered at his friend and looked to Carson for help, but the other blonde shrugged sadly and said nothing.

No one said anything more. The wind whistled past them and they zipped their coats up. The only sounds were the other boys shouting at each other a ways off. Diego was saying something loudly to David Will wouldn't remove his gaze from Blaine. In fact, no one would stop looking at the soloist. They were all surprised that he'd brought it up.

The sudden sound of crunching snow broke the silence. They all looked back to see Simon running toward them, his coat half on, a scarf trailing from his neck. He stumbled up to the group and skidded to a halt. "What are you doing to them?" he asked and pointed accusingly at Will.

Will rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Why do you always think I'm the cause of things?" he asked.

"Because that's the case ninety-nine percent of the time," Thomas supplied helpfully. Simon nodded in agreement.

"Whatever," Will snapped and took a step back, seeing as he had advanced on Blaine during the confusion. "Let's just get this snowball fight underway before class starts. I'm not in the mood to be late for class."

"For once, that's a good idea," Simon mumbled.

The group rounded up Wes and David, who had stopped arguing, along with Diego. They collected the willing members of each wing that wanted to participate in the game and soon, there were two teams of ten. There were obviously more students enrolled in both wings, but they all chose to watch. Kurt picked out most of the competitors were members of the Warblers. The mob of boys headed down to the soccer field with enough time to play a full game.

As the teams split the field in half and settled over rules, Kurt looked absently at the snow covered bleachers. There were clumps of South and North students there to watch the battle. A few from the other wings were present as well. Adam Harvey sat at the top of the bleachers in at least three layers of clothing, flanked by Nick, Matt, and Jon, and Kurt realized the snowball tournament was a big deal, like Blaine had implied.

"Kurt! Come on!" Cody called from behind him. He stood on one side of the dividing line. One was claimed by North, and the other by South. Kurt jogged over to stand beside him as Simon and Diego ran over the rules once more before the game began.

"...so no crossing the line," Diego was saying sternly. "If you do, you're out."

"And also fair game to be tackled," Blaine added with a smile. He nudged Kurt teasingly, who turned away with a red face.

"That too. If you get hit, you're out," Simon took over. He turned to see Will pantomiming him, making pincer motions with his hands. The blonde dropped his hand suddenly and folded both behind his back, spreading an angelic expression across his face. Simon sighed exasperatedly and continued, "Once you're out, you're out for good. Is everyone clear on the rules?" To Will, Carson and James he added, "Don't say _anything._"

Will and Carson held up their hands in defense while James silently zipped his lips and tossed a key over his shoulder. Simon muttered something under his breath in response. It rhymed a lot with 'glassholes.' He ran over a few more key points in the rules, which were add-ons directed at the blondes and anyone else who would pull a joke during the game. Simon looked exhausted by the end of the explanation and fell silent.

"So," James piped up, "are we going to have enough time, or was it spent going over the rules?"

"That's it. You're first on my list," Thomas warned and narrowed his eyes at him. He made a gesture with his hand, pointing to his eyes, then to James, who merely shot him a glance and turned away.

"No," said Cody suddenly and tapped the watch on his wrist. He showed the face of it to Thomas and the redhead pulled away scowled. "We don't really have enough time to play a full game and determine a winner. It would be best to start one after classes end today." He ended his proposition with a firm nod.

Diego jumped at the opportunity. "Great idea. Let's put it off until later, okay?" he said and clapped his hands together.

"You Norths always have to ruin the fun," Carson wailed.

"Can it," Simon ordered, "or I'll tell Marcus it was _you _who coated all the staircases in the school in maple syrup during the final exams last year."

"But that was Dex and Leo!"

"He doesn't know that." Simon waved a hand at him and concluded that the game would be held after school. He didn't hang around long enough to hear to complaints from the others. He headed off the field until he came to rest on the bleachers beside Adam and the other Easts.

Kurt settled deeper into his coat. He watched the group slowly disband and leave the field in small clumps. His phone told him he had fifteen minutes before class started. The bleachers were starting to empty and boys hurried across the grounds to the dorms for bags and to drop off coats.

Blaine came to stand beside him and smiled. "Too bad about the snowball fight," he sighed as they walked off the field.

"I'm a little happy, actually," Kurt said to his surprise. "Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it would have been fun, but snowball fights are not my thing. I don't have any sense of hand-eye coordination."

"You don't have to have hand-eye coordination," Blaine shrugged. "Just be good at staying out of the way." He chuckled and looked down at his feet.

Kurt parted his lips to reply when a light voice called, "Blaine!" The name was almost carried away in the wind and both boys looked back. Only James remained on the field with his hands disappearing into his pockets. His head was tilted to the side as he waited for an answer.

Blaine's jaw set and he turned to Kurt, saying, "Go ahead inside. I'll see you for rehearsal, okay?" He patted Kurt's shoulder comfortingly when Kurt showed a sign of uneasiness. Kurt nodded finally and left for the dorms to grab his bag.

When Blaine saw Kurt's slender figure vanish into the building, he turned around and started walking, his back against the light wind. With each step he took he felt his heart beat quicker in his chest. He stopped in front of the South boy and stayed silent, not greeting him.

"Thank you for, um, staying to talk to me." James stumbled over his words. His hand jerked in hesitation, debating whether to extend it or not, but he kept it close to him instead. His fingers twitched in his glove and Blaine assumed he was running over piano arpeggios mentally.

"Just cut to the chase," Blaine said rigidly. He didn't want to be outside with him at all. He wanted to be walking with Kurt to first period right now. He often walked Kurt to his first class, which was in the first hallway, though his own was on the second floor and on the other side of the building. "We both know what you're going to say," he added in a softer voice. The sharpness it had carried earlier surprised him, as he'd never heard himself sound more annoyed.

James raised an eyebrow before speaking. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. I was getting to that. Cool your jets," he said and looked down at the sparkling ground. He puckered his lips and said, "So I know you know I like Kurt. The cat's out of the bag now, isn't it?" He smiled to add humor, but it did nothing to lighten the mood.

Blaine wasn't surprised one bit. He'd had a feeling that James would want to talk about the countertenor. He nodded grudgingly for him to continue and looked down at his shoes. He dug the toe of them into the snow. He knew it was bad to be wearing his uniform shoes out in wet weather, but it wasn't like they would be harmed too much.

"So it's easy to tell that I like him," he mused almost to himself. "I wonder why he hasn't said anything about it. I mean, I'm being obvious enough, aren't I?"

Blaine lifted his head to stare at him and didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "Why don't you just tell him?"

James snorted at that. "Tell him? You don't tell someone you like them. That just makes you look like an idiot."

A snide comment bubbled up on Blaine's lips but he held it back. He remained silent and when he did, he noticed James squirm in his coat.

"You don't sound mad at me," the other boy observed. He sounded hopeful and straightened up.

Blaine shrugged. "I'm indifferent."

"That's a given," James muttered back. He cleared his throat and said louder, "Blaine, I heard what happened to Kurt at his previous school."

The soloist had been cool—not temperature wise, in that field he was frozen and shivering—until now. He looked right at James and was startled to see vibrant sapphire eyes staring back at him, wide and full of concern. It was as if someone was shining a light from behind them to make them seem so bright. They were so different from Kurt's, who blinked with flat gray-blue ones.

"Where did you hear that?" Blaine asked after a moment of spacing out.

James started to walk as he formulated an answer. He kept close to the dividing line but never once set foot onto the other side where Blaine was. "Simon told me," he murmured to the ground.

"And who told Simon?" He didn't remember letting the Precursor know about that, he was sure.

"Some kid in East with these big, obnoxious glasses," James answered and made loops around his eyes with his fingers.

"Adam," Blaine corrected. His breath puffed out in a wispy could in front of him as he spoke. "And who told Adam?"

James shivered as another round of wind sliced across the field. He kept up with walking back and forth in front of Blaine. "I think it was that hobbit," he said with a devious white smile, one that was as reflective as the snow and just as cold.

"Which one?" Blaine asked flatly. "Me or Cody?"

Silence. Then, "Cody. What was that about, anyway?"

"What was what about?" Blaine asked, though he knew what was going to be said next.

"You calling Will Lance Bass," the other boy said. "And he called you hobbit. I mean, I know you're short enough to fall under the legal midget height, but he said it like it was some kind of personal joke, I guess."

Blaine laughed shortly. "Everything he says is a joke."

"But what was that about?" James continued on.

Blaine curled his toes inside his shoes. "Never mind that," he said absently. "Back to what you called me over here for."

"Okay, then." James bit his lip in thought and silence filled the air. Then he said, "Kurt is my friend, and obviously I care about him more than I should. I want to make sure he's okay."

"Then you would be doing him a favor if you backed off a little," Blaine said slowly. He received a tight glare and added, "You know what happened to him at his old school. He doesn't need another guy to worry about." The hair at the back of his neck prickled as he spoke.

There was no immediate reply and the faint whistling of the breeze across the field filled the silence. The dark haired boy carefully folded his hands together and acted like Blaine hadn't spoken. He continued to walk back and forth in front of the dividing line in front of Blaine, who watched him closely.

"Okay," Blaine started, "if you're just pining after him for your sake—"

James laughed to cut him off. It was sort of a strangled sound. "_My _sake? What does my sake have to do with anything?"

_Because you're an insane freak who needs someone to leach off, _Blaine thought, though he said nothing and set his jaw.

"Blaine, are you jealous?" asked James. A smug grin slowly made its way onto his face. He paused to shudder and snuggle deeper into his coat. "Are you jealous that you have competition? Someone that actually cares about him more than you do?"

Blaine bit his tongue to stay quiet. He wanted to snap at every little thing the other boy said but he didn't.

"I-I hope we're on the same terms," James went on. His jaw trembled as his teeth chattered, which made him trip over his words.

"We're not."

He wasn't fazed by Blaine's quick answer. "Again with the negativity, Blaine," he scolded lightly with a smile that tugged at his lips and started walking again.

"It's not near as negative as taking a blade to your wrists," Blaine muttered bitterly and looked down at his shoes.

The sound of a door opening made him look up and he saw Kurt heading from the dorms to the building with his bag close to his side. He was chatting with Cody and Thomas, who walked on either side of him. The boys slipped inside the school building and disappeared. Blaine turned back to the other boy to find him staring longingly after Kurt as well.

James snapped out of his reverie when he noticed Blaine looking at him. "So you know about that, too?" he asked, referring to Blaine's earlier comment. "That gets around fast. Who told you? Kurt? Or Simon?" He laughed bitterly.

"Simon." That was a lie, he'd heard it through rumors, and turned out to be right. Simon never told him anything.

His face lit. "Ah," he said, "the little tattle tail, isn't he?"

"It's not right," Blaine said and lifted his head, meeting his eyes. They were a vibrant blue that was short of glowing and he was almost afraid to look at them. He wasn't used to seeing that.

"I know, right? I mean, he needs to be transferred to East or West if he's going to—"

"Not Simon," Blaine interrupted sharply and stopped focusing on the sapphire eyes, no matter how captivating they were. "I mean you. Hurting yourself. Doing that because you hate yourself won't do anything to make Kurt feel better. It'll only make him worry more. If you're not right for yourself to start with, you're not right for anyone else. Especially Kurt."

James chuckled coldly. He seemed at ease knowing the time was ticking away, that class would start in a matter of minutes, whereas Blaine was getting antsy. "There's where you're wrong. I don't hate myself, not at all. I use it as a distraction from everything, and it works," he explained in all seriousness.

Blaine stared at him in wonder. He wanted to ask if he was mental, which was most likely a possible answer, but didn't. "It's not good," he concluded with the shake of his head.

"Nothing seems to be good anymore, does it?" he snapped suddenly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet.

Blaine said nothing, and stared at him.

"Kurt's been helping me, Blaine," he continued in the same sharp tone. "He doesn't know it, but he's helping me. He makes me feel like I actually have something worth living for."

Blaine mumbled something, which was lost in the sound of the wind. Louder he repeated, "I'm not concerned with that. I'm not letting you get to Kurt."

James narrowed his eyes and walked toward him until he stood directly across from him. He stood as close to the dividing line as he dared, as if he thought stepping over it would electrocute him. "I assure you—"

"I don't care what you 'assure' me," Blaine snapped. He took a step forward, which made James raise an eyebrow. "I don't want you interfering with Kurt. I'm not going to let you hurt him like I know you will."

James' composure weakened and his face softened. "I would never hurt him. Take into consideration that I would never hurt him," he promised in a soft voice. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Blaine shook his head again. "I'm not going to let you take him away from me," he said.

Another icy laugh, like it had just come in with the snow that lay under their feet. He stood straighter and the other boy realized he was at least five inches under. "He was never yours to begin with, Blaine. You may have had a head start on this whole thing, but I'm still in it. I'm far from being out." His lips formed a slow smile.

Blaine turned away from him, only to see David and Wes scrambling from the dorms in a blur of navy blue, bags bouncing against their hips half open. They vanished into the school a moment later. Almost a minute after, a tinny ringing sounded from the building and Blaine's chest tightened.

James laughed again and took a few steps back and suddenly Blaine felt like he was able to breathe again. "I'll be seeing you in detention, Blaine. We'll finish our conversation later," he said and left Blaine standing there, cold and furious and late for his next class.

* * *

The classroom smelled of musty books and hints of chalk, though the school had gravitated to Smart Boards long ago. Detention was being overseen by one of Blaine's teachers, his Geometry professor to be more specific. He sat in the corner of the room at his desk with a newspaper propped in front of his face. He occasionally let loose a sneeze that made the room's two other occupants jump.

Blaine sat on one side of the room, the closest to the windows. If he straightened up in his seat enough he could see snippets of the soccer field in the distance. Dark figures dotted the field and bleachers like ants and he knew the game would be starting soon. He was spending the first North-South snowball fight of the year in his first detention of the year.

On the other side of the room, which might as well have been the other side of the world, sat James. He hadn't said a word since he entered the room. His face was hidden with a thick hardback novel. He was never seen without one in his arms. Ms. Lovett had to tell him once during rehearsal that he couldn't dance, sing and read at the same time. He had set it down, only to snatch it back up the moment the through was finished. He was motionless in his seat save the frequent page turning.

The air conditioner clicked overhead to accompany the page turning from James and the professor. Blaine stared out the window at the white before putting his head down on the desk to rest of his eyes. He had at least one hour left of this and was not looking forward to every minute of it.

* * *

Kurt sat on the icy bleachers. His scarf fluttered around him in the breeze and he held it close to him. The rest of his wing darted across the field with the stern intention of beating out South to keep their bird. Kurt was keeping track of everything that went on, and so far, North was losing players quickly.

He had refrained from playing in the game, much to everyone's dismay. Most of North wanted him to play to complete the rite of passage for being a North, and most of South just wanted an easy target to throw at.

So now Kurt sat on the bleachers with his notebook balanced on his lap. He had drawn up a score for both teams at the top of his page, but his attention was slipping. His pen had a mind of its own and was doodling in the margins. Hearts decorated the margins and were starting to weave around the corners to the top and bottom on the page. Sighing he rested his chin in his hand.

It was quiet at the top where he sat. Adam was seated a few rows ahead, fussing over something between Matt and Jon, and that was it. The rest of the audience was crowded down at the other end of the bleachers. Kurt vaguely wondered if Blaine would've sat with him or made him play, in the case that he didn't have detention. He settled with saying Blaine would've made him play.

It was still unfathomable to him that Blaine had received detention. As far as he knew, his friend had had a spotless record, clean of everything, since the seventh grade. No detentions or suspensions or anything. And now he was stuck in some room, waiting out his allotted time.

Kurt set aside his notebook and unearthed the Physics book from his bag to get away from thoughts of the snowball fight, and Blaine. Mostly Blaine. He needed to concentrate on grades. As of now, his marks in Physics were slipping at a terrifying rate and he couldn't seem to bring them up, no matter how long he studied. The idea of failing the course made his stomach lurch. If he couldn't bring it up, he wouldn't be eligible for Regionals.

Of course. Everything linked back to the competition, or seemed to at least. Kurt sighed again and lunged when some of his worksheets flew from his lap, caught in the wind. When he stood up, his book fell and landed at his feet. He hastily picked it up, setting it on his bag, and turned back, expecting to see his papers strewn across the snow-covered bleachers.

But they were not. They were held between the hands of Adam, who struggled to keep them from flying away. Making sure they were secure, he trudged up the icy steps and held them out to Kurt. The aviator glasses perched on his nose were lopsided and the lenses were spotted with flecks of ice.

"Thank you," Kurt breathed gratefully as he took the papers back. He straightened them, not caring what order they happened to be in now, and jammed them into his bag with the book. He plopped down in his seat and let out a long, tired sigh, burying his face in his arms.

"Homework troubles?" Adam guessed as he sat down beside Kurt. His tone screamed that he knew what was bothering Kurt. He crossed his legs at the ankles and placed his hands in his lap.

Kurt nodded sluggishly and lifted his head. "Physics," he stated, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

"Ah, Physics," the Precursor beamed and visibly straightened. "I absolutely adore Physics."

"That's because you actually have a decent grade in that class," Kurt replied glumly and watched as Cody ducked to escape a snowball. It whizzed over his head and he got to his feet triumphantly.

Adam shrugged and pulled his glasses off his face. He wiped the lenses with his gloves and put them back on, but they were just as smudged as they were to start with. There were also scratches and slight cracks in them from numerous drops. "It's not really that difficult to understand if you simplify it," he said matter-of-factly. "I mean, take the body systems for example. I know it's basic biology, but it's a great representation. I—" He stopped abruptly when he noticed Kurt's hand up, palm facing his direction.

"I'm sorry, but you had me at body systems," Kurt chuckled and dropped his hand. He shivered. He was still wearing Blaine's coat, as the other boy had never asked for it back. It was warm, though Kurt could still feel the iciness of the wind slicing through it.

"You know, if you're really having trouble understanding what's going on in class, Kurt," Adam said, "you could swing by the East wing once in a while and I would be more than happy to help."

Kurt glanced at him sideways. Adam looked like he wasn't joking about it. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Isn't that against the rules to enter other wings?"

Adam pursed his lips. "You'll be my guest," he decided with a slight smile. His cheeks were full of color from the briskness of the wind, and also from excitement. He tore off the corner of a page sticking out from Kurt's bag and wrote down digits. He handed the paper and pen back to Kurt. "It wouldn't be much trouble for me at all."

Kurt studied the numbers on the page. Adam's handwriting was a neat block print. A phone number was written, including parenthesis around the first three digits. Underneath was his name. Kurt folded the paper and stuck it safely in a pocket in his bag where he wouldn't lose it.

"Thank you, Adam," he said and smiled. He gathered his bag and made sure everything was there, all while studying Adam out of the corner of his eye.

The East Precursor was thin. The coat he was wearing—along with several other layers underneath, no doubt—added to him, but he was still on the skinny side. His hair was short and brown, like Cody's but with more color. Kurt couldn't tell what color his eyes were because the tortoise shell glasses that took up most of his face got in the way. His nose was dotted with freckles, as was the skin underneath his eyes.

Kurt finished packing his bag and set it down at his feet. He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "Adam?" he asked softly and the Precursor perked at the sound of his name. Kurt took a breath and recited the words that had been going on a loop in his head the entire day. "Does Will not like Blaine?"

Adam's eyes flickered and he snorted. "Why would you ask that?"

"He called Blaine—" He stopped himself and shook his head. "Forget it."

"No, what were you going to say?" the Precursor urged.

Kurt flattened his lips and sunk deeper into the coat. He explained—quite uneasily—what had gone on between the blonde and the soloist earlier that morning.

Adam didn't seem to hear Kurt. He shrugged and said, "Well, Blaine is vertically challenged, so I can see why Will would say something like that." He fell back into silence and licked his lips in thought, keeping his eyes on the game ahead. He muttered under his breath as if arguing to himself, then shook his head, dismissing whatever he was saying.

"Maybe," he said suddenly and it made Kurt jump, snapping his fingers in excited realization, "maybe it's post-relationship trauma or something! That's _got _to be it."

"_What?_" Kurt whirled around to look at him. He blinked in absolute confusion, whereas Adam had his eyes narrowed and was arguing with himself again. He prodded the boy's shoulder and prompted, "Adam, what did you say?"

The movement startled him and his eyes widened behind his glasses, looking like dinner plates. Kurt saw that they were pale brown and glassy. "Oh," he gasped and made a move to cover his mouth, "did I say that out loud?"

Kurt nodded vigorously and waited for Adam to start speaking again. It was impossible, not true. Kurt figured he was just jumping to conclusions, or freaking out from the inane amounts of stress he was under, or the trick of his ears, or, if Thomas were here to suggest something, the apocalypse was starting to take effect.

"Oh, woops," Adam said softly and pulled off a glove to nibble on a nail.

"'Oh, woops' is right!" Kurt agreed, loud enough to make Matt and Jon turn around to look at them. He disregarded the brothers and lowered his voice, sputtering, "You're saying Will—and Blaine dated—oh, my gosh, no _way_—so that means—"

Adam didn't pay attention to Kurt nearly having a heart attack. He made a curious noise and said, "I'm interested as to why Will would pull the name calling card out. He usually refrains from letting his vocal filter get out of hand."

"How would you know that?" Kurt asked warily.

He flushed. "No reason. Now—" His words were cut off abruptly when Kurt seized his shoulders. "What?" he shrieked, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Kurt dropped his hands. "So you're telling me that Will is going through relationship nostalgia with _Blaine_? My Blaine?"

Adam bit his lip and straightened his glasses. "I don't know if nostalgia would be the correct word to describe that. Maybe...he just likes to push Blaine's buttons. That happens quite often," he offered. Then his eyebrows rose and he glanced at Kurt with a funny half smile.

"What?" asked Kurt as he leaned his head in his hands. The smile was setting him on the edge, and everything was starting to give him a headache, even the sound of his own heartbeat.

"Nothing," he said dismissively. He was silent for a moment. "It's just...it sounds interesting. The way you're protective over Blaine."

"I'm not protective over him," Kurt snapped and tightened his scarf around his neck.

Adam sighed and said nothing more about it. He only watched the game as it carried on, coming closer to its end. Each team had no more than a few players left, Thomas and Wes surviving for North. Simon and another student Kurt didn't recognize represented South.

Then Kurt said, "They really dated?" The words sounded funny in his mouth.

"As revolting as it sounds," Adam answered in a tone of clear disgust and he wrinkled his nose, sitting up straighter, "yes, they did. But don't expect me to spill everything. You don't know how easy it would be for Blaine or William or both to ask around and find out it was me who told you." He silently drew a line across his throat and stuck out his tongue for emphasis.

Kurt nodded meekly. He wasn't in the mood to talk anymore, not with the new information that needed to be sorted out. It was difficult to imagine Blaine and possibly the biggest asshole on the planet dating. He shuddered and realized Adam was continuing on.

"...and that would not be good for me. Anyway, it's sort of like what Blaine did, so I wonder if I'd be off the hook," he said with an air of sudden curiosity. Then his face wrinkled like he had chosen the wrong thing to say and looked to Kurt in worry.

"What did Blaine do?" asked Kurt, pulling his head out of his hands. Hearing the other boy's name made his stomach churn.

The Precursor blinked and was too stunned to say anything.

"Adam," Kurt practically growled. "Tell me what Blaine did. Obviously, I'm interested, if you make that kind of face at the end."

Adam shrunk down to remind Kurt of a small child getting caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He knit his fingers together and glanced anywhere else but at Kurt. "Well..." he trailed off.

"_Adam_."

"Maybe Blaine accidentally let slip about McKinley," Adam squeaked and hid behind his hands.

It took a moment for the words to process. They had flown out of Adam's mouth in a jumble and were all mushed together, but Kurt caught most of them. He was somewhat shocked. He was well aware of Blaine knowing of McKinley. Blaine had been there to confront Karofsky and to comfort Kurt. But what did Adam mean about him slipping up? Then it hit Kurt like a ton of bricks.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said slowly, deliberately, "that Blaine told someone about McKinley?" His mouth became dry and he swallowed, his heart racing.

Adam was quick to reassure him. "I don't think it got that far, if that's what you're thinking. It got to East, but I'm sure it didn't go to any of the other wings."

Kurt abruptly stood up and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The sudden motion startled Adam and he hiccupped, something that happened when he was nervous. "That's it?" Kurt repeated. "Oh, no, if it got to your wing..." He didn't dare finish his sentence. He hurried down the bleacher stairs, his shoes clunking against the metal steps.

* * *

The last thing Kurt expected to see when the classroom door opened was the cover of a book a little above eye level. He had been leaning against the wall out in the hallway for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for detention to time out. He came inside because he partly wanted to talk to Blaine about what Adam had let slip, and partly because the cold had numbed his limbs and he wanted to thaw out. As he waited, he transitioned from leaning against the wall to pacing certain lengths of the hall. It got his legs moving and not as cold as they had been. The sounds of his shoes scuffing against the floor also covered up his mumbling to himself.

Now, standing at the open door, Kurt squeaked out an, "Oh," and took a step back.

The book lowered instantly and James peeked out from behind it. He saw it was Kurt standing there and closed the book, tucking it under his arm. "Hi, Kurt," he greeted lightly, though it was threaded with bits of confusion, probably as to why Kurt was waiting.

Kurt gazed up at him with a slightly startled expression, but he nodded back. "I didn't know you had detention today," he said stiffly, and he felt his shoulders tense.

"Unfortunately. I was late to first period," James sighed. He stepped over the threshold and into the hall by Kurt. "How did the snowball fight turn out?" he asked hopefully.

At this a smile flickered across Kurt's face. He remembered asking Adam what the score was as he waited. He had received a message back in what was known as full Adam type—no abbreviations or shortened words, with proper punctuation marks. "North won," Kurt reported giddily.

James snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. "Oh, well. There's always next time, isn't there?" he chuckled.

Kurt nodded in agreement. He leaned to his right to glance past James into the room. He spotted Blaine peering through the blinds on one of the windows, stretching on the tips of his toes. Kurt held back laughter at the sight of him struggling to stand high enough to see and quickly suppressed it when Blaine turned around. An easy smile lit up his face when he saw Kurt. He started to walk toward the door when he held up a finger to let him know he would be a minute. Kurt nodded back and Blaine disappeared from sight. It was followed by Blaine's warm, familiar voice mingling with the dry as parchment tone of his professor.

When Kurt focused his eyes again, James was back to reading. The book was cracked open in one hand, the other holding the pages back. His blue eyes darted furiously over the lines of words as he read, only pausing to flip the page. His face was smoothed over with the interest of the book, which Kurt discovered to be '1984,' a novel he had yet to start. James' weight was leaned on his left foot and it made him seemed inches shorter. Kurt almost felt level with him.

James lifted his eyes as he turned the page carefully. "It's a good book," he commented sheepishly to apologize for his silence.

"Everything you read is a good book," Kurt retorted and crossed his arms. He set his bag down by the wall.

"What? I like books. There's nothing wrong with that becoming a habit," said James in defense and waved the novel in front of him like a fan. Instead of his blazer, he wore a school sweater with the sleeves of the dress shirt underneath rolled up slightly. From where he was standing, Kurt could easily see two red lines stretching over his pale wrist, and a shudder ran up his spine.

Kurt snapped his gaze from his wrist to his face. "But think of the risks," he said empathetically.

James lowered the book to watch him. "What risks? It's reading. It's not supposed to have risks. You just...read."

He scraped for words. "You could always get a paper cut," he said quickly and stared at the wall to avoid eye contact. His mind wandered and he thought if anything besides paintings were tacked up on the walls. He thought not.

James laughed shortly and echoed, "Paper cuts? I've never had the pleasure of receiving a paper cut from a book before."

Kurt shrugged, his face suddenly flaming at the comment, and started walking back and forth in front of the other boy with his hands crossed behind his back. He glanced to the open door several times and wondered when Blaine would be back out.

The consistent page turning stopped long enough for Kurt to get another word in. He glanced over at James, only to find him staring at him. "Do you ever read bad books?" he asked lamely, sort of caught up in the sapphire.

James snorted and turned his eyes back down to read again. He was somehow able to read and talk without quoting the book aloud or being too distracted by the words to talk. "There's no such thing as a bad book," he claimed. "And if there ever was such a thing, I wouldn't be reading bad books. I tend to pick the right ones out of the batch."

Kurt nodded. "So there's no such thing as a bad book," he repeated.

"Nope." He took to leaning against the wall now with his ankles crossed and he flipped a page with the loud flick of paper. Something blue was sticking out between his fingers, and Kurt identified it as a gum wrapper. "Bookmark," James said simply when he saw Kurt looking at it. "I always somehow lose the fancy ones. You know, the ones with tassels on the ends or with pictures on them. I used to have a lot of those."

Kurt didn't reply. He bit his lip and turned back to the door. James stared back at his book. He slowly went back to reading and Kurt went back to pacing and waiting for Blaine. He was just about ready to step inside the classroom when James cleared his throat. The book was shut and cradled to his chest almost lovingly and he didn't set it down.

"Kurt, I wanted to speak with you about something," he said as he pushed away from the wall. Kurt noticed his small habit of staring at the floor when he talked.

"Go ahead," Kurt allowed cautiously. He kept one eye on the door and the other on his friend.

It was easy to tell that he had had a speech worked up and ready to go, but then he sighed and said, "I h-heard about McKinley."

The words stopped Kurt and he abandoned the classroom door completely to stare nervously at him. He had been right in his assumption. When Blaine had told someone, it went much farther than just the East wing. It was probably spread over the entire school by now. "How much did you hear?" he asked above the pulse thudding in his ears.

"Enough to..." He dropped into silence for a moment. "Enough to make me wonder, not to mention worry, and ask you. But of course, it could all be lies. You know how school g-gossip systems are. Something starts off at the beginning of the day, and by the end, it turns into something completely different."

Kurt nodded, sort of following along with him. He said, "What exactly did you hear?"

"The bullying. The football player. The _k-kiss._" With each set of words, he grew tenser, his hands tightening over the book in his arms until his knuckles faded out to white. Then he exhaled loudly through his nose and his shoulders fell with it. "Why didn't you tell anyone about this, Kurt?" he asked softly, but fiercely at the same time, tilting his head to the side.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Kurt stated, his voice straining to stay even. He desperately wished Blaine would interrupt right about now. He kept glancing toward the door in hopes that he would come out, but it stayed empty, Blaine's voice muffled as he continued to discuss something with his teacher.

His hands tightened around the book again as his voice rose. "Y-you need to tell someone, anyone, about this, Kurt," he said and his voice shook.

"Well, that's already taken care of, because most likely everyone knows about it know." Kurt bit his tongue as soon as he finished speaking and wrapped his arms around his torso. "What else do you want me to do about it? I'm safe here. I don't need to do anything about it."

James looked appalled and he was lost for words. "But...oh, never mind." He shook his head and turned away from Kurt. "Just forget I s-said anything." Again, he tripped over his words.

Kurt stood there and swallowed over the lump in his throat. He watched James reach down and fiddle with the buttons on the sleeve of his dress shirt. He gently lifted the cuff and examined the red lines that were there, like they were artwork. Kurt felt his stomach lurch and disregarded them. He said, "James, I'm safe here, if that's what you're worried about."

The other boy meekly lifted his head, and a small smile played on his lips. "There's always something of you to worry about, Kurt. Always something." He didn't say anything more and that let Kurt know the conversation was over.

They stood in the hallway, feet apart, like that for minutes on end. James shook his head once and his dark curls fell over his forehead, and he swiped a lock from his eyes, which had fallen shut. Kurt leaned in to the door to hopefully catch bits and pieces of what Blaine was saying. And then he appeared at the door with his bag in his hand. Kurt nearly lost his balance, but recovered quickly; he hadn't realized he had been leaning forward that far.

Blaine's face dropped when he saw both boys not talking to each other "Is anything wrong?" he asked worriedly. He instantly glanced to James as if he held the answer. The dark haired boy simply shook his head and his eyes fluttered open. He stared dreamily at the wall, not even using his book as an excuse to not make eye contact. He only hugged it tightly to his chest.

"We're fine," Kurt seconded and scooped his bag from the floor. "Really, we are," he added when he saw Blaine's doubtful expression.

He didn't say anything but he nodded.

James bid his farewell and touched Kurt's shoulder lightly as he passed. His hand lingered there for a moment until Kurt looked up at him. He dropped his hand and smiled barely; he disappeared down the hall, unaware of the stare Blaine was giving him.

"So how did the game go?" Blaine asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the corner. He and Kurt started walking in the opposite direction, passing small sets of upholstered chairs with tables as they passed.

"North won," Kurt replied shortly and stared straight ahead. It was silent for a minute's time.

When they turned the corner, Blaine asked, "Are you okay? You don't seem too happy."

Kurt resisted the urge to snap at him. Instead, he softened his voice. "You are correct."

He waited. "And do you want to tell me why that is?"

He stopped in the middle of the hall, which made Blaine stop too. "Are you unaware that everyone knows?" he asked in a hiss.

"Everyone knows about what?" His confusion would have been cute, Kurt decided, but not under the current circumstances.

Kurt sighed and hid his face in his hands. He looked at Blaine through spread fingers. He took a deep breath. "Everyone knows about me and Karofsky, Blaine. They know the whole story, from top to bottom."

"What?" His face was streaked with astonishment. "What do you mean, everyone knows about you and Karofsky? Where did they get that?"

"I should be asking you the same question," Kurt said and crossed his arms. Almost in a whisper, he said, "Why would you tell anyone, Blaine? You know I wanted to keep that whole thing a secret." He was almost afraid to see Blaine's reaction.

"I never told anyone," he promised with his hands up in surrender. He looked guilty and back tracked. "Okay, so I told David and Wes, but that's all. Cody and Thomas seemed to have already known about it when I told the other two. They wanted to know, Kurt. They're you're friends, and it's hard to not worry about you."

"Why is it hard to not worry about me?" Kurt echoed.

Blaine hesitated and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I shouldn't have said anything to anyone." He glanced down at the floor to hide his eyes and exhaled softly.

They stood there in the hallway for a few minutes in the silence. The hall was empty of people and all the lights in the bordering classrooms were off. The doors were locked, the professors gone. Kurt found himself biting the inside of his cheek nervously as he watched Blaine stand almost perfectly still.

"So, subject change," Kurt declared suddenly. Blaine looked up him and nodded. "Relationships 101," he finished and started walking down the hall again. Blaine stared at him as he passed, caught up in the topic, then raced after Kurt.

"Wait, what?" he asked, blinking in bafflement.

"You, and Will." The words were hard to get out, surprisingly.

That was all Kurt had to say before Blaine tried to laugh, but it dropped when found Kurt wasn't kidding. "I'm in a lot of trouble today, aren't I?" he said flatly and rubbed the back of his head as he walked. They rounded the corner and came upon the staircase.

Kurt gripped the railing as he proceeded down them. "Yeah, it sounds like you are," he commented. "Adam told me that you two...dated." He swallowed over the last word.

"Adam," Blaine repeated. "What else did Adam say?"

"Lance Bass. That was Will's nickname when you were dating, wasn't it?"

Blaine was silent. He slowed a little on the steps and ran a hand through his hair. His face was flushed like he had finished running a mile. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, his eyes cast somewhere else. "But it was just a stupid little thing we did," he added hastily.

Kurt stopped at the base of the stairs and waited for him. He had his head cocked to the side in wonder. "But everyone calls you hobbit. I thought that—" he started.

"I'm automatically deemed that," Blaine interrupted and jumped the last two steps to land beside Kurt cleanly. "Will came up with it, and then it stuck with everyone else. Just wait until you seeing fencing. They have it stitched on the back of my practice jersey." He smiled faintly.

Kurt nodded. They came to the doors and pushed outside to the pathway. As the minutes wore on it got colder, and snow was still covering the ground. Footprints were pressed into the white and ran in circles around the pathway and the garden, leading down to the field.

"I'm not mad at you for not telling me about that, by the way," Kurt mentioned as Blaine held the door open to the dorm building. They gratefully walked in and shut the door behind them. "Dating Will."

Blaine shrugged and set down his bag to peel off his coat. He didn't know what to say to that, and slung the coat over his arm.

Kurt was set off by the lack of words. "I mean, I wouldn't want to—"

"Kurt," Blaine said.

"—not tell a friend about a relationship, because that's—"

"Kurt."

"—completely not the other person's business, and—"

Blaine stepped in front of him and placed his hands on his shoulders; he had to reach up a little, seeing as he was an inch or two short. "Kurt," he said sternly. "I get it. You can stop talking." He ended with a smile.

Kurt blinked, and his heart started thudding in his chest. "Right," he said as Blaine lifted his hands from his shoulders.

Suddenly there the sound of something sharp crashing against a hard surface, followed by a male shout, which sounded a lot like Cody. It projected from the common room, the doors to which were wide open. The unexpected clamor made Kurt jump and glance immediately to Blaine, who didn't know what to do. He stood there with an intrigued expression as he made sense of what might've been going on.

"Probably nothing to be worried about," Blaine said calmly and shrugged and Kurt just stared at him if he were crazy.

"Are you sure it's nothing we should be worried about?" Kurt repeated and got his hands to stop shaking. "It sounded like someone threw something."

Blaine walked ahead with Kurt tagging behind him. "If that's the case, then we should go see what they broke," he said with mock excitement.

They came to stand in the doorway of the commons. Kurt's first guess was that someone had let Pavarotti loose again and that the cage had been knocked off its pedestal. But the gilded cage was still standing, with Pavarotti safely inside, appearing calm and unharmed. But when he moved his eyes, he found the back table was a sea of glittering clear glass. Small heart shaped foil candies were strewn about the glass mess. Four boys crowded the table, one of which sucking on his index finger, one with a bat evelvated over his head threateningly. They all whipped around to face Kurt and Blaine.

Blaine took in the sight of his friends and the shattered glass, and covered his face. He mumbled something, which Kurt helpfully translated as, "He said you guys are all idiots."

"We try." Wes laughed nervously and pushed aside glass to lean his hand against the table.

Aside from the glass bowl, everyone seemed unharmed. But upon further inspection, Thomas was discovered to have a nasty gash in his index finger from trying to clean up the glass after the bowl shattered. He yelped in pain as he pulled it from his mouth to say, "Yeah, I get it, I'm stupid. I think I should know by now."

"You're telling me. Who starts grabbing at glass anyway?" Cody huffed and flicked a shard of glass across the table. He was the one holding the bat. It was down by his side now and he was using it as a cane, leaning the end of it against the floor.

"Me."

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes.

"What were you guys trying to do, anyway?" Blaine asked tiredly and came up to the table. He pulled a scrap piece of paper from his bag and started to sweep the glass up into a pile at the center of the table. He and David picked through it to fish out the bits of chocolate.

Kurt, who tended to Thomas' cut, held the boy's finger at arm's length in queasiness. He'd always been squeamish around blood. He left the room to get a bandage and a tube of cream from his room and as soon as he disappeared, Thomas stuck his finger back in his mouth.

As Wes held up a finger and opened his mouth to explain, Blaine cut in with, "You know what? I don't even want to know. Let's just get this cleaned up before anyone else starts bleeding." Thomas mumbled something around his finger, but no one asked him to repeat.

Kurt came back into the room with a bandage and a tube of cream in hand. He sat Thomas down in a chair and pulled his finger out of his mouth. Thomas smacked his lips with a disgusted expression and made a _blech _noise as Kurt applied the cream and folded the bandage around it.

"Well, if you were wondering," David said finally, "we were trying to decide what chocolate to use for the brunch. To put on the tables in the dining hall, and in the hallways."

"We're the only wing that does that," Cody informed and set the bat down on the table. It was a classic wooden bat with a printed on insignia. "The others aren't as fun as we are, sorry to say."

"Sticks in the mud," Thomas concurred and high fived Cody with his good hand.

"And," Wes added, "North is in charge of the candy for the program this year, so we have to make it good."

"And making a simple candy choice results in a shattered bowl?" Kurt asked in awe. He glanced from the broken glass to Cody and back, trying to picture the small boy whacking the bowl into pieces.

"Candy decisions are very serious matters," Wes said with utmost importance in his voice. He reached for the bat and balanced it in his hand, glaring at Cody.

"What?" he shrieked. "It was the only way to get their attention, and that bowl just happened to be there! So I broke a bowl. What else is new?"

Blaine leaned across the table, over the pile of glass, and said to Kurt, "It's always a big debate over Hershey's kisses and Dove hearts. I keep suggesting we switch off every year..."

"But no," Cody finished and crossed his arms. He took a chair next to Thomas and swatted the redhead in the arm when he tried to pick off the bandage. "It has to be a set decision, one or the other, and apparently that continues for the rest of history."

"What have you bought in the past?" Kurt questioned and plucked a small heart out of the pile of chocolate that had been separated. He picked at the edges of the wrapping on the back absently.

"Dove hearts," David answered.

"But I'm telling you, kisses are so much better," Thomas said quickly and waggled his eyebrows.

"Why? Do you want one?" Wes asked with a grin. "Because I'm sure Blaine here would oblige." Wes clapped a hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine rolled his eyes, the pink glow returning to his face, and cast a look at Kurt that said _they're all idiots, don't mind them._

Thomas didn't snap back with a comment but popped one of the chocolates in his mouth. He balled the wrapper in his hands and tossed it at Wes. David scooped the pile of glass onto the sheet of paper and left the room to dump it in the kitchen.

Kurt clapped his hands. "How about we buy both?" he suggested simply.

"That," Blaine said and gestured to him, smiling, "is the best idea I've heard all day. You guys should pay attention to him more often. Maybe then you would stop breaking things."

Cody and Thomas exchanged glances at Kurt's idea, and looked to Wes, who shrugged. David came back into the room and they went over the plan with him. He agreed and they settled on buying both kinds of candy without shattering anything else.

Blaine plopped down in a chair and reached for one of the chocolates. "I think kisses are a good idea," he commented and pushed the candy back onto the pile. He never liked Dove chocolate, and preferred Hershey's over it.

"Dude, you're setting yourself up," David said, shaking his head, and helped himself to the candy as well.

"Ditto," said Thomas through a mouthful and Cody swatted him in the arm for that.

Kurt felt his face grow warm and he looked down at his hands. He had unwrapped the foil and was twisting the heart in his hands. His fingertips were slightly sticky from the warmth melting the chocolate and he put in his mouth. He smoothed out the wrapper and placed it on the table. In small print in the middle of the square of foil was the phrase _believe in love at first sight, just in case!_

It was one of those Dove promises the company printed inside the wrappers. He had seen plenty of those when buying them year after year for the small dishes around his house for Valentine's Day. Of course, by the end of the day on which he put them out, the dishes would be empty. Later he would find a herd of clumped wrappers on the coffee table, courtesy of his dad.

Now he looked at the words and read them over and over again until they were on an endless loop in his head and he could recite them from memory. Kurt looked up through his lashes at the other boys. Thomas was still picking irritably at his bandage and stuffing candy into his mouth. Cody was scolding him for talking with his mouth full and for picking at the bandage, a nibbled heart sitting on its wrapper in front of him. Wes and David were tossing candy at each other in an attempt to get it into the other's mouths. Blaine sat there with his chin resting in his hands, watching them. He paused for a moment to look over at Kurt, and smiled.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The Warblers take their trip to the supermarket to stock up in preparation for the brunch. Things get a little out of hand with a plan of sabotage and a lovesick Warbler. Did I mention that time when Blaine jumped on a soda case display?_


	14. Mega Mart Disaster

_Hello, readers!_

_Sorry for the late update, again. School is coming to a close and finals are right around the corner, along with band auditions. Those will absolutely kill me, so don't be surprised if I don't come back in, like, a month. I'm kidding, I'll still be here._

_It feels a little different continuing this story because it's set during February, but yet, it's the end of May. Yeah, I'm smart. But my next Klaine fic, which I plan to post around the end of November/beginning of December, will follow the actual seasons and months. And yes, there will be a five to six month wait between now and the posting of my new fic. It doesn't have a title yet, so I can't give you that. No hints until maybe this summer. :)_

_Anyway, enjoy the chapter!_

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes, or David, but I do own all my OCs and the plot.

* * *

**Mega-Mart Disaster**

* * *

**In love, there is always one who kisses and one who offers the cheek. - French Proverbs**

* * *

"Kurt, are you still mad at me?"

Silence.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

More silence, with a glare mixed in.

"Will you say anything to me at all?"

Kurt sighed and lifted his hand to examine his nails, picking at a cuticle.

"Fine," Blaine concluded and set down their hand basket at his feet and tucked the paper list in his pocket. He crossed his arms over his chest to mimic Kurt. "Two can play at this game," he said and fell silent.

Kurt turned to him. Blaine was watching him with a smug look that said _I can do anything you can do, so there. _He arched one eyebrow, followed by the other, and waggled them; he stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and crossed his eyes. Kurt felt the corner of his lips tug up and he turned away.

But out of the corner of his eye, he could see Blaine making the most outrageous faces. Finally, he said, laughing, "If you weren't making weird faces at me, I would win," and he covered his face.

Blaine released a breath as if he had been holding it, and his eyes fell back to normal and he pulled his tongue in. "Ha," he said jokingly. "You talked first."

Kurt swatted his shoulder and dropped the smile. "You're being so childish," he said.

"But it got you to talk, didn't it?"

"Yes," said Kurt reluctantly.

"Now will you tell me if you're still mad?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and brushed past him, not saying a word. Blaine scooped up the basket and hurried after him. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess you are," he muttered. "Look, I'm still sorry about that."

Kurt knew what _that _meant. He shook his head simply and tried not to remember that the entire student population of Dalton knew why he transferred in the first place. Everyone knew what had happened with Karofsky at McKinley, and he wasn't thrilled. He stood in the baking section and stared at boxed cake mixes. "Sure," he said shortly.

"No, I am," said Blaine earnestly and he laid a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "I shouldn't have said anything at all. It was stupid of me to tell Wes and David."

Kurt jumped lightly at his touch, and looked over at him. He could feel the warmth of Blaine's hand through his blazer and the dress shirt underneath. Blaine was always warm, no matter what the weather, even when it dropped below freezing. The brown eyes that had been crossed teasingly only moments ago were wide and apologetic. He wasn't sure if Blaine was trying to make them look like puppy dog eyes, but he was doing a damn good job. Then Kurt perked. "It's alright, Blaine," he said softly in realization.

"I know it was stupid, and—" He froze and dropped his hand. "Wait what?"

"It's fine," said Kurt again and nodded. "If you hadn't told Wes and David about it, I'm sure Cody or Thomas would have let it slip. It was only a matter of time."

Blaine stared at him with a blank gaze.

"They knew before you told the other two," he explained briefly and continued down the aisle.

Blaine nodded and called after him, "So does that mean you're still mad at me?"

Kurt shrugged playfully with his back to the other boy, and he heard him sigh. Kurt forced back a smile and waited for him to catch up. "I don't know, you tell me," he said.

Blaine rubbed his face in exasperation. "I'll take it you're perfectly fine now, right?"

"That may be the case."

"You don't answer directly. Do you know that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Blaine sighed again. "And you answer questions with questions."

Kurt clapped his hands together. "Alright. I'm not as pissed at you as I was before. Happy?"

"Much." He paused and smiled. Then, "Wait, before? What happened before?" A look of shock crossed his face.

Kurt shook his head, smiling, moving on to the next topic at hand. "I thought this was a brunch. You know, with egg casseroles and pancakes, and other breakfast items." He eyed the contents of the hand basket between them. "Or at least toast and jam would suffice."

"It is," Blaine said, consulting the list before heaving a bag of flour off the shelf. He was still a little baffled by Kurt's answer, but went along with it. "Except you forget that this whole thing is being planned out by the Warblers."

"And?"

"And," Blaine said, "the Warblers don't exactly believe in healthy eating habits."

Kurt stared at him, then the list, waiting.

"At all. They don't believe in healthy eating at all."

"They must eat something halfway decent."

"Nope." Blaine popped the _p._

"They all have to eat something good for them," Kurt said. "Or else the sugar will make them crash. Vegetables? Fruits?"

"Nope," he said again. "I think that's just you." He smiled and started farther up the aisle, Kurt tagging along.

"Well, what about you?" he asked skeptically.

"What about me?" Blaine stopped momentarily to grab a few tubs of strawberry icing off the shelf. He set them in the basket.

"Are you affected by their outrageous sugar diets?" Kurt inquired. He slipped the list from Blaine's hand for what seemed like the hundredth time to scan their short array of items.

He leaned between his two options. "I'm a perfect angel. I eat all the vegetables in that little bowl we get at dinner, even the steamed carrots when I don't like them, and sometimes the Jell-O is sugar fee. How's that?" He looked back to Kurt with a half grin on his face.

Kurt peeked over the top of the list at him and smiled. Blaine's smile proved to be contagious under any circumstances. "It's not as bad as I expected," he answered. "I thought you would be like everyone else and shove anything sweet into your mouth."

"To break the Warbler-sugar tradition, I'll state for the official minutes that I don't like most kinds of candy." He paused to laugh at Kurt's astounded face. "What?"

"I can't believe you just said that," Kurt explained, brushing past him to a set up of plastic icing tips.

"Why?"

"You seem like the kind of person who would eat any and every kind of candy, no matter what," he said. "For you to go and say you don't like most of what's out there scares me. Even _I _like more candy than you do."

Blaine gaped at him. "And this is coming from the guy who carries one of those mini toothbrushes with him to every meal," he said and shook his head.

"That's not necessarily true," Kurt corrected and felt his face growing warm. He glanced at Blaine, who had one eyebrow raised. "Okay, it's a little bit true."

"I know," Blaine chuckled and leaned over Kurt's shoulder to get a look at the list, "I was kidding." He continued down the aisle and Kurt followed quickly.

It wasn't taking them as long as Kurt thought, the whole shopping thing. The list they'd made up only consisted of five or six items, most of which they had a good stock of back at the school, but they'd need it in the long run. They were all baking items: flour, sugar, eggs, milk, frosting. Plus there was the candy and sprinkles to garnish the finished product, and the candy to fill the dishes around North and in the dining hall. The other members of the group, however, were currently running around the mega-mart with lists as long as the Great Wall. They were turning what was supposed to be a simple Valentine's Day Brunch into a complicated mess.

Holding gatherings like this for family and friends was a long-running tradition for the Arts program of Dalton. For the Warblers, they put on a show, followed by a well-prepared meal by the boys. The drama department pulled together a romantic comedy when the auditorium wasn't being used, mostly on a different day. The art show was held at the end of the week, and had already passed.

Kurt remembered seeing James, in particular, arrive to rehearsal with his hands and his cheeks smeared with fresh paint that was already drying. He was taking one of the many art classes the school provided and for the show, he'd sculpted a very realistic model of the human heart, followed by a stereotypical heart and set them side by side for comparison. He stated that some love is logical, while some is quick and predictable. After running late one day, he had had to bring the realistic heart into class with him, and Simon immediately jumped at critiquing him on the placement of the aorta and pulmonary arteries.

With the art show knocked out of the way, the Warblers and the drama department were left. The Warblers would be performing in the morning the Sunday before Valentine's, while a play would be premiered a day earlier, that Saturday night. The play was like clockwork, all with certain times and places, but as Blaine had described, the way the Warblers held the brunch was the complete opposite.

Previous years told the Warblers to never: use silly string to coat the audience while on stage in an attempt to be funny, forget to set alarm clocks and nearly sleep up until the last possible second, or stick fake bugs in the food to scare family members. The last part, as Kurt understood, had been a prank from Leo and Dex—they hung around the choir a lot more than they should—during their first year, so none of the Warblers were penalized for it, but someone's mother got a good scare. There were always things tagging onto the end of the list that made it harder and harder to follow.

Along with operator errors, inanimate objects malfunctioned. The ovens in East burned out, forcing them to share West's kitchen to prepare foods. Lights on the stage constantly flickered and finally shorted out to leave the audience and performers in the dark, though Adam made sure to check the bulbs at least once every ten minutes. Curtains dropped on soloists in the middle of solos, though that was proven not an accident when Ms. Lovett caught Leo playing with the ropes.

The shopping was the worst part of the brunch process, however. As many times as both the Dean and Ms. Lovett said no to leaving campus for supplies, the boys had eventually gotten their way. That was something Kurt left untouched. The Warblers were never allowed in public places like a grocery store as a group because one, they messed everything up, all the time, from knocking down a pyramid display of canned corn to racing carts down the frozen food section, because the aisles were bigger, and two, because somehow, in some manner, they ended up getting kicked out.

And behind all this, of course, were the chairmen and the director. Wes was a shoo in to be lugging a clipboard with him the entire day of the brunch, and possibly a gavel to whack sense into people, or simply people he didn't like. Kurt had never seen the gavel because it was forbidden during class, due to an apparent outbreak the year before, when Wes sent it flying at Will and it smashed a lamp. No more gavels after that. Simon was a nervous wreck, no doubt. He seemed cool until the last possible second when everything that could go wrong went wrong, all at once. Most likely, David and Ms. Lovett would save the day if anything turned out horribly. Well, that's what Kurt gathered from Blaine's brief history lesson, at least.

"What?" Blaine said now, and let the basket swing by his side. He was looking at Kurt with interest.

"Nothing," Kurt said and snapped back into reality. He hadn't realized he had been staring into space for the last five minutes. Not space, really, but at Blaine. He flushed. "I'm fine."

"What's wrong?" he asked despite Kurt's answer. He filtered through what they had in the basket as he waited.

"Why do you ask?" Kurt came up beside him and rifled through the rest Blaine hadn't touched. They confirmed they had everything and continued up the aisle to the end.

"You just have this look on your face," Blaine stated, "almost like you're going to have a massive breakdown. Like the one you work for the week of semester finals."

Kurt groaned and rubbed his face. "Don't bring that up," he ordered. "Just because you scored nearly perfect on your Physics exam, and I had one less point than you in Geometry, doesn't mean you should gloat."

"It doesn't mean that I can't," he retorted with a teasing smile. That smile softened whatever came out of his mouth, and added humor to it. He could say anything that came to mind, and wear that smile, and everyone would know he was joking.

Kurt sighed and turned his head. He let an easy smile onto his face as he said, "I hate you so much right now."

The soloist spun around on his heel so he began to walk backwards. He opened his mouth to retaliate when his heel caught the floor and he stumbled. He caught himself after a jarring moment. "Not true," he stated, and turned back around. "Never true."

* * *

"What are you looking for, Cody?" Thomas questioned as they filtered through the bakery. Warm scents gravitated around them and made his stomach growl, and the sight of cakes and pastries made his mouth water. The warmth was a cozy comparison to the other sections of the store. This part was set in dim lighting whereas the rest was blinded by fluorescents.

The small Warbler shrugged and kept moving, a basket tight in his hands. "I'm not sure," he said as he examined all the table setups they passed.

They had left Kurt and Blaine half an hour ago and Cody wondered whether they were done yet. He knew Blaine liked to impulse buy, and he figured Kurt wouldn't stand for it. He could just imagine Blaine grabbing everything but the kitchen sink off the shelves, and then Kurt having to put it all back. He smiled.

Thomas crossed his arms and stared up at the high ceiling, obviously bored out of his mind. "Then why are we here?"

"I've already got most of the things I need for what I'm making for the Brunch," Cody said as they passed a table filled with containers of brightly-frosted cupcakes. He stopped to examine them, licked his lips in temptation, and kept moving. "Until I think of anything more, we'll stay here. I just like looking at things. I guess you could say I'm an avid shopper." He chuckled lightly and shifted the basket to his other hand.

Thomas sped up to peer into the basket. "Raisins?" he asked as he examined the red container. He picked it up and weighed it in one hand. "Why in the world do you need raisins? Those things are disgusting." He dropped it back in with revolt.

"It's none of your business," Cody sniffed. He waited for Thomas to ask, and when he did, he sighed, "I'm making carrot cake. Don't judge me, okay?"

Thomas stared at him. He stopped to pick one of the sample cookies from a container. He nibbled on it daintily and caught back up with Cody. "Why are you making carrot cake? The only good part is the frosting," he said and chewed.

"Yes, I've noticed that, considering you ate all my frosting last year." Cody glared at him but softened it a moment later. "Even thought that may be the case, it's actually for someone."

The words made the redhead choke on the rest of the cookie. He swallowed and asked, "Really? Who's it for? A girl? Is it that girl you brought last year? She was so nice! Is she coming again?"

"Yes, yes, it is for a girl. It's for the same girl," Cody snapped over his shoulder. He felt his face growing red by the second. "Shut up about it, okay? I'm trying not to freak out too much over it and you're making it worse."

"How am I making it worse?"

"You're talking about it!" He was one step closer to dropping the basket and hitting the other boy in the arm.

Thomas looked sheepish and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. But seriously, carrot cake?"

Cody nodded as they passed a table filled with pre-made cakes in plastic tins. The frosting was bright pink with red accents, covered in hearts and sprinkles. He stopped to look one over—a double layer chocolate with thick frosting—and stepped back to continue walking. "Yes. Is that a bad thing?"

"I thought you didn't like carrot cake? Like, you're allergic to it," he said, obviously confused. "Do I need to remind you of when you accidentally ate some of that stuff and you had a little bit of an allergic reaction?"

"You were the one who gave it to me in the first place and told me it was vanilla." Cody shuddered.

He did not want to think about that. It had been during the lunch hour one day when carrot cake was being served. Thomas had handed him a tray, saying it was vanilla, and he ate half of it before noticing his mouth starting to itch irritably. Needless to say he spent forty-five minutes in the nurse's office with an EpiPen after that.

"Okay, that part was _not _true!" Thomas argued. "I could've sworn it was vanilla."

"Whatever. Now I know that I have reaction to the carrots in carrot cake," he said.

"So... I'm still confused here," Thomas said. "You _don't _like carrot cake still, but you're making it for the girl you're bringing."

"That's correct. I'm not going to eat a bite of it. However, she loves carrot cake, and what is a better way to get her attention than making her favorite dessert?" The logic was simple to him and added up correctly in his mind. "She didn't seem too impressed with the makeshift muffins I had to come up with at the last second because _somebody _didn't set the timer right the first time for my cupcakes!" He glanced fiercely over his shoulder at him.

"Sorry," Thomas whimpered. Then he said, "Aw, that's sweet. You know, making something for a girl even though your face gets all puffy from it."

Cody shook his head and sighed heavily. "It's my mouth that is affected."

"Your mouth gets puffy?"

Cody shot him a furious glare.

They moved on from the pastries and treats. They were stopped at a row of assorted loaves of bread. While Cody was picking a loaf up and examining it in his hand, Thomas caught sight of three of girls who looked like they were in their sophomore or junior year. All were wearing long jeans and jackets with furry hoods. One had a basket and they all had Starbucks.

Without saying anything to Cody, he snuck off and approached them with a wink. He swept his hair out of his eyes with the jerk of his head. "Hi, ladies."

"Okay," said one girl, who was a blonde with an addiction to chewing gum, "if you're going to pull a pick up line on us, it won't work."

Thomas felt his face fall and he scrambled for words. He hadn't expected that as a way to start off. It never usually started off that way. His hesitation made the other two giggle. "That's not what I was going to say at all!" He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded worrisome.

"Then what _were _you going to say?" a brunette asked and pointed her nail file at him. She looked down at her nails again to finish shaping her index finger.

"Yes. Enlighten us, ginger. We're so thrilled," the last said with a smile and brought the straw of her drink to her lips.

Thomas took a breath and held it in his lungs, thinking of something to say that wouldn't sound idiotic. Finally, he came up with, "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

"You're very bad at getting girls," the gum chewer pointed out with a laugh. The others nodded in agreement. "Don't try so hard next time." She patted his shoulder helpfully and smiled, her lip gloss shining in the light.

Thomas fled from the scene with the girls snickering into their hands and his face as flaming as his hair. He returned to Cody with a damaged self esteem and tried to act nonchalant, which didn't work out as well as he'd hoped. Cody glared at him as he tossed a loaf of bread into the basket. "Where have you been?" he asked, sounding like a mother whose child had gotten lost.

"I don't want to talk about it," Thomas mumbled and rubbed the back of his head.

The Cody saw the trio of girls behind him and rolled his eyes, sighing, "Thomas, please tell me you did not just try to seduce those poor girls. They're just girls. What did they ever do to you?"

"Not seduce... maybe get a number off one of them."

"Thomas, you're an idiot."

"I know. Don't need to tell me twice."

Cody rolled his eyes. He pulled an endless list from his pocket and stuffed it in Thomas' hands. "Come on. There are a few more things I remembered just now."

* * *

"Yo! Earth to lover boy!" Carson waved his hand in front of James' face. "Can you stop drooling over Kurt long enough to help us find some of the stuff on this list?"

James was jarred by the appearance of the blonde stepping in front of him now. His eyes instantly went from the boy by the milk to Carson. "What? I'm not drooling."

Carson grinned and reached forward to dab at something at the corner of James' mouth, and James swatted his hand away angrily. "I think you were."

"Shut up," he grumbled and tore the list from his hands. His eye found something abnormal on the list and he said, "What? Why in the world does it say condoms on here?" As soon as he said it, his face turned red.

Carson and Will burst into laughter, and that caused a few people to look over at them. James shushed them repeatedly to get them to be quiet, and finally, they stopped long enough for Will to say, "That doesn't say 'condoms', James. It says 'casserole.' As in, the egg _casserole_we're making for the brunch."

James hid his face in his hands and blindly thrust the list back at Carson. "I hate both of you."

"Surely you don't mean that," Will said and pretended to act hurt.

"Oh, I mean it," he grumbled. "Now what about the casserole you were so goddamn adamant about?"

"We're getting there," said Carson. "Sheesh. Cool your jets, and your mouth, lover boy."

James felt his face go up in flames again. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"It's obvious," Will mused, his tone much less than thrilled, as he picked through the racks of cheese. He pulled a bag of shredded Colby off the rung and placed it in the basket.

"And why is that obvious?" he asked when Will didn't go on.

"You drooled over Kurt just now," Carson stated. "If that's not infatuation, I don't know what is."

Will snorted by said nothing. He left to examine yogurt labels, though that wasn't on the list.

"You're very easy to read," observed Carson as soon as Will was out of ear shot. "Like Will. He's easy to read, and a terrible liar, too."

Somehow Will heard and shouted, loud and clear, "Carson, are you gossiping about me again?"

"No," Carson called back, equally as loud, and James shushed him. He turned away from Will with a snicker. "Not to mention gullible," he added.

"He doesn't seem gullible," murmured James, watching Will deal now with a stack of boxed crackers on display. He took one from the middle and half of it crashed to the floor. He didn't seem fazed by it, and dropped the box in his hands, strolling casually back to where James and Carson stood with his hands linked behind his back, like nothing happened. He ignored the stares of other shoppers.

Will leaned in, with a grin, to say, "You didn't see anything."

"And subtle," James said dryly to Carson. "Don't forget subtle."

* * *

"Wes, what are we doing, exactly?"

"Shh!" He put a finger to his lips to silence him. "Do you _want _to give off our element of surprise?"

David stepped out from behind the large pile of apples and straightened his blazer. "Wes, we're in a supermarket. I don't think the element of surprise is on our side."

"What makes you say that?" asked Wes. David cupped his ear and Wes repeated his question louder, only to realize that the silence was his answer. "Oh, never mind, then."

"Yeah, never mind."

The supermarket was _packed. _Like a shopping mall on Christmas Day, busy. People milled around in all directions, pushing shopping carts and dragging along small children. Voices filled their ears. There didn't seem to be enough elbow room or enough air to breathe.

Wes thought he was going to suffocate for a moment and stood up. He brushed lint off his shoulder, only to knock into the tower of apples with his elbow. A few off the top tumbled down and he caught them easily. He cradled them in his arms, offered a smug look to David, and stacked them in a line at the bottom. "What? Did you think I was going to cause a catastrophe or something?"

"Or something," David murmured and scanned the produce section. His search came up negative and he turned back to Wes. "I don't think he's here."

"That's impossible. I just saw him walk past the bananas a few minutes ago," Wes said and stretched on the tips of his toes to look over peoples' heads.

"That was minutes ago. He's probably gone by now. William probably saw us looking for them and hightailed it out of here. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case."

Wes nodded and sunk back onto his heels. "I guess you're right. Maybe we should check the bakery again?"

"We already checked there," David reminded him and started to attempt a tight squeeze between a heavyset woman and her cart and the set up of berries. Wes followed him closely until they ended up on the outskirts of the pack, near the florist corner, finally able to breathe properly without constrained lung capacity. "I don't see why we have to follow them around the entire time we're here. We can always just talk to them when we get back."

Wes snapped his fingers sharply and pointed to him. "That's what Will's expecting us to do. That way James has more time to get to Kurt. The more time he has to get to Kurt, to more time he can do his crazy mind games. See my logic?" He circled a finger around his head.

"Your logic hasn't been very clear before." David crossed his arms and watched the various scenes around him unfold: a small child was making a grab for a banana; people were squeezing past each other with full carts.

"But I'm assuring you, I'm not imagining things right now," he continued convincingly. "Have you been alive since James transferred?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Then you've seen the looks he's given Kurt in almost every rehearsal," said Wes. "I mean, did you see him watching Kurt during the run through when he and Blaine got up for their duet the other day? It's insane. I think he has problems."

"Well, we already know he's in love with Kurt. That's one thing," David pointed out. He knew Wes was also thinking about the cutting issue, so he didn't say anything about that.

"That's a _bad _thing. We can't let this happen again."

David sighed heavily. "I'm telling you, this hasn't happened more than once. I know you're thinking of the time before, like, a year and a half ago, but that was a completely different case scenario."

"It wasn't that different," Wes grumbled and set the basket of their ingredients at their feet.

"Will's not psychotic. I think that's a difference," David pointed out. "He's not as crazy as James is, thank God, or I don't think he would be alive right now. Blaine would've strangled him when he had the chance."

Wes rolled his eyes. "Still. I don't like the looks James gives Kurt and Blaine all the time. It's like he's holding laser pointers to their heads and is deciding on the right time to fire, and which one to fire at first."

David hit him in the shoulder and said, "I'm sure it's not that serious..."

He glared at him. "Do you want to bet?"

"Not really," he said.

"Then you'll believe me when I say James is out to trip Blaine, smash his face in the dust, and take Kurt for the prize," Wes said and nodded. He looked completely serious, confident in his theory.

David glanced at him oddly out of the corner of his eye. "A little exaggerated there, but I get the point. So what are we talking about again? You lost me at the part about your logic."

"My plan," he said and thrust his finger in the air dramatically. "James is going to fight for Kurt no matter what, right? We need to do something _awful _to South—" He stopped in midsentence. He glanced at David with a Grinch-like smile spreading across his face and took all he could to keep from bouncing on his feet. "Should we?"

"Should we what?" said David, and he leaned away a little bit at his friend's sudden excitement.

Wes fumbled through his pockets for his phone. "We're going to do something awful to South, and I know just the guys who'll do it. Dex and Leo. They're good at that kind of stuff, and this will teach South not to mess with us." He came up with his phone and flipped it open. It was one of those ancient phones that were so old, everyone's grandparents used. He scrolled through his contacts.

"Wait, wouldn't that get us in an insane amount of trouble?" David asked and grabbed his wrist, pulling the phone toward him to stop Wes from dialing.

"Not if the two don't squeal on us," he answered and clicked the down arrow. He had his thumb poised over the TALK button and was prepared to make the call. "Which they shouldn't, if they know what's good for them," he added.

"How do you know they'll answer?" he asked.

Wes looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "Please. If they see my caller ID, they'll pick up." He slipped his wrist out of his friend's grip and hit the button. He held the phone to his ear and grinned at David as the dial tone blared.

David covered his face and sighed, awaiting the doom that was sure to come. "This is not going to turn up well," he murmured.

_"Hello, you've reached the Kingsley and Greene Hotline. How may I help you?" _answered a squeaky voice.

"You've changed your greeting. I'm impressed," Wes commented in approval. David, hearing this, pulled the phone closer to him so he could hear the conversation.

_"Hey, Wesley." _Dex's voice was recognizable. He started to say something else, but instead asked, _"Where the hell are you? It sounds like you're at the zoo."_

"Worse," David chipped in and spoke loud enough to be heard over the people around them. "The store."

_"Hey, David's there, too!" _The pair could hear Leo in the background. Dex shushed him and started to talk again. _"Why in the world are you at the store?" _he asked curiously.

"Warblers business," Wes explained shortly. "Listen, we need you to do us a favor. A really big favor."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. _"Why should we help you in the first place?"_

"We'll give you enough money to pay for that new video game that just came out last week," David offered and Wes gave him a cutthroat glare. He shrugged.

There was a pause. _"Add in a glow-in-the-dark game controller, and you've got yourself a deal."_

The two boys shared glances. "Fine, fine," Wes said. "A game controller that glows in the dark, and a new video game. But that's as far as we're going to go."

_"Deal!" _Leo chirped and it sounded like he stole the phone away from Dex. _"So now what's this favor you had in mind?"_

"We're looking along the lines of sabotage," Wes explained. "A little destruction here, a little there, and that should take care of most of what we're planning. Do you think you can help us out?"

David and Wes could hear them grinning on the other end. _"You had us at sabotage. What can we help you with?"_

* * *

"Dark chocolate?" He scanned the shelves stocked with bags upon bags of candy.

"Ew, no." Kurt wrinkled his nose. "I prefer white or milk. Dark is too bitter."

Blaine pursed his lips, contemplating Kurt's answer. "Okay," he said as he exhaled, long and heavy. He bit his lip and looked at Kurt. "What about candy with filling?"

Another nose wrinkle, and this time Kurt didn't have to say anything for Blaine to get the message. "Caramel?"

"What is it with the suddenly random candy questionnaire?" asked Kurt and he stepped beside Blaine. "Not that I'm complaining, I mean."

Blaine shrugged and answered, "Just wondering what you like."

The small number of items had been knocked off the list quickly, leaving the two boys with endless amounts of time. Everywhere they walked, they saw small clumps of Warblers with lists and baskets. They all waved at one another before disappearing into an aisle, still with half a list to complete. Unlike everyone else, they were finished and used the rest of their free time walking aimlessly around the store.

Along with the ingredients in the basket, there were other holiday-themed items: Kurt had picked up a box of paper valentines, the ones kids gave out during parties in elementary school, saying they would be cute to give out to the Warblers; Blaine had chuckled at the valentines and took nothing from the shelf for himself.

Kurt watched Blaine closely now, watching as he worried his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was mulling over something. His head was tilted a bit to the side as he looked up at the shelves to pick out something he thought Kurt would approve of. Finally Kurt said, "I like plain chocolate."

Blaine stared at him. "Just plain?" he repeated. "Kurt Hummel, king of all that is showy things and pizzazz, likes his chocolate _plain_?"

Kurt smacked his arm playfully. "It's better than saying I dislike chocolate."

"I guess you have a point there."

"I always have a point." He moved around Blaine to grab a bar of chocolate from the shelf and pressed it into Blaine's hand. "There. Is that good enough for you?"

"It'll do," he said and eased into a smile, closing his fingers around the bar and dropping it into the basket. "Is there anything you want?"

"No, I'll pass. I'm sure I'm getting a cavity just from looking at this." Kurt touched his jaw for emphasis. "And I've never gotten a cavity before. Ever. I plan on keeping that record."

"I guess it's from all that before-and-after meal brushing you do," Blaine chuckled and moved farther into the aisle, surveying the candy, with Kurt trailing behind. "So are you going to sing something for the performance?" he asked.

Kurt laughed, but cut off abruptly a moment later. "You already asked me that," he reminded him. "But no. There is no way I will sing by myself in front of everyone."

"Why not? You're good." Blaine looked back at him as he plucked a bag of Sweet Tarts off the shelf. He weighed it in his hand before tossing it back to grab a bigger size. "_Really _good, if you ask me."

"I'm not that good," Kurt mumbled and stepped beside him, hoping he could hide his red face. He stared at the first thing he saw, which was a bag of Swedish Fish. He pulled it into his hands and shook it gently. The candy on the inside shifted back and forth, back and forth. He didn't even like Swedish Fish, didn't know why he picked up it, and he replaced it on the shelf.

Blaine rolled his eyes and bumped shoulders with him. "You're good. You grand slammed your audition when you transferred, and that was in front of everyone during class."

"Your point?" He didn't tear his eyes away from the candy.

"You got a standing ovation, Kurt."

"It was one of my better days," Kurt said and sniffed, crossing his arms.

"Every day is one of your better days," said Blaine with a small smile playing on his lips.

"Enough about me," he snapped. He was finished with talking about himself. "I suppose I don't have to ask whether or not you're singing for the Brunch."

"That's correct," Blaine smiled. He picked a bag of Skittles off the shelf, decided for a moment, then tossed it in the basket. He licked his lips as he eyed a pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

"Well?" Kurt asked.

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me what you're singing?"

"Not a chance. It's a surprise," he snorted in response, taking the orange package in his hands. He scanned the nutrition label and added it with the growing pile of candy.

"A surprise?" Kurt repeated.

Blaine nodded. "You're going to have to wait and see, because I'm not letting anything slip."

"Will you at least tell me what you're singing for your audition?" he asked pleadingly.

"Nope." He popped the _p, _and that told Kurt it was something he did when a word ended in _p._

"Please?"

"You're going to have to wait," Blaine repeated and grabbed yet another bag of candy.

Kurt snatched it out of his hands and glared at the label. "Red Vines? Really?"

"They're good! I'm actually tempted to open the package right now, thank you very much, but I won't because I haven't paid for them yet," he defended and took them back into his hands. He added them to the top of the candy mountain in the basket.

"Are you hibernating for winter or something similar?" Kurt asked and leaned around him to catch a glimpse of the basket that was nearly overflowing. "You've got enough to feed an army."

"Similar," Blaine decided. "North always has movie parties, and this one is scheduled for the end of this week. You know, movies and candy and soda. Like the Super Bowl Party, minus football and add films." He smiled at the idea.

Kurt bit his lip and considered it. "That would be interesting. Just don't tackle me again."

"So are you going to come?" he asked and started moving down the aisle. "I ran it by Cody and Thomas and the others and most of them are coming. I'll even let you chose one of the movies."

"If you'd let me bring my ten versions of 'The Wizard of Oz', I think I could possibly arrange that," Kurt said and followed him. "What about Saturday?"

"Wait, there's _ten _versions of that movie?" Blaine asked, blinking. He looked genuinely baffled. "I thought there was only one."

Kurt patted his shoulder and sighed. "Then I'm definitely bringing them," he decided. "So, back to Saturday. What are we going to do about that?"

"What about Saturday?" The puzzled look stayed on his face.

"Aren't we going to Regionals that day?" Kurt asked, amazed that Blaine seemed clueless about the biggest performance of the year.

"Yes, but it's nothing we can't handle. If you're worried about getting enough sleep, you are free to go to bed early. Trust me. That's probably what I'll be doing, myself." Blaine smiled and kept walking. "We had a movie night last year, stayed up until four in the morning watching Star Wars, all of the Harry Potter movies, and one of Thomas' horror movies that scared the _shit _out of us—"

"Language!" he hissed, glancing around the aisle to gauge the reactions of the people nearby.

"—and we did fine the next morning. We didn't even pass out or anything during rehearsal like we thought we would."

"Did you load up on caffeine to keep yourselves awake?" Kurt asked.

Blaine nodded and said, "At six in the morning, Thomas was the only one alert enough to operate a car without confusing the gas pedal and the brake, so he got us all Starbucks before we had to rehearse for three hours straight."

"Sounds like fun," Kurt laughed. "I'll make sure to be there."

"Are you sure you can handle it?" he asked jokingly.

"What do you mean?" Kurt watched as Blaine stretched on the tips of his toes to reach a value pack of Laffy Taffy. He wriggled his fingers and gave up. Kurt sighed and reached up effortlessly, handing it back to Blaine with a smirk.

Blaine rolled his eyes and muttered a thanks, followed with, "We watch horror movies, remember? We had to narrow it down to one last year because Cody was on the verge of attacking anything that moved, including me. He kicked me in the face when I got up to get a drink of water after I thought everyone had gone to sleep."

Kurt covered his mouth to hide laughter.

"Thomas told me he kept his baseball bat at his bedside for the next week and a half after that. He was afraid of any noise that happened in the night and was prepared to hit something at will," Blaine continued, smiling.

"Did he ever use it?"

Blaine nodded eagerly. "He hit Thomas in the nether regions by accident. Hard, I might add."

Kurt burst into laughter, attracting the attention of a few shoppers at the end of the aisle. He quieted his laughter and turned to Blaine. "I will be able to hold this over Cody for as long as I know him," he said giddily.

"Speaking of..." He gestured over his shoulder.

Thomas and Cody appeared at the end at the end of the aisle and they came to meet them. Thomas had a long list in his hands and Cody looked like he was struggling holding up his hand basket. Kurt stepped forward and took it from him. He couldn't shake the image of Cody with a baseball bat in his hands and tried not to snicker noticeably.

"Thank you!" the shorter boy sighed with relief and stretched his arms. "I think that thing weighs more than me!"

"Really, Thomas," Blaine scolded the redhead teasingly. "You make _Cody, _of all people, carry the basket."

The redhead waved the list in his face. "Hey, I'm supervising here! That's a job all on its own."

"I was kidding. No need to get defensive."

"I'm not defensive!" he snapped.

"I think you are," Kurt muttered and set down the basket by their feet.

"Don't worry about him," Cody said and examined his nails. He cracked a smile. "He's just upset that he got rejected by a few girls we saw over in the bakery. He tried to flirt and they turned him down."

"Might as well tell the entire store," Thomas mumbled and crumpled the list in his hand. He jammed the wad in his pocket.

"Do you really have that much trouble finding the right girl?" Kurt asked dubiously.

"Yes, but I'm only saying it once."

"You don't really need to say it," Blaine said and stepped back to look him up and down. "From your expression right now, anyone can guess it's heartbreak."

"Shut up, Blaine. You don't need to go picking on me because I can't land a girl."

Kurt glared heatedly at him. "You're complaining about _your _lack of love life?"

Blaine put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. "But don't get too discouraged, man. I'm sure you'll find someone... eventually." He brought his eyes to Kurt, who flushed. "If Cody has a potential girlfriend, I'm sure you can get one, too."

Cody turned red and shook his head. "I don't think we need to start bringing Madeline into this conversation," he said quickly.

"So that's her name!" Kurt exclaimed, startling him.

Cody placed a hand over his heart, as if it was already racing by simply thinking about her. "Yes, yes, that's her name. Enough about that already."

"No, I want to hear more about her," Thomas insisted and stood up a little straighter. "Does she still have long hair?"

"Yes, she does. You'll see her at the Brunch," Cody snapped impatiently. "You'll meet her again and we'll all be happy. There. We're done talking about this."

And just like that, the conversation was dropped. Talking started up again, however, when two of the three girls from the bakery walked past them, searching the shelves. Thomas brushed the hair out of his eyes in an attempt to look well-kept and winked once as they passed, which only made them giggle into their hands and continue on down the aisle. Thomas huffed and the lock of hair fell back in his eyes.

"So much for that," he grumbled. He watched them as they walked further until disappearing around the corner.

"What _is _this place?" Cody said almost to himself. "Normal teenage girls don't hang out at a grocery store, from what I know."

Kurt watched the girls as well. "Thomas, I think you should lay off getting a girlfriend for awhile. Getting rejected so many times, and especially right before Valentine's, has got to be horrible for your health. There's probably even a study on it."

"I know, I know," he replied. Then his eyes lit and he glanced eagerly down the aisle once more. "Hey, do you think if I sing they'll come back?"

"Thomas Reid," Cody scolded with a heavy sigh, "that will not work whatsoever. Don't even start on that."

"Like that isn't obvious! Be right back!" He started to hurry away.

Blaine reached out to grab his arm and he pulled him back to the group. "Not so fast, Cupid. I don't think serenading them works all too well."

Cody nodded in agreement. "It's cheesy."

"I think it's a cute idea," Kurt commented, which received many stares. He shrugged. "What? I think it's somewhat romantic if the guy I liked sung to me in public. Or sung to me in general, at least. I'm a sap."

"At least someone's on my side!" Thomas said excitedly. Blaine was too busy staring at Kurt oddly to notice that Thomas had slipped through his loose grip.

"You're still going to try to sing to them, aren't you?" Cody asked as Thomas bounced on his feet.

"Obviously," he answered. "Now help me out here."

The three Warblers stared at him.

"Help me," he repeated slowly. He started making elaborate hand motions in his form of sign language. "Sing with me, okay?"

"So you want us to sing to get girls to notice you?" Cody clarified with an arched eyebrow.

Thomas gestured widely to him. "Yes! Please? I'll pay you all in candy, or something."

"Candy? Are you broke?" asked Blaine.

He muttered a, "Maybe. But that's not the point."

"Let's just put him out of his misery, and sing with him," Kurt sighed, rubbing his face. "What's one song?"

Thomas pointed to him. "See? There's one person that agrees with me."

"Only one," Cody said quietly.

Finally, Blaine exhaled loudly. "Oh, why not," he shrugged. "But I swear, if this is only going to get you slapped, Thomas..."

Thomas grinned from ear to ear. "It won't. Trust me." He quickly ran through the song verses and chorus with the others, but everyone knew the radio tune by heart. After they abandoned their baskets, he led them down the aisle and peeked his head out. He leaned back in quickly and nodded. The three boys came up with a soft harmony, all unsure about the idea of singing without warm up, and Thomas stepped out of the aisle, singing.

_Here we go again,_

_I kinda wanna be more than friends,_

_So take it easy on me,_

_I'm afraid you're never satisfied_

Thomas' voice wasn't as clear as Blaine's, Kurt decided as the redhead moved through the first verses. It was a little unstable at the beginning words. His tempo kept tugging and pulling in one direction before being yanked back in the other. The three boys watched as the two girls exchanged glances. They were clearly surprised by the show, and ducked their heads together to whisper. Every so often, their eyes would flicker back to Thomas. As if they had come to a conclusion, they started to head off.

Thomas' face fell as well as his pitch, and his shoulders drooped, but he didn't stop singing. He left his trio behind to pursue the girls and his voice faded as he went. When he disappeared around the corner, tripping as the toe of his shoe snagged the floor, Cody stopped singing to rub his face. Kurt stopped shortly after.

The only one who kept up with the tune was Blaine, who sung softly under his breath. It was enough to keep the beat. He glanced to the others, noticing the lack of their voices, and Kurt expected him to get the hint and stop. But he didn't. In fact, his voice grew louder. His eyes flashed as a smile crossed his face, and he continued to sing. The words fell from his lips smoothly and they were as clear as an audio recording. His grin urged the other two to join and they shared a doubtful look.

Before they could say anything, though, Blaine started walking with a silent beat. His single voice carried as he proceeded down the aisle, echoing against the tile floors and high ceilings and a few people paused their shopping to look at him. Kurt felt his face grow red for Blaine's sake. Then Cody vanished from his side to race after Blaine in what Kurt thought was embarrassment, to maybe get Blaine to stop. But he was singing along with the words.

Kurt had never heard Cody sing before without accompaniment. His voice was soft and feather light and delicate, matching his personality and short stature perfectly. The sound was draining away as he and Blaine danced their way down the aisle. Kurt hastily looked around him and took off after them.

When he caught up with them, they were in the middle of a verse.

_Oh, oh, I want some more,_

_Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?_

_Take a bite of my heart tonight,_

_Oh, oh, I want some more,_

_Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?_

_What are you waiting for?_

_Say goodbye to my heart tonight_

As soon as the words broke off, Kurt sucked in a breath. Glancing around, he discovered the group of just he, Blaine and Cody had grown, some of the Warblers joining them and harmonizing. Blaine's voice stood out among all as the lead. Kurt sung the melody quietly and he glimpsed James, Carson and Will at the back of the group, having abandoned their shopping excursion. He picked out a few others who had joined, but no Thomas.

Then a hand wrapped firmly around his wrist and pulled him forward. Some of the boys stood aside as Kurt was drug through and he looked up at his captor. Blaine wasn't looking at him at the moment, but Kurt could tell it was him, from the gentleness with which he grabbed Kurt's wrist, and the slight curls that were beginning to build at the back of his head. Suddenly he turned around to face Kurt and pulled him to the front of the group, a dazzling smile on his face.

_Here we are again, I feel the chemicals kicking in,_

_It's getting heavy and I want to run and hide, I want to run and hide,_

_I do it every time, you're killing me now,_

_And I won't be denied by you, the animal inside of you,_

_Oh, oh, I want some more,_

_Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?_

_Take a bite of my heart tonight_

The group cut down a wide aisle, through a few carts and a cluster of people watching them with expressions, some bemused, some entertained. The aisle ended and brought them to the front of the store. The front was coated in pink from the abundance of Valentine's decorations, from streamers to heart-shaped boxes to the large display of soda cases stacked to look like a heart. The glass doors were parted as people walked through to let in cool February air, a line of carts parked close by.

Blaine slipped his hand from Kurt's wrist so he could launch himself onto a flat edge of the soda display that was stacked three cases high and several wide. He balanced carefully, his voice still ringing as he kept the notes moving. As soon as he was confident in staying stable, he extended his hand. Kurt stared at it in confusion, first looking behind him to see if he was simply in the way, and Blaine curled his fingers inward in a gesture of beckoning.

Hesitantly Kurt took his hand and was hoisted onto the flat plain of the display. With a flushed face he gripped Blaine's hand tightly to not fall, and saw the rest of the group singing around them. Blaine's strong voice overpowered the rest of the group, though that may have been due to how close they were. Through the sounds, Kurt could hear his own voice when Blaine paused to catch a breath. He tried not to linger on the fact that their sides were practically pressed together, Blaine squeezing his hand just as hard until he thought it would cut off the circulation.

_Hush, hush the world is quiet,_

_Hush, hush, we both can't fight it,_

_It's us that made this mess,_

_Why can't you understand?_

_Whoa, I won't sleep tonight,_

_I won't sleep tonight_

The view from the display was spectacular. It wasn't that they were that high up, but it was how much Kurt took in. The Warblers swarmed around the display in a sea of navy and red, mixed in with the pink of the decorations. As his eyes swept the group, he caught a glimpse of black hair and saw James move to the outskirts to cross his arms over his chest. He sighed and blew away of lock of hair. Will and Carson, as expected, were on his heels. Then a flash of orange, and Thomas was within spitting distance of them, looking positively glum.

_Oh, oh, I want some more,_

_Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?_

_Take a bite of my heart tonight,_

_Oh, oh, I want some more,_

_Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?_

_What are you waiting for?_

_Say goodbye to my heart tonight_

The Warblers chorused with the pair in the last note. Blaine accentuated the last note with a flourish of his free hand. He turned to Kurt with a broad smile across his face, beaming as they stood on the small section of the display. His chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. Around them, the group had broken into a murmur of cheers and smiles. The shoppers that stood around to watch were also smiling and sharing reactions.

Kurt felt so high up, almost twenty feet off the ground, but he knew it was only a matter of three or four. His head spun from running and singing, and he sighed heavily.

"Fun, right?" Blaine said, short of breath, the smile never leaving his face. As he talked he gripped Kurt's hand tighter, if that was possible.

"Oh, definitely," Kurt replied, panting, and was grateful when Blaine decided to step off the display. He helped Kurt to the floor, one hand still holding his and the other on his shoulder to keep him steady. "We should do it more often."

"Singing or shopping?" Blaine clarified as he slowly caught his breath. "Or both, in this case?"

But Kurt didn't have time to respond. Thomas suddenly cried, "Scatter! It's the fuzz!" and bolted in the direction of the produce. Several Warblers grew wide eyed and pale and took off in different directions like roaches scattering in light.

"The _who_?" Kurt asked, knitting his brows. He looked to Blaine in conclusion.

Blaine's face wrinkled, then smoothed out as he came to a conclusion. His eyes widened a fraction and he pulled Kurt through the dwindling crowd. Most of the Warblers had had already fled to take shelter in nearby sections of the store.

"What's going on? Is Thomas telling the truth when he said the police are here?" Kurt asked as they fled the site of the performance. As they passed, Kurt saw Will and Carson and James hide behind a shelf of greeting cards.

"What? The police? What are you talking about?" Blaine asked and they ducked into an aisle. He looked back at him. "No, it's much worse than the police. It's Lovett." His face was streaked with genuine terror and Kurt almost thought he was joking. "She'll never let us hear the end of it if she catches us," he said in a lowered voice.

"The end of what?" Kurt demanded. He pulled his hand from Blaine's—he still hadn't gotten over that—and tried to peer around the corner, but Blaine held him back.

"We aren't supposed to perform in public places without a set plan, like we would for a competition," he explained. "The last time we did, seven Warblers were plowed down the Spirit of St. Louis in our rendition of 'Welcome to Ohio, Lucky Lindy.' Needless to say we weren't allowed to have any more public performances without strict organization after that." He shuddered for emphasis.

"That impromptu was _terrible, _Mr. Anderson. Please don't remind me of that."

He and Kurt jumped when they heard a shrill voice, and they turned around. "Ms. Lovett!" Blaine said and for the first time he seemed nervous in front of her.

She laughed lightly and sauntered toward them, her skirt swishing around her knees. "Yes, that's my name, don't wear it out. Remind me to never sign up for something like _that _again." She shivered and brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "Now, from what I gathered from other shoppers—they are excellent sources of gossip, by the way—you led the Warblers in a stage performance. Do my ears deceive me, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine's shoulders dropped a tiny bit. "No, ma'am. It was a little taste of my audition for the brunch, that's all," he answered coolly, and Kurt sighed behind him. "I'm singing something different, of course. I was showing Kurt, and the others decided to join in. It kind of happened."

The director stared at him doubtfully.

"We didn't cause any trouble or disruption in the lives of our fellow shoppers, I assure you. No harm done," he said with a smile.

"You jumped on a soda display," Kurt pointed out.

"Hey, you did, too."

Ms. Lovett sighed. "As long as we don't get kicked out for it, I guess I'll say it's okay. Just get the rest of your shopping done so we can leave. I do not want a run in with the manager."

"Yes, ma'am," Kurt and Blaine said in unison. She eyed them both before whipping around and disappearing around the corner.

"That was close," Blaine said with a chuckle. He ran his hand through his hair, which had less gel in it than usual, and was starting to curl. "I thought she was going to give us a referral or something."

"I'm glad she didn't."

He ran a hand through his hair again out of nervousness. "Well, let's finish up and get out of here."

As they turned the corner, however, they were confronted by Cody, who looked terribly pale compared to minutes earlier. He did not say a word. He looked at Kurt like it was the last time he was going to see him again, like he was trying to memorize his features. Then he pointed at Blaine. "I need to talk to you," he said. Blaine started to smile and offer an excuse, but Cody said, "Now." He looked like he would kill something if anyone got in the way.

Blaine started at him. He turned to Kurt with an apologetic glance. "Apparently I have to talk to Cody," he said unsurely.

"It's okay. I'll go find our basket," Kurt said, trying to not let the anxiousness of the situation worry him too much. "Call me when you're done and we'll meet up somewhere."

Blaine nodded and followed Cody around the corner and into a crowd of shoppers. Kurt watched them go with a sigh and couldn't help but wonder what was going on. He wanted to run after them and listen in, but walked in the opposite direction in search of the basket they'd abandoned earlier.

He had only passed two aisles when someone called out, "Kurt!" James was striding the length of an aisle. He smiled when he approached him. "Hey," he said.

"Hi." Kurt nodded and started walking again. James took it up to walk with him. "Where's the rest of your group?" he asked.

"Probably trying to find our stuff," James mumbled. "They left it when we pulled together that quick performance. They're somewhere here."

Kurt nodded again and peeked into an aisle with no success. He couldn't remember where their basket was left. "That was some performance," Kurt said. "I hadn't planned on shopping and singing, all in one day. It was a nice song choice, though."

James did not seem too interested in it, but said, "Yeah. It's kind of appropriate for Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"Listen, Kurt..." James fiddled with his hands and fell silent.

Kurt looked up at him, and took a step away. He was leaning his weight on one foot suddenly, and wouldn't make eye contact with him. Kurt reached up and waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention. "I'm listening. Go ahead," he said. They passed another aisle.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." James dropped his hands and didn't pick at them.

"Okay..." Kurt trailed off and looked at him. "Go ahead." He watched as James appeared to have a debate going on in his head, trying to decide what to say.

"It's about the holiday," James said finally, lamely.

"Yes, I hate the overdose of pink, too," Kurt chuckled. He spotted a cluster of blue baskets pushed up against the base of a shelf and moved to collect one of them. He recognized all the candy Blaine had picked out, and Cody's butter cream frosting and container of raisins and carrots. He picked up his own basket and turned to James and rifled through the contents of the basket. "I'm still listening," he told him.

James swallowed and the look he gave him was almost sad. "That's not what I was aiming for, but sure, the pink is getting old." He paused to pick at the cuffs on his blazer. Kurt could see a flash of red against his pale skin and he shuddered. "Kurt, I don't really know how to phrase this in a way that wouldn't freak you out or make you think any different of me."

Kurt just stared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I mean, I already think differently of you. What other harm could be done?" he said somewhat harshly. He instantly regretted it and cast his eyes down, using the basket as an excuse to not look at the other boy.

James glanced over his shoulder quickly to make sure no one was behind him. He turned back to face front and Kurt thought he looked like a small child admitting to stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar. He bit his lip when he said, "Kurt, you trust me, right?"

Kurt hesitated. "In some circumstances, yes," he said.

"We're friends, right?" His eyes flicked back to the end of the aisle before lingering on Kurt.

The amount of questions being asked heightened Kurt's nerve levels. What was going on? "I would like to think so," he answered.

James nodded slightly at the response and walked toward him, not daring to get any closer than five feet. "You like me, right? In general."

Kurt paused and stopped picking at part of the basket in his hands. He stared at James in utter confusion. "Didn't I just say we were friends? What is this about?"

"Believe me when I say I'm in love with you."

"What?" He almost dropped the basket. James rushed forward to grab the other end of it before it completely tumbled out of his hands. Nothing tipped over the edge and crashed to the floor. It was the only thing separating them, and Kurt was thankful for that.

"I-I know this isn't the best time to tell you at all," he stammered and turned his head, "but I wanted you to know that."

"That...you love me?" Kurt said and the words taste funny in his mouth as he said them.

James reconsidered and pursed his lips. "That's an understatement," he decided and flexed his fingers around the edge of the basket. Once he saw that Kurt was able to hold it by himself, he stepped back and pushed his hands together. "I'm _insanely _in love with you."

"Kurt!"

Both boys jumped. Kurt dropped the basket this time, scattering its contents on the floor. He dropped to the floor to pick everything up. James looked like he had recovered from a heart attack and stood there; there was hesitation if he should help Kurt or not. He chose not to.

Blaine stood at the end of the aisle. Behind him were Thomas and Cody, who wore the same wary look. Also there were William and Carson, who moved forward to collect their Warbler. Blaine waved his phone in explanation as he walked forward. "You wouldn't answer," he said and kneeled to pick up a bag of candy, handing it to Kurt.

Kurt took it and nodded. He stood up with mostly everything intact—the milk carton had a dent in one side, but nonetheless fine—and flexed his fingers over the handles of the basket. Thomas picked up one of the blue crates and handed it to Cody; Kurt was immensely aware of them watching him with the upmost intensity.

Will and Carson led James down the row of shelves and he turned over his shoulder, sparing one last look at Kurt that couldn't make out as worried or mad or just blank. Kurt made a small, barely noticeable waving motion with his hand and James returned it with a hopeful smile as he vanished. Kurt could only watch him as he walked away.

"Are you ready to check out?" Blaine asked, stepping in front of him. He slipped the basket from Kurt's hands and thumbed through its contents to make sure everything they needed was there.

"Definitely." Kurt walked with his friends to the counter to ring up the purchases. As they entered a line, Kurt leaned into Cody, asking, "What did you have to say to Blaine?"

The short Warbler didn't make a move to answer. Kurt could tell he was nervous because his knuckles turned white when he gripped the basket. "Nothing," he said, and it did sound like nothing.

Kurt licked his lips. "You seemed so worried when you wanted to talk to him... I just wondered if everything was okay."

Cody turned to smile at him as Thomas set his basket on the belt. "Everything's fine, Kurt. You worry a lot. I was only talking to him about Regionals. It's nothing big." He turned back to face front.

Somehow Kurt gained the feeling that it was something big.

* * *

James weaved in and out of the floral section of the store, which was tucked away in the corner, far from the bustle of people pushing carts. It reminded him strongly of the Garden of Eden, described in the Bible. The florist, a sweet-looking woman with graying hair, was hidden in her office, not seeming to notice him. He gently brushed his fingers under the petals of a sunflower, taking in the vibrant yellow.

Heart-shaped balloons bumped against each other with the air conditioner blowing against them. Phrases like "I love you!" and "Happy Valentine's Day!" were written on them in big bubble letters. James sighed and moved on before he got the urge to pop one of them.

He came to a section of tulips, then pansies, followed by full carnations. He studied them for a moment and turned away. He faced bouquet after bouquet of freshly-cut roses. They were deep red, silky to the touch, shining with bits of water on the petals. He reached forward after making sure the florist wasn't watching and instantly recoiled with a sharp pain in his hand, clenching his teeth.

He looked down to see a drop of blood well to the surface of his index finger. He wiped it on his navy sleeve, but a little stained the white shirt underneath. Dark red began to rise to his skin again and he tucked his hand in his pocket, his stomach turning at the sight of blood.

Careful to not poke himself again, James plucked a single rose from a bouquet that had more than the usual dozen. He twirled it in his hand, cautious as to not catch on any of the thorns again. He licked his dry lips and walked away from the sector of flowers, the rose hanging in his hand at his side.

"James!" Will called from nearby. Carson was tagging along with him with a plastic bag swinging in his hand. "Come on! We're heading out to the bus!"

"I'll be there in a minute," he replied and the blondes left.

James blinked and looked down at the rose. Water dripped from the cut end, cool and wet. The hand that was tucked away in his pocket grew warm and he rubbed his fingertips together, able to feel the blood oozing from the cut still.

"That won't happen again," he promised himself and lifted his head.

* * *

Later that night, Kurt clapped his hands and looked down at the ingredients scattered on the countertop. North's kitchen was empty when the Warblers returned from their shopping trip and Kurt and Blaine took advantage of that. The sack of flour, a cup of milk, a few eggs, and other ingredients sat on the counter next to a plastic mixing bowl and an array of spoons.

The ride home from the supermarket had been...exciting.

Still hyped up with singing from earlier, Cody had led the group in a rendition of a Beatles' song that abruptly ended when the bus hit a dip in the road. Thomas had sulked with his face pressed against the window and when was asked what was the matter, he replied that he would not be chasing girls in the near future. And in the back of the bus, William had engaged Wes in an argument that Kurt had chosen to tune out ultimately. Kurt had been curious, though, when James brought a single rose onto the bus in silence, but did not ask, even as he saw the pinprick of red on his fingers.

Now was the part where they had to put all the ingredients to good use.

The clock on the wall ticked audibly as Blaine scanned the note card recipe again. "It says to mix two eggs with a cup of sugar and a stick of margarine. Beat until smooth, then add a cup of flour." He set down the card and looked at Kurt. "Seems easy enough. Right?"

"Don't say that," said Kurt as he fished through the cabinets for the electric mixer. "Or else everything will take a turn for the worst and the cookies will be a disaster. They'll taste like cardboard." He set it on the counter and plugged it in, locking the metal bowl in place.

"It just sounds easy, that's all." He shrugged and grabbed the bag of sugar. He tore a small hole in it and upended it over the bowl. The little crystals were starting to trickle out when Kurt squeaked. Blaine almost dropped the bag and pulled it away from the bowl; white drew a line on the counter when he pulled back. "What?"

"Aren't you going to measure that?" Kurt asked with the same intensity he would use if the world was coming to an end.

Blaine sighed in relief and lost the tension in his hands. "I'm guesstimating. It'll be fine. The more sugar, the sweeter the dough will be, right?"

"Wrong," Kurt corrected and took the bag from his hands. He grabbed a measuring cup and poured in the right amount. He handed the cup to Blaine and sealed the bag. "It'll only make them taste awful. There."

Blaine rolled his eyes and emptied the cup in the metal bowl. He unwrapped the foil from the margarine and slipped it in with the sugar. He felt Kurt's gaze scrutinizing his every move and that made him care about whether what he was doing was right. As he reached for the eggs, he looked at Kurt. "Do you want to crack these, or should I?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "You ask that like I can't crack eggs on my own."

"I'm only asking. Here." He slid the carton of eggs his way and flipped the lid up.

Kurt took one of the eggs in his hands. The shell felt smooth and cool under his fingertips and he almost felt bad for breaking it. He held it over the bowl and tapped it on the lip. Nothing happened, and Kurt tried again, but with more force. This time a small line appeared, running halfway around the shell. He glared at it and wished his skin wasn't prone to flushing so easily.

"Are you sure you can cook?" Blaine asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Yes, I can cook, thank you very much," he snapped. The egg, however, didn't seem to want to break the third time.

Kurt was in the middle of getting ready to smash it in his hands when Blaine reached over to help. The shell shattered against the lip of the bowl and half slipped in with the sugar and margarine. The other half oozed down the side of the bowl in a yellow trail of slime. Bits of shell leaked into the mixture and some covered their hands.

"Okay, so I don't have experience with eggs," Kurt admitted sheepishly and half smiled.

Blaine smiled back and wiped his hands on a towel. He tossed it to Kurt as he picked the bits of shell out of the bowl. Kurt wiped up the parts of the egg that hadn't made it and placed the towel back in the sink. Blaine handed him another egg.

"Do you want to crack this one, or should I?" he asked.

"Oh, like you can do any better than me," Kurt said and rolled his eyes. He waved at him. "Go ahead."

Blaine swiftly cracked two eggs, without making a mess, and threw the shells in the metal trash bin in the corner. He came back with a smirk on his face and picked up the recipe card. He picked up the bag of flour and looked to Kurt.

"Do I have to measure this, too?" he asked jokingly and gestured to the bag.

Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed another cup across the counter toward him. He poured enough white powder to almost fill it. He set the bag aside and dumped it in the bowl. Blaine lowered the arm into the bowl and searched for the power switch. Kurt's eyes widened as his fingers found the button and clicked it.

"Blaine, you aren't supposed to—!"

His sentence was cut short. In the blink of an eye, both boys were covered in white. The whirring of the beater stopped when Blaine groped for the cord and yanked it out of the socket on the wall when he couldn't find the switch. He stood back and wiped his eyes. He laughed as he saw Kurt's face coated in a thin layer of white. His brown hair was dusted with flour and he coughed.

"You aren't supposed to start off on high," Kurt finished and blinked, trying to get the flour out of his eyes. He wiped at them irritably.

"You could've told me," Blaine said, and when he spoke, it brought up a small cloud of flour from his lips. He meant for it to sound a little accusing, but his laughter got in the way.

"I did! I mean, I tried," Kurt answered shrilly and brushed past him to the sink, where he turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. He wiped his skin clean with a towel from a drawer and faced Blaine. "You just didn't follow my instructions."

"Because I was being an idiot and didn't let you finish," Blaine said with an obedient nod. "I'll remember that next time. Can you hand me the towel?" He wiped his face with his hands, trying to get rid of the white.

Kurt considered reaching for the cloth, but turned back to the sink. He flipped the handle, letting a steady stream of water start, and ran his hands under for a moment. Then he grabbed the spray nozzle at the corner of the sink and whipped around with a grin on his face. "Don't move, or you'll get it," he said.

Blaine peeked at him with one eye open, the other shut. His expression was disbelieving. "You wouldn't dare."

"You want to get all that flour off, right?" He took a step forward and gripped the nozzle firmly in his hands.

"Yes, but I don't think that's the best way to—Ah!"

Kurt let out a laugh as he sprayed Blaine. Water shot out from the end of the sprayer and rained on his target. Blaine stumbled back and around the island to get away, water dripping from his hair. Kurt hurried forward a few steps, but was tugged back. He looked over his shoulder to find that the cord only stretched so far. Then a pair of hands wrapped around his and he looked back.

Blaine had his hands over Kurt's to ensure he wouldn't use the sprayer again. Water trickled down his face, leaving trails in the white. "If you know what's good for you, you won't spray me again," he said softly and his breath brushed against Kurt's face.

"Then I don't know what's good for me." Kurt twisted the nozzle in his hands and pressed the button. Water squirted out and hit Blaine squarely in the face.

Blaine turned his head to keep the water from getting in his eyes and blindly pulled the sprayer out of Kurt's hands. The water stopped. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and aimed the weapon at Kurt. "Let's end this right here," he said with a heavy sigh.

Kurt, with wide eyes, bit his lip, tasting flour. He lunged for the counter and came back with the carton of eggs tucked under one arm. He held one of the white eggs in his hand, ready to fire. Bravely, he said, "Bring it."

Blaine showed shock on his face. Kurt never wanted to battle it out over anything and his courage surprised him. He responded by flexing his fingers over the nozzle in his hands.

Apparently Kurt registered the uncertainty on his friend's face, because he launched an egg. It cracked against Blaine's forehead. Bits of the shell stuck in his hair and the slimy yellow yolk trailed down his face. Kurt covered his mouth to keep from laughing loudly. Blaine gritted his teeth, unable to keep from smiling, and sprayed him.

Kurt squeaked when the cold water touched his skin. He nearly dropped the carton of eggs, but caught it before it hit the floor. Blaine had no intentions of letting up on the stream of water. He had Kurt backed against the counter with the sprayer on full blast. Water sprayed every part of him and made his clothes cling to his skin.

"I surrender!" Kurt cried over a fit of laughter. "You can stop now!"

Blaine shook his head in answer. Kurt, one arm shielding his face, reached back to flip the handle on the sink. The water streaming from the sprayer lessened until it dripped. Blaine dropped his arm when he realized the water had stopped flowing and looked at Kurt. His face had started to ache from grinning obnoxiously.

"You're an arse, Blaine Anderson," Kurt huffed and blinked. He was soaking wet and covered in remains of flour. He licked his lips and reached for a towel.

"You're quoting Harry Potter almost in its entirety," Blaine said approvingly as he returned the sprayer. "I taught you well."

Kurt felt his face grow warm and he covered it with the towel. "Well, I've got to come out with something after you dragged me to the theater for the premiere."

"But it was worth it."

"It was," he confessed and dropped the towel. He handed it to Blaine and turned around the survey the kitchen. "Though I couldn't quite figure out what they were saying with those accents." Blaine rolled his eyes.

The kitchen was a complete mess. It was like Dex and Leo had whirled through on an overdose of caffeine and tore up everything in sight. The counters were garnished with flour and water and parts of eggs and the floor was accountable for numerous puddles.

Blaine chuckled as he tossed the sodden towel over Kurt's head; it landed in the sink. He looked around the room. "This is going to be a pain to clean up."

"So much for not making a mess." Kurt nodded and leaned against the counter.

Blaine shrugged and pulled another clean rag from the drawer by the sink. He put one in Kurt's hands and started to mop up some of the water at their feet. "Come on, you can't say you didn't expect this," he said.

Kurt laughed and bent down to help. He was eye level with him as he soaked up the water. "Honestly, I didn't. I thought we were going to make the dough and let it sit over night so we could bake it tomorrow after class. I had no idea it was going to turn into a food fight."

"It was more of an I'll-spray-you-and-you-throw-eggs-at-me kind of deal," he corrected and bumped his shoulder playfully.

They finished wiping the rest of the floor and set to work on the counters. They shuffled things around to clean the surfaces and when they were done, they tossed the rags in the sink. Blaine reached for the carton of eggs and pushed them back into the fridge. Kurt turned back to the mixer and turned the setting to low before turning it on again.

The recipe was completed without any other interruptions. Kurt spooned the thick dough into a wide Tupperware container and set it in the fridge next to the eggs. He shut the door and leaned against it, sighing. "Remind me to never make any kind of food with you again," he said as they swept around the kitchen, making sure things were off and unplugged and clean.

"Why?" Blaine asked as he washed out the mixing bowl thoroughly. "I think it was quite enjoyable. I sure had a fun time."

Kurt gestured to his clothing, which was soaking, bits of unreached flour here and there. "I think my outfit proves as a sturdy example. No more baking with you, or I'll have to wear something last season."

"Or we can just not work with eggs, flour or water," Blaine laughed and dried off the bowl, returning it to the mixer. He stored it in the cabinet and shut the door. All the utensils they had used were rinsed and drying in the dish washer and towels hung up on a rack.

Kurt nodded, smiling. "I guess we'll have to work with toast and cereal to start. Unless you burn yourself with the toaster, of course." Then his thoughts wandered. He licked his lips and asked, "Blaine? What did Cody want to talk to you about? Today at the store." If he couldn't get an answer from the smaller boy, he could try from him instead.

Blaine shook his head, just like Kurt expected. "It was nothing. Regionals stuff."

"Like?"

Blaine seemed to scramble for something to say. "Like...how we're taking a charter bus this year. Lovett's got a claim on one to take us to the school where we're performing."

"Okay, but why would he be concerned about that?" Kurt asked.

"One year we took a regular school bus to Sectionals, and those things are not fun," he explained and smiled. "We hit a speed bump and the tire went flat. We were forty-five minutes late and the competition had to be extended just for us."

"Did you win?"

"No. We got second place," Blaine reported and tapped against the counter tops with his nails.

Kurt sighed and stayed silent. He rested his elbows on the island, watching Blaine without saying a word. He looked down at his hands, which appeared pale in the lighting of the kitchen.

Then Blaine reached across the island and took his hand. It was warm and comforting as he clasped their fingers. He didn't say anything as he did so to explain his actions. It was just hand holding. Kurt noticed his grip was stronger than the other times they had held hands before. It was like he was clutching a life preserver and didn't want to let go for fear of drowning.

Kurt kept his head down, trying not to smile obnoxiously. He felt his face go red and knew Blaine was smiling, too. He heard his pulse hammering in his ears and he focused on the flecks of color in the counter top, still feeling Blaine's hand clasping his own. His head was spinning.

He felt fingertips sweep against the side of his face, barely detectable if he had been occupied with something else. But he wasn't, and his head snapped up to see Blaine's hand outstretched, the tips of his fingers brushing his skin. Kurt shivered, despite the fact that the touch was warm.

Blaine's eyes widened a little, like he was caught in the act. His hand froze where it was and he swallowed. He watched Kurt closely and didn't tear his gaze away.

It was as if someone had paused the scene where it was. The two boys were still where they stood, on opposite sides of the counter, hands intertwined, Blaine's fingertips reaching out to touch Kurt's cheek. The distance between them was not much at all, and it was slowly decreasing, with Blaine leaning forward.

Then Kurt blinked, long lashes brushing against his skin, and sent everything back into motion.

Blaine reached forward a little bit, letting his hand mold around Kurt's suddenly flaming cheek. His heart was beating so frantically, it added a slight jerk to his motions, but he held still. So many words bubbled on his lips at once. So he chose the most simplistic six words he could think of.

"You have flour on your face," he whispered and brushed over the skin under Kurt's eye with his thumb. Kurt exhaled and he could feel it against his hand, warm and in a rush.

"Still? I thought I got it all off," Kurt said in a quiet voice.

Blaine nodded and left his hand there. Kurt's eyes were wide, a murky blue streaked with uncertainty and he felt like his lungs would give out if he didn't take another breath soon.

Kurt snapped his gaze somewhere else, anywhere in the kitchen. It landed on the sink, the faucet still dripping water, one of the switches tilted the tiniest bit. He had the urge to withdraw from the other boy to turn the sink off. But he was frozen where he stood, and Blaine's hand was burning against his skin.

Then, when Kurt turned back, he felt warm breath brush against his cheek and the feeling that he had no space left to breathe was there. Blaine had leaned forward and graced the corner of Kurt's mouth with his lips.

Kurt managed to steal air into his lungs and ask in a whisper, "Blaine, what are you doing?"

Blaine's breath hitched and he pulled back enough to see Kurt. He blinked a few times before dropping his hand like it was detached from the rest of his body, and turned his head away. His skin—all that Kurt could see—was tinged a light pink and he pursed his lips.

"Nothing," he said and reclaimed both his hands. He wrapped them together in the pocket of his hoodie and stared at Kurt. "Nothing at all."

* * *

On the other side of the building, a single rose was dipped in a thin glass of water and set on a bedside table to make sure it would stay alive and last until morning.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Previews for the Brunch performance are held in the choir room, leaving Kurt wishing he didn't have ears... or a heart, for that matter. He gets into a sticky situation that seems impossible to get out of._


	15. Auditions

_Hello, readers!_

_I apologize for the lack of updating recently. I just got finished with school and finals and such, and this week I'm starting band camp, so I thought I should update. It's been awhile, hasn't it? Again, I apologize for that._

_In other news, my upcoming Klaine fic is starting off on a good note. I'll reveal more about it later when I get a bit more written._

_Thank you all for tolerating my infrequent postings. You all who have stayed with me until now are a blessing._

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee, Kurt, Blaine, Wes or David, or any of the songs in this chapter. I do own my OCs.

* * *

**Auditions**

* * *

**You've got to sing sometimes like you don't need the money. Love sometimes like you'll never get hurt. You've got to dance like nobody's watching. It's got to come from the heart if you want it to work. – Glenda Jackson**

* * *

Kurt never thought of himself as a worrisome person.

Not until now, at least.

Cody made that observation, too, as he sat at the foot of Kurt's bed, watching his friend pace the small length of his room. A sheet of paper was gripped in one hand and a book, open to the middle, was in the other. Kurt was muttering to himself. Cody sighed and rested his chin on his hand.

However, five minutes later, he slid off the bed and stood in front Kurt. Kurt almost knocked into had he not looked up at the last moment, blinking in confusion. Cody had to stretch onto the tips of his toes to place his hands on Kurt's shoulders. "Stop pacing," he ordered. "You're only making yourself more nervous. Plus, you're making me nervous."

Kurt sighed heavily and took to sitting on the floor. He crossed his legs Indian style and looked up at Cody with a tired smile. "There," he said and gestured to himself. "I'm not pacing anymore. Better?"

Cody was unamused. He rubbed his face in aggravation. He had watched Kurt study for over an hour, and it all started with Kurt's alarm clock blaring at five-thirty and then him banging around in the bathroom. Cody had gone to investigate, half wondering if Kurt was possibly sleepwalking. When Kurt had opened his door, he was in the process of brushing his teeth. He was also chanting test questions for his Physics class at the same time. Now, it was close to seven.

Kurt's morning stress wasn't completely caused by the need to study; he still hadn't gotten over the night in the kitchen. He had spent most of the night, when he should've been sleeping, trying to figure out if he had dreamed it all or if he had been delusional. And if it did happen, what the hell was Blaine _doing_? Not that Kurt objected, exactly...

"Good!" Kurt chirped now, too awake for someone who basically hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. "Cody, would you please hand me my Physics book? I think it's sitting on my desk."

Cody nodded and unsurely wandered over to the desk in the corner of the room. It was piled with papers and underneath all of it, he saw a blinking light, which he assumed was coming from Kurt's plugged-in laptop. On top of the stack of papers was a wide textbook with a hardcover. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand, and then held it out to Kurt.

Kurt got to his knees and took it and plopped back down on the floor. He flipped through a few chapters before coming to a certain one. He pulled his bag to his side and fished out a spiral and started to copy down sentences from the book.

Cody watched him intently. After five minutes, Kurt switched from writing down Physics vocabulary words to completing an analysis on 'Romeo and Juliet.' He switched back every few minutes, Cody staring at him.

"What are you doing?" Cody asked him incredulously.

Kurt had a late reaction. Almost a minute later he said, "What do you mean? I'm doing homework."

Cody sat down on the floor and leaned against the bed. "You're killing your homework. That's what you're doing."

"I'm fine." He rubbed his face and 'Romeo and Juliet' folded on itself and lost the page he was looking at. He covered his face. "Actually, I'm fine."

Cody crawled in front of him. He pointed to the other boy's face, particularly to the areas under his eyes. "You've got bags," he stated, as if it was the worst thing to grace human kind.

"I'm fine," Kurt repeated and made a grab for his book again, but Cody pushed it away, out of his reach. Kurt glared at him.

"Don't look at me like that! I wasn't the one brushing my teeth while saying Physics vocab words to myself," Cody huffed. "And besides, I can barely walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone have something in my mouth and talk!"

Kurt stared at him with a distant expression. Cody snapped his fingers in front of his face several times and Kurt shook his head. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," he said and it ended with a yawn.

"Kurt, you're falling asleep on me here."

"So what if I haven't been getting enough sleep?" Kurt yawned and rested his chin in his hands. "I can catch up later..." He exhaled heavily and got to his knees and reached for the coffee cup sitting on his bureau.

Cody hastily scrambled and beat him to it. "No way, mister," he said and held it away from him. "There is no way I'm letting you drink anymore coffee. I'm starting to worry about your caffeine intake nowadays."

Kurt frowned and reached forward like a small child motioning for someone to pick them up. He said, "May I just have one sip?"

His glare was unmovable and, for extra measure, he stepped back.

"Please, Cody? I practically live on grande nonfat mochas."

"I can see that, considering the number of times you leave campus before and after classes and come back smelling like that café on Fourth Street," Cody said. He held the cup farther away from Kurt as he reached again. "I swear, I'm going to have to get you addicted to something else, like tea or vitamin water."

"Coffee tastes better, and it has more caffeine to help me stay awake," Kurt argued.

Cody sighed and placed the cup on the top shelf of his desk, far out of his reach. "You're hopeless."

"And I'm also on the verge of failing Physics," Kurt added grudgingly. He nudged his spiral forward to display a few pages covered in his neat print.

Cody leaned forward to peer at them, pale brown hair falling in his face. "I thought Adam was helping you with that?" he wondered and sat back.

Kurt nodded and shoved the work away. "He is," he sighed and rested his chin on his hand.

"Then you shouldn't be failing anymore. I mean, he's practically a walking encyclopedia."

Tutoring sessions with the East Precursor had started the day after it was offered up to Kurt. It was an hour after classes on days when he didn't have Warblers rehearsal, and so far, it wasn't getting anywhere. All the terms that came tumbling out of Adam's mouth were technical and difficult to pronounce and flew right over Kurt's head. And when it wasn't the material getting to him, it was the stares he received from the others in the East wing. Sure, Nick and Matt and Jon were all smiley and sunny, but Kurt got the feeling that a few people weren't too fond of him sitting in their common room.

"It's fine," Adam had explained the first day, when a few boys had given Kurt weird looks. "Just ignore them."

"Are you sure?" Kurt avoided looking at them and kept his eyes on Adam, who was shuffling papers around.

Adam nodded. "Absolutely. I'm the head of this wing, unfortunately, so what I say, goes."

Now, Kurt buried his face in his hands. "I know, I know. I had no idea classes would be a living hell. I'm just waiting for that email from my dad about Physics. I get scared every time I open my inbox."

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad," Cody said as he propped himself onto his elbows to look at him. Kurt's flat stare made him hastily say, "Okay, never mind."

"Yeah, never mind is right."

"But there's got to be at least one bright side to all of this," Cody replied.

Kurt groaned against his hands. "There are _no _bright sides," he muttered. "First, the nonstop homework is driving me over the edge. Next, there's the duet for Regionals that I'm going insane over."

Cody interrupted, "Because you're singing with Blaine?"

"What?" He looked up, his face slightly warm.

"Nothing." He waved a hand at him to continue.

Kurt gave him a narrow-eyed stared and went on, "And then... James told me he loves me."

He had seen more of the dark haired boy now than usual. Mostly it was during rehearsal when they had free time, which was usually before or after the bell. James kept it simple, with short conversations, usually about music or classes. He seemed friendly enough now. Part of it was comforting to Kurt, knowing he had another friend to rely on, but it also gave him a sense of worry.

Cody tensed at the words and his eyes were wide like dinner plates, and very glassy. "_What_ did he tell you?" he stammered.

Kurt held up his hands. "Don't kill me, please."

"Why would I kill you?" He scrambled to his feet. "I should be killing James! That no-good, dirty, rotten—"

"Hey!" Kurt exclaimed.

"'Hey' yourself!" he replied. "That jerk told you he loved you!"

Kurt stood up so he towered over the other boy by a good five inches. "So? What's wrong with that?" He abruptly turned on his heel to face away from his friend.

Instantly Cody's voice dropped to a soft volume as he said, "What do you mean, what's wrong with that? He scares me, Kurt. He is like a time bomb, waiting to explode." He made a little motion with his hands, bringing his hands close together and splaying his fingers at the ceiling.

"So what if he's a little..." Kurt swallowed and racked his brain for words.

"Delirious? Psychotic? An idiot?"

Kurt whipped around to face him, words ready on the tip of his tongue, but then his mouth felt suddenly dry and he dropped it all together. He shook his head. He didn't say anything, which made Cody fidget.

"How did you find out, anyway?" Cody asked to fill the silence. "Did he tell you? Or did you hear it from someone?"

Kurt looked up from the floor to see the small Warbler currently sitting at the foot of the bed, swinging his legs back and forth. "He told me," he said as he crossed the room to sit down in his desk chair. He swirled around in it a few times until he started to feel dizzy. For some reason the dizziness helped to clear his head.

Cody nodded contently. "Since you know that, then I guess you know that Blaine has a thing for you, right?" he checked, starting to tone it down and relax.

This stopped him. He stopped spinning in the chair abruptly, was nearly thrown from it, and glared at Cody. "What did you just say?" Kurt demanded and gripped the arm rests.

Cody went back into panic mode. He slapped his hands over his mouth and his face turned pink. Freckles were visible on the bridge of his nose, something Kurt never paid much attention to. He said something, shaking his head, but his palms muffled it. He slid off the bed and started toward the door. He was out of the room before Kurt had the chance to repeat his question.

Kurt stared at the door, left ajar, in wonder and debated on jumping to his feet and running after him, but stayed firmly in his seat. His mind was ablaze with thoughts. He couldn't help but repeat Cody's sentence in his head. _Blaine has a thing for you. _Was that why Blaine had tried to kiss him that night in the kitchen? Because Blaine supposedly 'had a thing for him'? Kurt rubbed his forehead and pushed that to the back of his mind.

The only thing he had to get through besides classes today was the Warblers' brunch performance previews. _That, _he groaned inwardly, _is something I really don't want to think about right now._

So instead, he slid out of the desk chair and rejoined his homework. He collected it all in his bag. With one glance at the door, he grabbed his half full coffee cup and took a long sip.

* * *

"Do you think it's too much?" James asked, exhausted with his efforts. He had spent the night before scouring his music collection for something decent to sing for the auditions during class today. He was stuck on what to sing. He rested his forehead against the table in the South commons, a collection of CDs arranged in front of him, the silver backs gleaming in the little light that had been let into the room.

"Well, I don't know. You tell me," said Carson, leaning back in his chair. "You already told him you loved him. That's a little too much, if you ask me."

James resisted the urge to lean across the table and punch him.

William halfheartedly reached for one of the CDs and picked it up to read the Sharpie writing. He dropped it on the table almost directly after, looking like he wanted to throw it out the window. "A little too much," he sniffed and turned away to look at the doors. He didn't look interested in helping whatsoever.

Carson picked up one that lay by his hand, wrinkled his nose at the album title, and chose another. After reading the label on that one, he stared at James like he had grown three more arms. "What is it with your taste?" he asked incredulously and flung it down.

James raised his head with tired eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"You've got freaking _Miley Cyrus_ on the table. Now, therefore, you are the only guy I know who has Miley Cyrus in their possession," Carson stated, gesturing to the pile of discs.

"That's kind of gay," Will mentioned lightly and didn't make eye contact.

James kicked his foot under the table. "Hey, you're gay, too," he muttered. He braced his palms on the table and leaned forward a little. "Oh yeah, when were you going to finally tell me that?"

Will looked a little wary, and he sat there picking at his nails. His eyes, almost glowing hazel in the low lighting, were fixed on a spot on the far side of the table; his lips were pursed and obviously not ready to part. There was a period of silence stretching between them until Carson hastily sensed the uneasiness and said, "Anyway, that stuff is _shit. _It won't get you where you want to go with this."

James reluctantly looked away from Will. "How do you know where I want to go with this?" he directed at Carson. "Maybe I _want _to make a fool of myself. I've already done that, so why not blow it off again?"

"What is with you?" Will asked quietly, not looking at him. He drummed his fingers in a staccato pattern on the tabletop and listened to it for a moment before speaking again. "You're not usually trying to rip people's throats out. That's my thing."

"Oh, well I'm _sorry _for trying to steal 'your thing,'" James snapped and tried to make himself look presentable by sitting up straight. He personally didn't notice any major changes in his behavior around the others, though he heard differently when he had his back turned. He heard more horrible things about him than good. "And I'm fine, by the way," he added for good measure.

Will rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You say that, but you don't mean it," he said.

"I'm just stressed, okay?" James said, frustrated, his pale skin coloring, and he stood up. With the swipe of his hand, he collected the CDs and scooted his chair in. Will reached out to help him, bumping his arm, and James flinched. "I don't need anyone on my case. It's bad enough as it is with _you _bugging me, William." He shot a glare at the surprised blondes before stalking toward the door.

"Where on earth are you going?" Carson called over his shoulder.

"I'm going back to my room. Maybe there, I'll find something to sing that will reach your impossibly high standards," James grumbled as he stormed through the doorway. He stood and looked back at them. "And please, if you feel the need to bug me some more, _don't._" He disappeared.

* * *

"Please tell me what you're going to sing during class. It's killing me here," Kurt begged for the umpteenth time. He leaned against the wall outside David and Wes' room and dropped his bag to the floor at his feet.

"Nope. Surely you can wait until third period," Blaine replied and flipped through the book he needed to be caught up in. He was three chapters behind in the novel they were discussing in class and, on top of that, his grade in Geometry was slipping. It was at a high C the last time he checked. He gulped at the fact that if he didn't bring it up soon, he wouldn't be eligible for Regionals. He envied Kurt for possessing the brains to pass his classes. Well, most of his classes, anyway.

"Not really," Kurt decided. "Just a hint."

"Nope.

"Please? I'll buy you coffee every other day from this point on until we win Regionals." He came to stand in front of Blaine and smiled charmingly.

Blaine looked at him, trying not to smile. He turned back to his book. "Not a chance."

"Fine. Every day, then."

Blaine turned to him with a sweet smile. "You'd be almost broke."

Blaine was indifferent about rehearsal. Ms. Lovett was finalizing the set list for the brunch by the end of the week and intended on the boys auditioning. He was panicky for two reasons: one being that he had no idea what he was going to sing—which was why he said nothing to Kurt—and two being that he was afraid whom else would try for a solo. He had heard snippets of rumors going around since the mega-mart disaster that someone in South was going to step up.

It wasn't too hard to narrow it down, and he wasn't too fond of the results. William hadn't tried for a solo in a year, so why would he now? He had a good voice, Blaine remembered all too well, but he was, in the blonde's words, "too good use it." Carson was just the same, preferring to sway in the back instead of being center stage. Simon would have told Blaine if he was going for a solo, he knew that much; he was nice enough to give a heads up so far in advance, he would've told Blaine in November. The other South Warblers, Blaine figured, wouldn't take a chance.

That left him with one and he didn't like it.

What seemed like forever ago, Liam had told him everything he had heard. Cody and Wes and David had been there listening, all of which tried to keep Blaine from entering a freak out mode. And everything was enough to drop a ten-ton weight on his shoulders. By then Blaine had gotten the pictured and he was not thrilled. And he didn't even want to start on the icy discussion he had with James before being late to first period. He repeated the words in his head—_love, help, Kurt. _Not a good combination. The thought made him want to through something out a window. Preferably a certain dark haired South student.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"What?" On impulse, he snapped the book shut and Kurt withdrew his hand quickly.

"I'm done pestering you about music. I was just asking whether you wanted to bake and frost the cookies tonight or tomorrow." He took a step back and fiddled with the yellow warbler pin on his lapel. Blaine was surprised that the other wanted to even enter the kitchen after the, ah, incident.

Kurt hadn't talked about the sudden lean-in and face-touching and almost-kiss, or whatever it was called. He acted like it hadn't happened and that worried Blaine. Had he made the wrong move? Obviously, he'd made a mistake, that much he knew, but surely, he thought, Kurt would want to ask questions.

Blaine blinked and, through the walls, he heard the sounds of water pipes squealing. He dropped his book on the floor by his bag and answered, "Tonight's fine. But I don't know how long they'll last if Thomas finds them." He chuckled.

"We'll make sure to find a good hiding place, then," Kurt said with warm assurance. He smiled and the urge to kiss him right there was prominent.

The urge faded though when Kurt moved away to collect his bag. He flipped through its contents to make sure he had everything with him. A glimpse of the failing Physics test haunted him and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had been trying to pull up that grade significantly, but to no avail. It had gone up five or so points after acing a handful of worksheets, but was still around a low C. He pulled the flap on his bag shut, hiding the test, remembering the conversation he'd had with his Physics professor the day before.

"Mr. Hummel, I don't know what we're going to do about this," the professor had said with her beady eyes on him, making him extremely uncomfortable. "I require a grade of at least a solid B in order for you to remain in this class."

"I understand that. What do I need to do to bring it up?" Kurt asked. He remembered almost falling to his knees and begging.

"Study more," she suggested lightly. "If you continue to make not-so-fabulous grades in my class, I'm going to contact your parents about it, to see what they offer." She folded her hands on the desk and looked up at him.

That was the last thing he needed: an email to his dad. It was bad enough that he and Carol had spent their honeymoon money on his tuition to Dalton—which, he reminded himself, wasn't cheap in the least. It would be devastating for his dad to open up an email that said his son was failing in a course. Kurt could only imagine the possibilities and they weren't too good.

The sound of the door opening jolted Kurt back to the present. Wes came out, his hair wet and dripping down the back of his neck, his face still a little flushed from track earlier that morning. David appeared shortly after and paused to lock the door. He sighed and joined the trio, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. Both looked exhausted in the extreme.

"So," Wes said as they started off down the hall, "I have a theory that all the teachers ban together and discuss dates on which to give the most homework—"

"I second that," David chipped in and raised a finger.

"—because I have two essays due this week, a test, and a lengthy Literature analysis," he finished with another sigh.

"The analysis for Monroe?" asked Kurt; Wes nodded. "I almost have it finished. It's taking me forever."

"I'll pay you if you let me see it."

"That's cheating." They turned the corner and pushed through the side doors, to the outside. The sky was a musky gray, clouds swirling, the smell of rain in the air. A sharp wind swept by and made all the boys snuggle into their coats as they walked, trying not to slip on the path that was slick with a thin layer of ice.

David smacked Wes in the arm. "Cheating, Wes? That's so unprofessional of you. And off of poor Kurt, too. Who would've thought you would be the one asking for help? Weren't you the one who—"

He couldn't finish his sentence, because Wes elbowed him in the gut, hard.

They entered the school building, grateful to be in the heat once more. Wes and David turned down one hall after saying their goodbyes. As they disappeared, David was still going on to Wes about something; Wes ignored him.

"What was that about?" Kurt asked Blaine. Together they started down the main hallway, passing the choir room as they did so. The doors were open a crack and instrumental music was playing from inside. Ms. Lovett's fluid voice followed shortly after, singing to some song Kurt had never heard before. The sounds faded as they walked on.

Blaine shrugged and stared forward. "Wes used to be the one in North that everyone went for homework help. He was basically the Adam of North. A few things went down in his family last year that really broke him and his grades dropped a lot." He ended it, awkwardly, there.

"Ah," Kurt said finally. He didn't ask further.

A hallway lined with doors opened up in front of them. Their first classes were only feet apart, three doors between them. They lingered outside Blaine's.

"Good luck during rehearsal today," Kurt mentioned. When Blaine appeared to be clueless, he said, "With the auditions."

"Right." Blaine ran a hand through his hair, despite the gel, tugging at it. He glanced at his hand with disdain and went to wipe it on his pants, but withdrew and bit his lip, not knowing what to do. "I've really got to stop putting stuff in my hair."

Kurt nodded. "I think it would look better without the gel," he agreed. He wanted to reach out and fix the curl that stuck out in the back, but stayed where he was.

After another minute of standing there, they parted to go to class.

* * *

"All right. Settle down..." Ms. Lovett raised her hands to calm the group down. Rehearsal had ended earlier than usual to accommodate the auditions. Running the new Regionals music had gone better than expected. Everyone had their bets on who would step out of line or sing in a rest, but neither was executed. The director seemed pleased with their work, but now she was irritated trying to get them to stop talking about it.

The Warblers were crowded on the sofas and various chairs around the room, some standing and leaning on the backs of the couches. Kurt had figured out the seating arrangements after several rehearsals. South claimed the section of the room closest to the doors; North was across the room from them, their backs to the great windows. East and West clumped together in the available seating in the middle, seeing as there weren't many from those two wings.

"Thank you!" Ms. Lovett sighed as she got the sound of their talking to stop. She snatched a clipboard and pen off the desk and said, "As all of you know, we're taking a little time to hear the auditions for those who want to sing in Sunday's brunch. Right now, I have Blaine down for a solo, Diego, Wes and David as a trio, and James with a solo." Silence. "Who wants to go first?"

More silence. Blaine and Wes took turns jabbing each other in the ribs, muttering things that Kurt couldn't hear, though he sat on the other side of Blaine. He pressed his lips together and looked to the other side of the room, where James had his attention diverted by something Simon was saying. It must've been something about academics or sports, Kurt figured, because he was using both hands to animate his words.

There was quite a bit of shoving and mumbling as Blaine finally pushed Wes to his feet. This was an obvious end to their conversation and Wes glared at him, then looked to Ms. Lovett pleadingly. "I'm not volunteering my group—"

She pointed her pen at him. "Of course you are. Get up here."

Blaine couldn't help but snicker into his hands. Wes recruited the rest of his trio and kicked Blaine in the shin as he passed, making the soloist wince and rub where it was sore.

Up at the front, as David set up the music player that sat atop the desk, Diego and Wes appeared like they wanted to put as much space between them as possible. They stood on either side of David with their arms crossed in a similar manner. To see them in standing within a five foot radius of each other was something different, considering the Precursor wasn't a fan of Wes.

As they set up, Kurt vaguely remember the offer Wes had given him the week before.

"Come on! Just sing Katy's part and we won't bug you anymore!"

"There is no way I am singing this song, Wes. It's not what I usually sing," Kurt had said adamantly.

"It's an awesome song!" David chipped in.

"Besides, I don't even like 3OH3! Their music is very untasteful."

Now, as Wes smacked David in the arm for synching something wrong on the player, Kurt wondered how they'd gotten Diego to join them, and also what they were singing. If Kurt knew one thing about him, it was that he wouldn't sing 3OH3!.

Eventually the player cooperated and started, releasing an upbeat rock rhythm into the room. The boys formed a simple triangle at the front of the room with their feet spread shoulder width, and they all tapped their toes as they waited for the cue. The tune was recognizable and the others in the room shared looks of approval.

_So she said 'what's the problem baby?'_

_What's the problem, I don't know,_

_Well maybe I'm in love (love)_

_Think about it every time,_

_I think about it,_

_Can't stop thinking 'bout it,_

_How much longer will it take to cure this,_

_Just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love (love),_

_Makes me wanna turn around and face me, but I don't know nothing about love_

The boys' voices melted together nicely. Blaine started to drum his fingers against his knee in time almost subconsciously, also humming under his breath.

_Come on, come on, turn a little faster,_

_Come on, come on, the world will follow after,_

_Come on, come on, because everybody's after love_

_So I said, "I'm a snowball running,"_

_Running down into the spring, that's coming all this love,_

_Melting under blue skies, belting out sunlight, shimmering love,_

_Well baby, I surrender to the strawberry ice cream,_

_Never ever end of all this love,_

_Well I didn't mean to do it,_

_But there's no escaping your love_

The triangle split up: David swung around the North couch, winking at Blaine, who rolled his eyes in response; Diego filtered around the South wing and jokingly ruffled Will's hair. The blonde muttered something most likely bitter and crossed his arms while James and Carson hid laughter; Wes surprised the group by leaping onto the table that was positioned in the middle of the room. Ms. Lovett's eyes widened warningly as he balanced on the table top expertly, all while belting out the lyrics. He sidestepped the glass bowl in the middle without knocking into it.

Kurt stared up at him with disbelief. He thought the table surely would have collapsed by now, but it held steady. Beside him, Blaine cracked a wide smile.

_These lines of lightning mean we're never alone,_

_Never alone, no, no,_

_Come on, come on, move a little closer,_

_Come on, come on, I want to hear you whisper,_

_Come on, come on, settle down inside my love_

Wes sprung into the air on the next downbeat, launching himself off the edge of the table. He threw his hands above his head and landed cleanly on his feet in front of the mixture of West and East Warblers. The boys jumped a little. David and Diego had met up behind the group and leaned over the back of the couch, singing tastefully in tune.

_Come on, come on, jump a little higher,_

_Come on, come on, if you feel a little lighter,_

_Come on, come on, we were once upon a time in love,_

_Accidentally, I'm in love, I'm in love,_

_I'm in love, I'm in love,_

_I'm in love, I'm in love,_

_Accidentally, I'm in love, I'm in love,_

_Love, I'm in love,_

_Love... I'm in love_

The trio finished the song on a strong note and gathered a round of applause. Wes looked pleased with himself, as did David, and Diego just looked glad to be done with it. At the front of the room Ms. Lovett stood up from her desk.

"That was very exciting, boys. Very classic," she said with a smile. They all waited with baited breath. "I think it would be a wonderful addition to the program." She lifted a clipboard and wrote down a few things to their pleasure. As they exchanged high fives, she added, "And Wes? Don't jump on anything during the actual performance, okay?"

Wes nodded sheepishly and they took their seats once more.

As murmuring filled the room, Kurt glanced out of the corner of his eye at Blaine, who had worry streaked across his face and was biting the inside of his cheek. "Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

Blaine nodded and looked at him with a jittery smile. "Fine," he said. A moment later he admitted, "Nervous."

Kurt smiled. "You're going to do fine. Go get 'em," he cheered lamely. Blaine replied with a half smile.

"Next on the list," Ms. Lovett called over the talking, "we have Blaine and James. Who would like to go first? And, please decide. I don't want to have to choose." She looked from one, her best, most experienced soloist, to the other, the newest hatchling, expectantly.

There was silence. Static erupted from the glares that were traded across the room.

"Actually, Ms. Lovett," Cody interjected with the weak raise of his hand and, he flinched at the sound of his voice breaking the silence, "if it's okay, I have prepared something for the Brunch. That is, if you'll let me sing it now." He was nervous about speaking and kept playing with a loose thread on his blazer.

The director licked her lips. She gestured for him to come forward. "Very well."

The Warblers shared looks. As far as they knew, they had never heard Cody Michaels sing in the history of forever. His voice was unknown to the group, besides Ms. Lovett, who helped him in voice lessons once or twice a week. As a response, they all tuned in, not daring to talk.

As Cody moved to the front of the room, Kurt yanked on the back of his blazer, pulling him back. He muttered, "Why didn't you tell me you had something planned?"

Cody whispered, "I didn't. Thomas talked me into it." He cast a scornful gaze at the redhead, who merely grinned, and slipped out of Kurt's grip and made it to the front. He inserted a disc in the player and scrolled through the songs for the right one.

Kurt shook his head and looked back at Blaine with confusion. "Is he really going to sing? He never told me about anything! He always tells me about everything!" _Well, maybe not some things, _he thought, remembering Cody's unexpected storm out this morning.

Blaine was back to chewing his lip until Kurt thought he might make it bleed. "Looks like it. I'm glad he's singing, though. It'll do wonders for his nerves," he sighed with what appeared to him as great relief. "It also means I have more time to prepare for when I have to get up there and sing."

Kurt smiled and reached down to take his hand. Blaine's palm was warm against his and he gave it a gentle squeeze. "As I said before, you'll do fine."

Blaine smiled back at him and they turned their attention to Cody, who had pressed the pause button and was waiting for Lovett's signal to start. She pointed a finger at him to let him begin and he tapped the button. A soft guitar entered the room and he turned up the volume and began to sing.

_I'm in trouble, I'm an addict,_

_I'm addicted to this girl,_

_She's got my heart tied in a knot,_

_And my stomach in a whirl,_

_But even worse, I can't stop calling her,_

_She's all I want and more,_

_I mean, damn, what's not to adore?_

Kurt distinguished the song almost instantly. He tilted his head to the side and didn't notice when he gripped Blaine's hand a little too hard, making the soloist cringe a little. But Blaine didn't mind. Holding his hand was enough for him.

_I've been playing too much guitar and I've been listening to jazz,_

_I called so many times I swear she's going mad,_

_And that cellular will be the death of us,_

_I swear, I swear,_

_And oh,_

_O-oh, o-oh, o-ooh,_

_Ooooh!_

A slow, steady clap emanated from the group as they kept the beat. Kurt was reluctant to remove his hand from Blaine's to clap with the rest of the group but did so anyway. He smiled at Cody, who winked in reply. Blaine noticed and chuckled under his breath. Thomas cheered aloud and made the small Warbler's face turn bright red.

_I'm running my mouth, just like I got her,_

_But surely I don't,_

_Because she's so o-oh, o-oh, o-ooh,_

_Rock 'n roll and out of my league,_

_Is she out of my league?_

_Let's hope not!_

_I'm in trouble, I'm so cliché,_

_See that word just wears me out,_

_Makes me feel like just another boy to laugh and joke about,_

_But even worse I can't stop calling her,_

_I love to hear that voice,_

_And honestly, I'm left with no choice_

The catchy tune sent everyone swaying slightly in their seats and tapping their toes. Smiles were sent around the group as Cody sung. His voice matched that of the artist's, as Kurt expected, but a little lower on the scale. Still, he made it work.

_Because she's so o-oh, o-oh, o-ooh,_

_Rock 'n roll and out of my league,_

_Is she out of my league?_

_Let's hope not!_

_And oh, o-oh, o-oh, o-ooh,_

_Ooooh, ooh!_

When the song came to the close, the Warblers stood up in applause. Cody's face stayed beet red when he cut off the last note and he smiled a smile that was almost too big for his face. He bit his lip and grabbed the disc from the player, tucked it into a pocket in his blazer. He joined Kurt and Blaine on the couch, who patted him on the shoulder.

"You never told me you could sing like that!" Kurt whispered with a grin.

Cody shrugged, appearing like all the nerves had vanished. He looked confident and the aftereffects were making his hands tremble. "You never asked."

Ms. Lovett called attention to the group once more. She clapped her hands soundly to get everyone's eyes on her. As the room grew quiet, she smiled. "Thank you, Cody, for that lovely performance. We'll be looking forward to see what you have prepared for Sunday."

Cody beamed and Kurt nudged him in the shoulder.

"Now, unless we have any other surprise numbers, we only have Blaine and James left." Again, she looked at them both. "Who would like to go first?"

"Actually," William interjected abruptly and raised his hand, "I'd like to pull a Cody and say I'm singing something. But only since you mentioned surprise numbers." His devious grin made several of the Warblers groan and cover their faces. Will only snickered and he whispered something to James; the other boy's eyes widened and he stared in bewilderment at his friend.

Ms. Lovett laughed and it sounded like a wind chime. She rubbed her face, obviously annoyed with the many interruptions. "Fine. Get up here, Fitzroy, and make me laugh."

Kurt cast a curious look at Blaine and started to speak, but Blaine interjected him with, "Just watch. He does this every year. And despite what you hear, he actually as a decent voice." He wore a small smile as Will stood up and got to the front.

The smile made Kurt weary as he turned to watch the blonde set up the player. Will looked to the director for approval and she tiredly nodded; he started the music. That grin was still smeared on his face and he winked, which made the boys release a group sigh.

Will cleared his throat dramatically as the beginning music rolled through. "_Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you._ _That is how I know you go on, far across the distance and spaces between us," _he sung, one hand on his chest, the other making swiping motions in the air, "_You have come to show you go on."_

Immediately, Kurt knew why Ms. Lovett had told him to make her laugh. He was belting out Celine's 'My Heart Will Go On' in an extremely off-center, corny voice with over exaggerated, sweeping gestures of his arms. Some of the boys were snickering into their hands as he continued into the well known verses while others were full out laughing. James smiled and tried to hold back an outrageous snort and he covered his mouth.

"Alright, alright," Ms. Lovett said and pulled the plug on the player, cutting off the music.

Will acted astonished with her action. He gripped at his shirt above his heart and gasped, "What? You don't like my singing? I thought it was awesome!"

She shooed him back to his seat with the wave of her hand, unable to wipe the smile from her face. "Funny, William. But try that next year and it won't be so 'awesome.'"

Will swiped his music player and sat back down on the couch by James, bumping shoulders with him as he did so. "Just lightening the mood a little," he offered and ran his hand through his hair. "Everyone's so uptight nowadays."

It took a few minutes for the director to calm the room down. When everyone had stopped giggling madly at Will's short performance, she asked, "Now, we have Blaine and James left. Who wants to go first? And don't anyone interject this time." She shot warning glances at Cody and Will. With that, all the good feeling in the room was sucked out and seriousness was restored.

Blaine licked his lips and stared across the room to meet James' stare. The room was motionless until, finally, James stood up, frustrated as if he'd lost the staring contest. "I guess I'll go," he muttered and trudged to the front of the room. He fiddled with the player momentarily and a rock beat exploded from its speakers. Taken aback, he hurriedly turned the volume down and caught the cue.

_I really, I really, (whoa),_

_I really need to know,_

_I really, I really, (whoa),_

_Or else you gotta let me go, (whoa),_

_I really, I really_

James did no more dancing than just swaying on his feet. His eyes weren't locked on a particular spot in the room for more than a few seconds; they were moving, landing on the ceiling, then to the windows, then to Kurt. Kurt's face burst into flames.

_This time I really need to do things right,_

_Shivers that you give me keep me freezing all night,_

_You make me shudder, oh yeah,_

_I can't believe it, I'm not myself,_

_Certainly I'm thinking about no one else,_

_You make me shudder_

James paused to take a quick breath and his eyes were bright. Kurt turned away and found the others were staring at the performer intensely, all with the same hard glare. Blaine was one of them and Kurt felt a twinge of nerves tightening in his stomach. He lifted his head and prepared to stare into the deep blue, but found them seeking out the rest of the room instead. The knot in his stomach slowly proceeded to untangle.

_I really, I really need to know,_

_Or else you gotta let me go,_

_You're just a fantasy, girl, it's an impossible world,_

_All I want is to be with you always,_

_I give you everything, pay some attention to me,_

_All I want is just you and me always,_

_Give me affection, I need your perfection,_

'_Cause it feels so good, you make me s-s-stutter, stutter_

Kurt decided to spend the majority of the song examining the glass bowl sitting on the table in front of him. Staring at the glint of the glass instead of James eased his nerves a little. Behind him, David and Blaine were muttering something, Wes leaning into the couch cushions.

All three wished desperately that the song would end.

_You knock me down, I can't get up,_

_I'm stuck, gotta stop shaking me up,_

_I can't eat, can't sleep, can't think sane,_

_Get under, I'm sinking under_

_You're just a fantasy, girl, it's an impossible world,_

_All I want is to be with you always,_

_I need you affection, I need your perfection,_

'_Cause it feels so good to make me s-s-stutter,_

_(I really, I really)_

_You make me s-s-stutter_

_(I really, I really)_

_You make me s-s-stutter_

The song faded and no one clapped. The unexpected silence left James nervous like he had been at the beginning of the song and he collected this disc, heading back to his seat. Slowly the group started to clap, started by a wave from South.

"That was some performance," Ms. Lovett mentioned and set down her pen to join in the clapping.

"Some performance is right," David muttered lowly to Wes through gritted teeth, but Wes didn't reply, only turned his head. "Are you going to talk to me?"

"Nope," was his short answer.

David sighed and looked up at the front of the room, where Blaine was setting up the music. His hands were shaking so much David thought he might drop the device. He turned back to Wes and said, "Oh, come on. Are you still mad about this morning? It was a joke."

Wes waved a hand at him. David started to say more, but the music cut into it and he was forced to put it on hold. Blaine was perched on the corner of the desk, with the director's permission, as he waited for the start of the verse.

_While everybody else is getting out of bed, I'm usually getting in it,_

_I'm not in it to win it and there's a thousand ways you can skin it,_

_My feet have been on the floor, flat like an idle singer,_

_Remember winger, I digress, I confess you are the best thing in my life,_

_But I'm afraid when I hear stories 'bout a husband and wife,_

_There's no happy endings, no Henry Lee, but you are the greatest thing about me_

The tune was something everyone instantly recognized and a few started to tap their feet to beat. Blaine broke away from the front of the room with energetic movements. Kurt smiled as he met the singer's eyes briefly. Kurt stared at Blaine as he sang. He always stared at Blaine when he sang, but this time Kurt found he couldn't look away. He was captivated as Blaine started to move around the room with the beat, getting a few of the Warblers to smile. Some, like Will, merely raised an eyebrow, obviously uninterested.

_If it's love and we decide that it's forever, no one else could do it better,_

_If it's love and we're two birds of feather then the rest is just whatever,_

_And if I'm addicted to loving you and you're addicted to my love too,_

_We can be them two birds of a feather that flock together,_

_Love, love, got to have something to keep us together,_

_Love, love, that's enough for me_

Blaine bounced around the room, swinging around the sofas and slinging his arm around a few Warblers, caught up in the moment. Kurt had trouble swallowing past the immense lump in his throat. He licked his lips as he listened to Blaine sing. His voice was fluid and the words flowed from his lips like water.

_Took a loan on a house I own, can't be a queen bee without a bee throne,_

_I wanna buy you everything except cologne 'cause it's poison,_

_We can travel to Spain where the rain falls mainly on the plain side,_

_Sounds insane 'cause it is, we can laugh, we can sing, have ten kids and give them everything,_

_Hold our cell phones up in the air and just be glad that we made it here alive,_

_On a spinning ball in the middle of space, I love you from your toes to your face_

James straightened in his seat. He stared not at Blaine, but at the window behind him. Occasionally his line of sight dropped to see Kurt. He smiled the slightest bit each time.

David and Cody, since Wes wasn't in the mood to do anything but sulk, were having a mental competition to see how many times Blaine made eye contact with Kurt over the course of the song. Cody had down seven but David corrected it with nine. They both looked up to watch Kurt blush furiously when Blaine placed a hand on his shoulder.

_If it's love and we decide that it's forever,_

_No one else could do it better,_

_If it's love and we're two birds of a feather,_

_Then the rest is just whatever,_

_And if I'm addicted to loving you and you're addicted to my love too,_

_We can be them two birds of a feather that flock together,_

_Love, love, got to have something to keep us together,_

_Love, love, got to have something to keep us together,_

_Love, love, that's enough for me_

The sound of the music cut off in an energetic beat with Blaine standing calmly at the front. He was breathing hard, Kurt noticed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes panned the room to gauge reactions. Then Kurt started to clap softly, like a golf clap. Everyone joined in until there was a gentle wave cascading through the room.

_What just happened? _Kurt thought in wonder when, as soon as he stopped clapping, he noticed a sharp twist in his stomach. He tucked his arms around his torso and took an even breath, trying not to go back to the performance that had made the hairs on his neck stand up. Butterflies had been unleashed and it was all he could do to stop from look like he was going to get sick, though he was smiling insanely.

Blaine nodded, returned to his seat on the sofa as Ms. Lovett stood. He plopped down next to Kurt and smiled hugely.

"Thank you to everyone who put in effort to sing something today," she said. "The set list for the program will in the order we reviewed today. First, the trio of Diego, Wes, and David. Then, we'll have Cody"—the short boy flushed—"followed by James, and finally, as the last solo, Blaine. Class dismissed!" As she said the last words, the bell rang overhead.

* * *

The following evening was filled with noise, sugary frosting, and static. The talking came from the clump of boys crowded around the island in the kitchen, sharing snacks and homework answers. The frosting came from the two tubs that sat at the back table, accompanied by trays of cooled cookies. And the static was produced by the silence between Blaine and Kurt.

The lack of words that spewed from Blaine's mouth was worrying Kurt. Blaine was usually the one to talk, but now, he minded his own business, neatly spreading pink on cookie after cookie. The way he acted was almost as if Kurt wasn't there. He made no eye contact and didn't make a move to start a conversation. The silence was instead filled by the other boys in the kitchen.

Kurt concentrated on scraping his knife on the inside of the tub that was in his hand. He briefly looked at Blaine to find him lifting his own knife to his mouth. Kurt raised hand and batted his wrist, which made him almost drop the utensil. "What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

Blaine blinked, hangdog, and stuck the knife back in his tub.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said and covered his mouth before Blaine had a chance to reply.

"It's fine." He took the knife back out and started up again with an unfrosted cookie. He took more time than necessary to spread it around to the edges.

"Um, I liked the song," Kurt murmured and missed the edge of the cookie in his hand. He got a little pink on his thumb and he reached for a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table. "The song you sung today in class," he clarified.

Blaine nodded. "I'm glad you liked it," he said and bit his lower lip in concentration.

"It's going to be hard to top for Sunday," Kurt went on as he set a finished cookie on the tray between them. They had baked enough to fill three dozen and to Blaine that was considered an accomplishment.

"I don't know. I'll find something," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"You mean you haven't decided on what you're singing?" Kurt froze with the knife poised above the cookie, pink dripping from it. A glop fell onto the counter and he did not make an immediate move to wipe it up.

Blaine was startled by Kurt's shock. "Not really. Is that a bad thing? I mean, I have a few things in mind, but—"

"Of course it's a bad thing!" Kurt said, loud enough to make one of the boys at the island look over at them. "If I was you, I would have already planned out a story board with everything from the song to what pin I would wear on my lapel."

"A story board?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow. The words 'story board' coming from Kurt made him wonder.

Kurt waved a hand at him and placed a cookie on the tray, fully frosted. He pushed the tub of frosting in front of him and leaned his elbows on the table. "It's nothing you should worry about," he said with a faint smile. Then his tone was strict. "But my point is you should pick something to sing, and quick." He left to rinse his hands under the sink.

"I'm fine," Blaine said simply and messed up on the cookie. He had spread it across the top of his hand and he sighed.

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will be forced to hit you upside the head with one of these trays," Kurt threatened. He saw the frosting on Blaine's hand and came back to the table with a damp wash rag.

"Thanks," Blaine said as he took the rag gratefully. He wiped his hand off and tossed the rag over Kurt's head, into the sink. "And you know, I don't think I could afford a concussion right now, what with two performances in the span of two weeks." He ended it with a sigh and started back in on the cookies.

As they finished up frosting, they barely talked. Several times Blaine thought of saying something, opened his mouth, but rethought it and clamped it shut again. Kurt only commented once on Cody's solo, and that made him say, "Will does something like that every year? Where he makes a fool of himself in front of the group?"

The name made Blaine look up from his hands. He had sealed off the frosting tub, the knife balanced over the top of it. "Yeah, he does," he said, a smile ghosting his lips. "He started doing that our first year here."

Kurt dabbed a little frosting on his finger and licked it to stall. "When did you ask him out?" he asked. A moment later he wondered if he had been too blunt.

But apparently he hadn't, because Blaine cracked what looked like a smile. "He asked me out," he stated matter-of-factly and placed his hands on the table. He picked at a hangnail absently. "He was kind of afraid to, actually." He looked up at Kurt, his brown eyes lit.

"Will? Afraid?"

"I know, it sounds crazy, because it is," Blaine said. "The others had to lock us in the choir room to get him to even talk to me."

Around them, the kitchen had emptied, leaving the two of them sitting at the back table. The island was covered in open plastic containers of food that needed to be put away, along with plastic cups half full and nearly empty liter bottles. Then, as Kurt was about to reply, the one of the doors swung open and hit the wall with a light thud. Both looked in that direction.

But there was no one there. The door swung shut back to meet the other and there was silence. Kurt looked back at Blaine, half worried, but Blaine shook his head. "It's probably just one of the guys playing a joke, or something," he offered.

Then there was a tiny click, followed by a low beep. Kurt dared to not move. Blaine put his head in his hand and sighed. Kurt opened his mouth to ask something, but Blaine held up a finger. "Just wait," he said tiredly.

There was another tiny click, and another beep, and then someone murmuring, "And there, you see two prime Warblers collecting their food. Look how they use utensils, so civilized..."

The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood on end and his eyes widened. He stood up from his chair on instinct and leaned over the table, only to jump back at the sight of a boy popping up.

His hair was shaggy and blonde, hanging around his ears and shielding his eyes. A thin white flipcam was cradled in one hand and was held up, apparently recording footage. Around his neck was a thick black strap that housed a bulky photographer's camera. He pressed a button on the flipcam, tucked it in his pocket, and held up the camera around his neck.

Blaine brought a hand up and covered the shutter with it. "This is a no photography zone, sorry."

The boy pouted but lowered the camera. "Oh, come on, Blaine. Have some fun. And get your hand off my camera. You're smudging the glass." He pushed Blaine's hand away.

"If you wouldn't point that thing at me so often, maybe I wouldn't smudge it," Blaine grumbled and stood up, collecting his tub of frosting and knife.

"Ooh! Cookies!" the boy exclaimed and reached for one.

Blaine grabbed his wrist and said, "No way. You are not eating these. No one is eating these until the brunch."

The boy took his wrist back and crossed his arms stubbornly. "Let me guess: you're going to let Thomas sneak one or two, but not me?"

Blaine shoved him in the shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "What are you doing in here anyway, man? I thought you lived in the cave?"

He stuck his tongue out childishly. "I do," he answered. "But I need new footage. I'm out of photo paper, so I'll be bored until the new shipment comes in."

Blaine turned around in shock. "You need photo paper? Really? You always have a mountain of the stuff."

The boy flushed, his face growing red. "Yeah, I know. I just got sidetracked with stuff, and I forgot to order some. Big whoop."

Finally gaining feeling in his hands, Kurt reached forward for one of the trays. He brought it into the kitchen cautiously, watching the boy the entire time. He was familiar, that much Kurt knew. Maybe he was in the Warblers and Kurt just didn't register him? He set the tray on the counter and fished around in the cabinets for a box of Saran wrap.

"And so you decided to video Kurt and I frosting cookies?" Blaine asked incredulously. He disappeared into the pantry momentarily to put away the frosting, then came back out.

The boy leaned against the counter and rested his chin on his hands. "Well, you _are _the most interesting subject to cover," he said with a bright smile. "Like last year's—"

"Don't even."

"A lot of things happened last year, didn't they?" Kurt couldn't help but ask.

The boy and Blaine exchanged glances, then looked at Kurt. "Yeah," Blaine said softly. "They did."

Silence fell over them like a blanket. Kurt took that time to rip a sheet of Saran wrap from the box and spread it over one of the trays. The silence was unsettling, and the boy must've sensed it, because he blurted, "Wait, _you're _Kurt? _The _Kurt?"

Kurt stared at him as he slipped the tray into the fridge with the other finished ones. "Is this 'Alice in Wonderland' or something?" he asked.

"It might as well be," the boy said excitedly and made his way around the counter. "I mean, I could totally see Blaine as the Hatter, or something..."

"Do _not _even discuss that," Blaine commanded. The boy started to say something back, to which Blaine said, "No way, Ronnie! We are not revisiting that!"

"I have pictures! But whatever floats your boat." He turned to Kurt and stuck out a hand. "The name's Starr. Ronnie Starr."

With a tentative look at Blaine first, Kurt shook hands with the blonde boy with the camera. "Kurt Hummel. Nice to meet you."

As soon as they dropped their hands, Ronnie grappled for his camera and snapped a photo, the shutter making the familiar clicking noise. "That's a good one," he mused as he lowered the camera. I'll have to develop it when I get my photo paper." He grinned, then looked to Blaine pleadingly. "Hey, can I show your boyfriend my dark room?"

Kurt said, "I'm not his boyfriend," at the same moment as Blaine stammered, "He's not my boyfriend." The two looked at each other after.

Ronnie looked between them, his grin spreading wider. "Well, okay then," he said. To Kurt he said, "I'll show you some other time."

Kurt only nodded. He glanced around the kitchen, scanning the counters for anything that needed to be cleaned, and Ronnie brought his camera up and snapped a few more pictures. "Ah, the Control Freak in his natural habitat," he said in an animal documentary narrator voice. Another click of the shutter. "See how he—"

"Blaine?" Kurt asked and his voice was a bit shrill. "I think I'm going back to my room. Is there anything you need help with?"

Blaine stepped away from the island, which was still laden with snacks and plastic containers. "I think I've got it from here. I'll see you tomorrow," he said with a nod. He smiled when Kurt passed him, leaving the kitchen. As soon as the door swung shut softly behind him, Blaine moved some of the containers out of the way so he could press his forehead against the counter.

"Nice boyfriend," commented Ronnie. Click.

"Not my boyfriend," Blaine corrected and didn't raise his head. The countertop was cool enough to soothe his burning forehead.

"Too bad, though. Cute ass."

This time Blaine's head shot up. "Ronnie!"

"What?" He held up his hands, the camera bumping back against his chest.

Blaine glared fiercely at him and started tossing empty plastic cups into the bin in the corner of the room. "You're not gay," he muttered as he came back to the island.

Click. "Does a guy have to be gay in order to comment on another guy's ass? Is that like some kind of requirement?" Click.

Blaine paused in the process of placing a bag of chips in the cabinet. "Yes, Ronnie," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "yes, it's an absolute requirement."

"Oops," was all Ronnie said. Click. Then, "You know, you should ask him out."

"You think I haven't tried that already?"

"Nope."

Silence.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Click. Blaine mumbled something and Ronnie took that as a yes. "So, I think you should sing him something at the brunch," he suggested and leaned against the island as Blaine finished cleaning up.

"Like what?" Blaine asked. "Give me ideas, please."

Ronnie bit his lip. "You should write something," he said and thrust a finger in the air. "That'll have him falling head over heels for you for sure."

"I don't know." Blaine traced circles over the patterns in the countertops, the stone hard and cool. "If I did write something, it would kind of lame. I need time, which I'm short on, if you haven't noticed. I need, like, a week."

Click. "You'll figure out something. You always do." He let his camera bump against his chest as he moved toward the door. Silently he unearthed his flipcam and held it up to record. "And here," he whispered in his documentary voice, "you can see how the Warbler is fuming. Look at the crease in the forehead, the knitting of the bushy, triangle-shaped eyebrows—"

"Ronnie!"

* * *

_In the next chapter: The brunch approaches and everyone is pumped and ready to go. Well, some people are, at least._


	16. PreValentine's Day Blues

_Goodness gracious. Hello, readers!_

_This chapter is very long, in my perspective. It was going to be even longer, but I cut out an entire scene or two, so there are two less scenes :P_

_Anyway, it feels weird posting a Valentine's Day arc in the middle of June. So deal with it. But I promise my next fanfic will be posted in September and will actualyl keep on track in relation to real world time. Promise._

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or Kurt, Blaine, Wes, David, or the Warblers. Or Adele, Lifehouse, Christina Perri, or Queen. I do own my OCs.

* * *

**Pre-Valentine's Day Blues**

* * *

**Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love. – Neil Gaiman**

* * *

Things were not looking up whatsoever. First of all, it looked like a flock of flamingoes vomited all over the walls of Dalton. Second, Kurt was in the midst of a pounding headache and a running nose that had appeared sometime in the night. And third, someone was not happy with him.

Kurt wandered into the North kitchen the next morning with a tissue pressed against his face. He turned away to sneeze ferociously and looked forward again. He rested his elbows against the counter, but ended up resting his forehead onto it, as well. The surface felt cool and he sighed at it temperature.

Blaine watched him, confused. He was in the process of pulling the cookie trays out of the fridge and setting them on the island. Miraculously, the treats had survived Thomas' late night snacking, thanks to Cody threatening to hit him with a baseball bat every time he got out of bed in the night. Blaine sat the third tray by Kurt's hands. "You okay?" he asked. "You don't look so hot."

"Actually, I'm very hot," Kurt said and raised his head; the world spun. He caught a glimpse of Blaine's face turning a shade of red. "I'm running a fever," he explained with a small smile. He paused to sneeze once more and covered his nose with the tissue in his hands. "Apparently I got sick during the night, because I woke up feeling like this."

Kurt hated colds with a passion. It was always around this time, mid-February, when he contracted the illness and it usually put him out of school for days at a time. He took as much medicine as he was supposed to—sometimes more if he was annoyed with staying in bed all day—and did everything he could to stay well. The worst part about it was the unbearable headaches that came with it.

Blaine set down the tray he was holding to press the back of his hand against Kurt's forehead. He pulled back with a sad look. "You're burning up," he said. "Do you feel okay?"

"I feel like _shit._" Kurt stared at him, his eyes tired.

"Language," he reminded as he went back to the fridge to grab the last tray. He set it with the others, making five lined on the counter.

"That's how I feel. I think I'm entitled to saying that much," Kurt responded and dropped his head.

"That's so weird," Blaine murmured as he bumped the door shut with his hip. "How could you have gotten sick? No one has been sick, really."

Kurt waved his hand at him and mumbled, "It's just a cycle. I go through some kind of flu or stomach virus around this time of year. Curse February and my low immune system." He bitterly tossed his tissue at the trash can, but it bounced off the rim and onto the floor. He moved sluggishly to pick it up and his head throbbed. He returned to the island and pulled another one from the small pack in his blazer pocket.

"I'm sorry," was all Blaine could think to say. "Have you taken any medicine?"

Kurt blew his nose. "Of course I have," he answered, his tone disbelieving and nasally. "I took some last night before I went to sleep and then some this morning when I woke up. Actually, I spent twenty minutes trying to get out of bed this morning."

"I'm sorry," he said again and knit his hands together. "If you want, I can tell Lovett you're sick so you won't have to perform. I'm sure she'd understand."

Kurt shook his head and stood up. He stuffed the tissue in his pocket and rinsed his hands thoroughly under the water, then took one of the trays into his shaky hands. "I'm fine," he said and blinked tiredly. "It's nothing but a little bug. I'll get over it soon enough." He smiled and asked Blaine to hand him another tray, who he did so warily.

"I still don't feel...okay with letting you go to this thing," Blaine murmured as he juggled the remaining trays, stacked one on top of the other in his arms. They walked to the door just as few Warblers brushed past them and opened the fridge. They waved at them and moved into the hall. As they walked, it was a mystery to Kurt how the frosting didn't get smashed.

"I'm fine, Blaine," insisted Kurt. "My dad and Carole are coming, and I don't want them to wonder why I'm not up on stage with the rest of you. They'll probably hunt you down and question you viciously as to where I am." He pushed the side door open with his hip and held it open for Blaine.

They walked along the pathway. From where they were walking, Kurt could see the garden, the branches of the trees swaying in the breeze. The trees were staring to sprout a few green leaves here and there in preparation for spring. It was a mystery how he'd never noticed it before, but now it just jumped out at him.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Okay, but if you pass out on stage because you're so dizzy, it's not my fault."

Kurt considered tripping him, but decided against it in sake of the cookies.

They made it to the dining hall's kitchen without dropping anything. Every boy they'd seen along the way was in the Warblers, and each smiled cheerily. The halls had been decorated the day before by the group and were all decked out: streamers of pinks and reds and white hung from the rafters and extended to the other side of the hall; large hearts of varying colors were cut and taped to the walls; and on the little tables that accompanied the chairs at the side of each hall were small bowls of brightly wrapped foil candies, Hershey's kisses, to be exact.

And on the upside, everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Well, some people.

Blaine pushed the kitchen door open and, as soon as he did, sound was unleashed. Voices of the others bounced off the walls as they discussed table setting terms and where to put the food. Wes and David were at the counter with papers and toothpicks in their hands as they tried to label all the dishes. Behind them, trays and bowls and plates filled with food littered the countertops.

Blaine set the cookies down on a patch of free granite and took the trays from Kurt's hands, freeing him to step back.

From the kitchen, Kurt could see the tables all laid out accordingly. They were draped with either a pink or red table cloth and an appropriate number of chairs were set up at each one. From the amount of replies Ms. Lovett had received after sending out the invitation, they were planning on over fifty parents, relatives and friends to show up. If more chairs were needed, there were always some available.

On the farthest wall there was a wide, glimmering banner that declared "Happy Valentine's Day!" It fluttered because the air conditioner was on and blowing against it. Other decorations were arranged to make the dining hall look festive and cheerful and the boys really outdid themselves.

Kurt stepped back from the crowd of people and leaned against the oven door, seeing as it wasn't being used. He took a tissue from his pocket, wiped his nose and folded his arms over his chest, watching people mull around. His eyes had started to flutter shut when he heard a slight click, and he blinked.

"Ronnie, what are you doing?" he asked, annoyed, and pushed away from the oven.

Ronnie was studying his camera. "That was a good shot," he mused and pressed a button. "Very tranquil, very candid."

Kurt sighed and rubbed his face. "Do you carry your camera around with you?" he asked.

He seemed taken aback and cradled it against his chest. "Of course. It's like my baby. Do you have to ask?" He raised it up again and snapped another shot. "You know, you're my favorite subject as of right now. Everyone else really just wants to destroy it."

"I can see why," Kurt muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He waved him off.

A figure moved to their side, prepared to say something, but stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I intervening?" James asked and took a step back. He looked genuinely apologetic.

"Actually," Ronnie said and raised the camera, "you are." _Snap. _"But surprisingly, you are photogenic." With the nod of his head he ducked away and started ambushing David and Wes, who were bickering about something.

James stared after the blonde with a sense of worry. He shook his head once and turned to Kurt. He shook his head again. "You do not look good."

"Thanks," Kurt drawled with a narrow-eyed look. He turned his head to sneeze loudly, and it drew the attention of most everyone in the kitchen.

James folded his hands in what seemed like his trademark pose, behind his back. "Bless you," he said with a small smile.

"I think you're late on that one. I've already had at least half of the Warblers ask me if I was okay," Kurt said and took a soothing breath. "But thank you," he added as an afterthought.

James nodded. He turned his head to look at the rest of the kitchen like he was bored already, and he pursed his lips. "Well, we should hope someone asks about your well being. You don't look good at all."

"Do I really look that bad?" Kurt asked in disbelief and received another nod.

James stepped out of the way of a few boys entering the kitchen and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kurt. He fiddled with his hands. "You'll be fine, though. I'm sure Lovett would understand if you suddenly hurried off the stage holding your stomach."

Kurt licked his lips, finding them dry like parchment. "I don't know. I'm going to sing, whether I sound like a dying cat or not."

"You sound decent to me."

"This is now. Just wait until you hear me sing." He tried for a smile, but didn't look up at the other boy. "You'll want to cover your ears for sure."

James only chuckled. The doors swung open again. Cody paraded in with a platter in his hands, Thomas following close behind. The delicacy on the plate was a cake, smoothed over with cool frosting, topped with shavings of coconut and dotted with chocolate icing. He proudly set it on a free square of counter and examined it from all sides to make sure everything was in order.

"What is that?" Kurt asked when Thomas passed him.

"It's Cody's carrot cake," the redhead. His eyes flickered disapprovingly to James for a moment, but returned to Kurt. "He made it for that girl that's coming this morning, remember?"

"Oh, right," Kurt murmured. "Now I believe him when he says he can cook. Are all his works usually this elaborate?"

Thomas nodded. "This is one of his finer works, though. He spent _forever _trying to get the decorations on it without messing up. I swear, sometimes he's a real perfectionist."

"Well, that's Cody for you." He tried to pull a smile on his face; it only came up halfway. "Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I know what you mean," Thomas said. He glanced over at it longingly. From the counter, Cody called out to him and waved his small hand at him. Thomas apologized quickly and left to tend to the small boy's needs.

"It looks like he can cook after all," James said under his breath. "Will told me he can cook. I guess he was right."

"I guess he was," Kurt replied warily. He pushed away from the oven and took a deep breath. His lungs felt less constricted when there was a bit of space between he and the other boy. "What else has Will told you?" he asked curiously.

James pressed his lips into a thin line, and Kurt noticed his hands shaking slightly. He shrugged and continued to stare at the floor. "Nothing much," he mumbled. Then his head whipped up and he sighed. "Speaking of, I have to help the devil himself with something." He hesitated. "You'll be okay, right?"

Kurt waved his hand at him and fingered a tissue. "Please, I'll be fine. No need to worry about me."

James smiled. There was something off-kilter about him. His posture was slumping a bit and he didn't bother brushing his hair from his eyes. That, and his shaking hands. He turned and vanished into the crowd.

* * *

"Okay, first of all, don't embarrass me," ordered Adam and he thrust his index finger in the air.

"Yes, it's nice to see you, too, my wonderful loving brother," Marissa answered wryly and tossed her platinum blonde hair over her shoulders, which was dyed pink at the tips. She kicked her legs up over the armrest and leaned back against the other one. Leaning her head back, her hair spilled over and touched the floor. It shined in the light that flooded the windows of the East common room.

Marissa Harvey had arrived on the grounds of Dalton early that morning. Adam was lucky he had been awake when she came, or else she would have made a ruckus pounding on the doors and all the windows to get someone to let her in. She had tumbled through Adam's room window, dragging a suitcase and a pillow with her. She was tired beyond disbelief from her solo road trip and immediately crashed down on Adam's bed, asleep.

Now that she was awake, Adam kind of wished she would go back to sleep. He sat on the window seat, leaning against the glass, watching his sister with annoyance. She was humming under her breath some tune from a soap commercial and was fiddling with the tips of her hair, fanning them out like a delta.

The East common room was empty of boys. All had gone home for the weekend and the few that stayed were here for the Warblers' brunch. Adam stayed at the school every weekend, normally to get ahead on homework and stay away from home, but today he offered to help out with the technical aspects of the brunch, such as the lighting and the sound system.

The thought caused him to stand up and brush off his blazer. It hung on his thin frame, no matter how he fixed it. He straightened the pin on his lapel—the little blue one with a globe for last year's Geography Bee—and sighed.

"You were saying?" Marissa prompted and looked upside down at her brother with eyes that were heavily ringed with black makeup. She dropped the strand of hair she was playing with and slung her legs around so she was sitting correctly. Adam winced when she narrowly missing hitting a nearby lamp with her bulky, neon sneakers.

"Don't get in my way," Adam suggested as he started toward the doors.

Marissa jumped out of the chair and hurried to catch up with him. She eagerly followed him down the hall, where the entered a corridor lined with doors. She found he was silent the entire way to a door at the end of the hall. Adam whipped out a key and fit it in the lock easily, letting them inside.

Adam's room was highly top secret. No one was purposefully allowed inside. Dex and Leo had picked the lock several times didn't count as purposeful. The room was almost ceiling to floor in flickering lights that were different colors. A flick of the overhead lights revealed a wide desk in the corner, a laptop sitting on it, covered in a bundle of wires. There was a screen over his bureau that served as a television and a security monitor that was hooked up to the various cameras he had set up around the school. A large poster of constellations was framed over his bed, and another of the periodic table was displayed over his desk. His closet was half clothes, half storage for DVDs, CDs, computer games; also, a wire cage resided against the wall with a bag of carrots and a few bottles of water next to it. A pen and pad of paper sat atop it, the paper covered in scribbles. His bathroom was the only normal thing: nothing more than a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste sat on the vanity.

Marissa' brightly colored suitcase was open on Adam's bed, her skinny jeans and assorted t-shirts spilling out. It was a splash of color in his painstakingly dull room. She went to it and started folding things messily.

"How much did you pack?" asked Adam while he straightened wires leading to his laptop.

"Enough for two weeks, I think," she answered. She held up a My Chemical Romance t-shirt and tossed it in the suitcase.

Adam stopped to study the bag. "That doesn't look like two weeks."

She laughed. "There's another bag in my car. What, did you actually think I would lug around two bags at once?"

"Yes, actually, I did," he mumbled and turned back to his laptop. He untangled a wad of wires, under which he found his phone hooked up the charger. He slid it in his pocket. When he turned back around, he shrieked, "What are you doing?"

Marissa poked her head out of the closet, where she currently was. She smiled and said, "I was checking out your rabbit. I didn't know this school allowed pets.

"They don't! Now don't mess with him, or I swear I will do not good things to you!" He dashed to the closet to yank her out by the arm and slid the door shut with a crash.

"Whoa," she said as she steadied herself, "what's the deal? It's just a rabbit."

Adam rubbed his face. "Yes, it's a rabbit, but it's my test rabbit. I don't need you screwing anything up."

"Test rabbit?" she repeated and ducked back into the closet. As quickly as she went in, she came back out, her face a mask of shock. She braced herself against the door. "What did you do to him? His fur is as green as the Emerald City, for fuck's sake!"

"Marissa!" he hissed and used his hand to bat the air, as if to push away the bad language. "Yes, I know he's green, but don't get too alarmed. It's just a simple chemical dye I wanted to try out. It won't hurt him."

"I don't believe you." She slowly pushed away from the door and stood a good distance away from it.

"He'll be fine," Adam assured and grabbed her by the wrist. "Now come on. The brunch will be starting in the next hour and I need to configure the AV room. And you need to stay out of everyone's way."

Marissa went along with him, still staring at the closet door in wonder. They fell in step together as they walked down the hall. She was still blank-faced from the seeing the green rabbit, but said, "Okay, is there anything else I should know before I see all your friends?"

Adam stopped when he reached the side doors. He held one open. When he did, he smelled fresh grass and the sharp aroma of morning. "Don't talk to my friends," he said and started down the path.

The path encircled the entire dorm building. East faced the sports field, South faced directly opposite, North to the school, and West where there was nowhere else left to go. The path wound around to meet up with North. Other boys were darting back and forth between the school and the dorms, carrying trays and other things in their arms, as they neared.

"Oh, come on," Marissa whined as she caught up with him. "Let me socialize. I like talking."

"That's certainly something you do a lot," Adam muttered and kept his head down. He didn't need to watch where he was going. He knew the path by heart, knew all its twists and turns. They turned the corner and the doors to North were in view. Go a little farther, and they would be on South territory.

"Please?" begged Marissa. She brought her hands, clasped together, in front of her face. "I promise I won't bring up any embarrassing childhood memories! Girl scout's honor."

Adam rolled his eyes. As they walked the boys that passed them gave Marissa odd looks, like they'd never seen a girl before, and were too stunned to say anything to her. _Get used to the skinny jeans, heavy makeup and multiple piercings, boys. She's here for the day, and hopefully no more._

Adam had barely gotten used to being around his sister again. It was like tugging an eight-year-old through the store. He hadn't quite gotten accustomed to her random outburst and vibrant clothing. He found himself staring at her bulky sneakers and jeans so tight they looked almost painted on. She was currently wearing a shirt that displayed a band he'd never even heard of. And that blonde hair was simply _atrocious—_

Adam's stomach dropped when he heard a voice from behind call, "Hey, Adam!"

Both Harveys turned around. Simon was walking toward them from the dorms with his hands full of streamers and tape. Adam hid his face in his hands while Marissa grinned. Simon smiled at Adam, and then his eyes wandered to Marissa with confusion and his pace slowed a little. "Did I miss the family reunion here?" he asked when he approached them.

"Well, that's one way to greet your best friend's sister," Marissa snapped, which earned her a jab in the ribs. She winced and fired a glare at Adam.

"Sorry. Let's try this again," Simon said with a laugh. He pulled together a face of over exaggerated excitement. "Hi, Marissa! I had no idea you were coming this morning! It's so good to see you!"

She snorted. "That's better."

"So when did you get here?" he asked and shifted the streamers in his arms. Adam stepped forward and took a few rolls to be nice and tucked them close to his chest.

"Early this morning," she answered with a wide smile. "I drove the entire way here from North Dakota, which took _forever_. I almost fell asleep at the wheel." She rolled her eyes for emphasis, and then threw her hands up in the air. "But thank goodness for Red Bull!"

"I know what you're saying. The long trip, I mean," Simon said and started to walk. Adam and Marissa followed him into the school. "I feel bad for my parents. They live in Pennsylvania, you know, and it takes a while to drive here. But it means a lot that they're coming. They'll be happy to see you again."

"Sure," Marissa drawled. "Last time they saw me, they thought I was the living dead."

"Well, that was in a Halloween picture and you _were _dressed as a zombie, so I can see why they'd think that," Adam pointed out.

"Shut up, that zombie costume was amazing!"

"You were wearing your regular clothes, but more makeup," he said.

"I actually got to rip them up, so they weren't technically my regular clothes!"

Adam rolled his eyes and sighed. Simon nudged him in the shoulder and asked, "Are you okay?" His dark eyes glimmered in the light.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just preparing myself for all the parents and everyone coming. It's going to be a crazy day, isn't it?" Adam chuckled.

"Definitely." Simon smiled. "Are your parents coming?"

Marissa coughed and turned her head away. Adam felt his throat close up uncomfortably and he reached up to loosen his tie, the rolls in his arms threatening to fall. "No, they're not," he said and thankful his voice didn't give him away. "Dad's out on a business trip and Mom's doing something with her workplace that couldn't be avoided. I don't know why they'd come in the first place. I mean, I'm not performing, so why come?" He hadn't realized he was talking at a fast pace until Marissa jabbed him in the ribs.

"Oh," Simon said and his face fell. "But still. It would be nice for them to come up just to see you. I mean, Marissa came, didn't she?"

"I had time. They don't. I mean, with work and all they can't even get enough time to have a sit-down dinner with me," she interjected. Simon nodded and Adam focused on taking deep breaths without it sounding like hyperventilation. "And I love my brother, so that makes everything better." She flashed a smile at Adam.

They reached the auditorium lobby where other Warblers stood on step ladders, adding extra details here and there and fixing a few streamers. Simon greeted the coordinator, a boy from South whose name was Landon. The boy held a pair of scissors in one hand and was in the process of cutting a heart out of a sheet of pink cardstock. Simon stepped forward to talk with him, leaving Adam and Marissa to deal with each other.

Adam set the rolls of streamers on the table that leaned against the wall and turned to his sister with a sharp glare.

"What?" she asked, defensive.

"What did you mean by that?" he asked, his voice softer in contrast to his glare, and checked over his shoulder to make sure Simon couldn't hear.

She wore a bewildered look. "Mean what?"

"When you said that you loved me," he repeated and the words tasted funny in his mouth. "Did you mean that?"

Marissa's eyes grew soft and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course I meant that. Why would you think that?"

He shrugged under her hand and looked down the hall. The light from the outside shone through the back doors, illuminating the already lit hallway. Boys walked back and forth with paper hearts and streamers in their hands, squares of tape on their faces. He watched two maneuver hanging a set of streamers above the back doorway.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I've come to believe a lot of the things I hear."

"Then believe me when I say I love you, Adam," she said and patted his shoulder. "Nothing will change that. Now here's me following up what I just said with more mushy, brother-sister junk." She smiled widely at him. Adam had no choice but to smile back. She dropped her hand contently.

Adam looked up at her and asked softly, "Do Mom and Dad ever talk about me?"

Marissa blinked and this was the first time he'd seen her unsure of something. She blanched and bit her lip, which was covered in a healthy coating of dull red Chapstick.

"That's all taken care of," Simon sighed gratefully as he approached the pair, which startled them. He brushed his hands together. "We were having trouble with some of the decorations and performance programs, but it's fixed."

Marissa brought her hands to her face in fake shock, and then her confidence was back like it never left. "Because the world will _die _if we don't have enough programs."

Simon narrowed his eyes at her, then chuckled, "Now I remember why I found you so funny when we met." She beamed.

Adam cleared his throat and took a step back. "Well, I should probably head up the AV room to, uh, you know, get everything set up," he nodded and headed toward the auditorium doors. Once they closed behind him, Marissa turned to Simon.

"He's your best friend, right?" she asked suddenly and directed a nail at him. Those, too, were precisely polished in red.

He looked at her. "What?"

"Answer the question, Dougray."

"Yes, Adam is my best friend," he said, fearing her sudden intense gaze. "Why do you need to ask?"

Marissa grabbed his wrist and tugged him to the side of the hall. They got a few stares from the boys still hanging decorations, but she resisted the urge to badmouth them. She pulled him down on one of the plush loveseats, keeping a firm grip on his wrist. She leaned in. "I need to talk to you. About Adam."

"What's wrong with Adam?" Simon asked and a shock of worry crossed his face.

She glanced around at the boys once more before turning back to him. She took in a lungful of air. "I'm positive he's never told you this, mostly because he's insecure about it, to be honest. He's gone through this for _years _and I don't think he's ever told anyone, which is very not surprising, so—"

"What is the point of this?" Simon interjected.

She released the remainder of air in her lungs. "Adam's gay."

* * *

The parents and relatives started to arrive around nine that morning. Wes and David stood by the doors with Ronnie, who were greeting people as they walked in and holding open doors. In the mix, Wes recognized his parents walk by with Caroline, his girlfriend. He stepped away from the door to ambush her with a hug, pulling her close. She laughed in surprise and ducked her head, sending her blonde curls everywhere. He pulled her to the side so as to not block incoming traffic.

David sighed and rolled his eyes as he and Ronnie watched, his trademark camera hanging from his neck. "Does he do this every time he sees her?" Ronnie asked as he watched his friend kiss the blonde on the cheek dramatically. Even now he wasn't tempted to waste film on such a sight.

"Unfortunately," replied David and crossed his arms.

He tilted his head to the side. "It's kind of cute, really."

David took a moment to answer, "I guess it is. But it gets a little boring after you've seen it happen multiple times."

Ronnie nodded and held the door open wider as more people started to arrive. He nodded to a tall man with a baseball cap on his head, a woman with a sweet smile on her face following close behind him. He was surprised to see the man stop in front of David, saying, "Are you one of Kurt's friends? You look familiar."

David nodded at the sight of Burt Hummel, tall and wearing nice-looking clothes that seemed not his usual style. "Yes, I am. David Rivers, sir," he said and they shook hands. He recognized the woman as Kurt's stepmother, Carole; they shook hands as well.

"Have you seen Kurt around?" she was asking. She stretched on the tips of her toes to scan the growing crowd of people mixed with boys in uniform, but couldn't find him.

"No, I haven't," David answered, "but if you look around, I'm sure he's here somewhere." He offered them a smile.

"Thank you," Burt said gruffly and walked forward into the crowd. Carole rolled her eyes at her husband and followed him. When they vanished into the crowd, David was confronted by Ronnie's wide eyes.

"_Those _are Kurt's parents?" he asked in disbelief, his voice a hiss.

David nodded. "What's the big deal?"

Ronnie stared after them. "Nothing. I had another picture in my mind..." He trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence to be put to David's imagination.

More and more people started to arrive, filling up the auditorium lobby quickly. The time was ticking away and it was forty-five minutes until the opening performance. The people that passed Ronnie and David—and Wes, seeing as he let Caroline find a seat with his parents—were somewhat familiar.

Simon's parents were easy to pick out. They looked alike, with dark hair and shimmering emerald eyes. The boys smiled widely when they saw Cody's parents flow in with the crowd. Both his mother and his father were shorter than five-nine, with the same pale brown hair and facial features. Behind them tagged a girl who looked in the middle of her high school years.

Wes and David had not seen Madeline Peterson since the year before at the Valentine's Brunch. It was easy to see why Cody had an insane crush on her: reasonable height—which would later prove to be awkward between them—high cheekbones complimented by a flawless complexion, kaleidoscope-like eyes and TV-commercial worthy auburn hair.

She waved lightly at each of the boys and she passed, following Cody's parents. Ronnie scrambled for his camera and the shutter clicked. David hit him in the arm. "What?" Ronnie asked, rubbing the sore spot.

"She's Cody's date, not yours. Don't get any ideas," David snapped.

"Oh, like you haven't thought once or twice about asking her out."

"Actually, I haven't," he replied curtly and crossed his arms. "I have a wonderful girlfriend, thank you very much, and she's coming today."

Ronnie rolled his eyes and focused on the door. Over the course of five minutes, the flow of people dwindled. Thomas' parents were one of the last to arrive. His mother looked sort of like Mae from the movie 'Secondhand Lions'; she was tall and thin and wore a form-fitting floral dress. His father was pale-skinned with the same head of vibrant red hair. They greeted Wes and David and Ronnie with smiles as they slipped into the auditorium.

"Well," Wes said as he checked the clock on the wall, "I guess that's the last of them. I think Lovett wants us backstage in about twenty-five minutes to start warm up." He removed his foot from the door and it shut fully.

* * *

"Liam, is the food all set and ready to go? Do we have all the labels with them?" Blaine called across the kitchen. The number of boys in the kitchen had cut quickly to just Blaine and Kurt and Liam. William and Carson had stayed to make sure everything was in place; James had disappeared between the time Kurt had seen him earlier and now.

"Almost done," Liam said as he dug in the fridge. His voice was muffled. He made sure everything was in place before stepping back and closing the door. "Everything's all ready to go, Blaine. All we need to do after the performance is unwrap everything and set it out. I don't think we can get any more prepared than that."

Blaine nodded in relief. He stepped out of the kitchen, into the dining area, to look at the clock. It was nine twenty-five. They had a short amount of time left before they had to be backstage for warm up. "Fifteen minutes," he announced.

"I think we can read a clock, Anderson," Will said smugly as he and Carson straightened a table cloth. Blaine rolled his eyes and moved back to the kitchen, where Liam was feeding Kurt tissues out of a box since his small pack had depleted quickly. Liam fetched another box from the pantry, then went to assist Will and Carson.

"Are you feeling okay, Kurt?" Blaine asked again as Kurt took his fourth tissue and rubbed it under his red nose. He'd been asking that for the last half hour and it was starting to get on Kurt's nerves. Everyone was asking that.

"Lovely," Kurt said in a nasally voice. He crumpled the tissue and tossed it in the almost-full metal bin in the corner. He smiled cheerfully, though his head throbbed and his throat was starting to get sore. He noticed Blaine giving him a concerned look. "Don't worry. I'll be well enough to sing. If I can't, I'll lip synch. The audience won't tell the difference."

Blaine cracked a small smile, but it vanished quickly, like he remembered he was on some sort of Warbler duty and wasn't allowed to smile. Today his hair was not pushed back with the usual amount of gel. It looked like he'd forgotten to put it in, and in result, his hair was slightly springy. Curls stuck out in the back and on the sides and he kept flattening them with his hands.

He was doing just that and Kurt stepped forward. "Here," he said and raised his hands to Blaine's head. He smoothed down the curls that were sticking out obnoxiously, and as he did so, he couldn't help but notice how soft the other boy's hair was. Blaine should wear it like this more often, Kurt thought. He also couldn't get over the height difference: Blaine was at least three inches under Kurt's height, and seeing Blaine's brown eyes look up at him made his heart flutter.

"I think we finished with the tables. Do you want to come and inspect them again?" Carson called suddenly. Kurt jolted and let his hands drop. Blaine smiled to Kurt in appreciation, and then followed it up with a moan of aggravation, glaring at the blondes.

Ronnie poked his head through the doorway then, camera hanging from his neck, and said, "Okay, all the parents are here. Warm up should be starting soon, so make sure to get everything ready to go." He nodded to Kurt, asking if he was okay, to which Kurt replied that yes, he was, as a matter of fact, okay.

Will and Carson finished straightening seating and moved to set up card tables at the back of the room. Kurt leaned against the counter to watch them, sighing. Blaine looked at him in silent conversation. _Are you okay?_

Kurt nodded his head. "Are _you _okay?" he asked back.

Blaine ran a hand through the curls that had been fixed. "Why would you say that?"

Kurt was about the reply when someone in the dining hall shouted, someone that sounded like Liam. Both boys turned. Liam was bending down to rub against his shin and was glaring hotly at Will. Will, in turn, was glaring right back. Carson was dealing with the table they were apparently having trouble with: two of the legs were stuck.

"Blaine!" they shouted at the same time.

"Whatever happened," Blaine said, not taking his eyes off Kurt, "I'm sure you can handle it."

"Do you _want _me to kill him?" Will asked loudly.

Blaine dropped his head and said in a hushed tone, "Excuse me for a moment." He quickly left the kitchen to deal with the boys. As soon as he left, Kurt felt the constricting grip on his heart lessen.

Outside in the hallway, several boys passed back and forth. Kurt recognized Ronnie walking by again; he was snapping his camera at the others, who ignored him. They were probably used to his antics. Wes passed through and offered a tired smile to Kurt. He moved into the dining hall and sighed at the sight of Will and Liam arguing with Blaine standing there trying to fix it.

Kurt tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling and some of the pain in his head disappeared. He shut his eyes briefly and licked his dry lips. Then there was a crash and he jumped. A card table was flipped over on one side and Wes had his head in his hand. Will was snapping at him now, and Liam looked fed up with it.

"I don't want to deal with you anymore," Will was saying.

"William," Wes drawled out, "you're being more dramatic than you usually are." He held his hand up when Will tried to snap back and went back into the kitchen. "I was only trying to help," he called over his shoulder. "And you all might get to the auditorium. Warm up's starting soon." He left the kitchen.

The table with the sticking legs was finally propped up and Will left the hall, Carson tagging behind him. Liam followed and was rubbing his face.

"So you pay attention to him, but not me?" Blaine asked and his voice was a little higher than normal. "What's wrong with this picture?"

"Calm your balls, Anderson," Carson said as he and Will left the kitchen, which left Blaine red in the face from embarrassment.

"Stop being paranoid about this whole thing," Will agreed. "It's supposed to be a fun day. Why not enjoy it?" He shrugged and the smile he wore told Kurt he was being sarcastic, probably about the 'fun day' part.

Blaine was the last to enter the kitchen. He stared at Will, then Carson, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Kurt tore the corner off the tissue in his hands.

"Well," Blaine said exhausted, "we all heard Wes. We should get to warm up." The sigh that followed showed he wasn't too pleased with anything.

The five boys filed out of the kitchen in silence. They walked down the hall in a loose pack, not close enough to talk, but close enough to be considered a pack. Kurt immediately fell in step with Blaine like he was drawn magnetically. He offered him a smile.

The pack split in relief when the lobby came into view. It was half full with parents and relatives and friends who were all talking to boys in uniform. Kurt spied David chatting happily with his parents, his around the waist of a pretty girl with long hair. He kissed her on the cheek and she swatted his arm.

Thomas was seen leaning against the wall outside the auditorium with a couple who remind Kurt of Ron's parents from the 'Harry Potter' series. The three looked awkward and not willing to talk. Kurt was debating whether he saw Cody or not when suddenly, a girl with thick dark hair, coiled into a braid, stepped in front of he and Blaine. She was obviously pretty, with shimmering eyes. Blaine tensed.

The girl said something to Kurt but the words were mushed together, and she looped an arm through Blaine's. Blaine glanced back at Kurt with a terrified expression and said, "I'll be right—" But he was cut off when she tugged him through the crowd.

Kurt was left staring after them. He debated on going after the girl and Blaine, but they had already vanished. He shook that off and searched the crowd. Finally he caught a patch of something familiar and dove into the tangle of people.

"Dad!" he cried hoarsely over the buzz of talking. A man in a cap turned around and smiled at his son. He welcomed him into a heavy embrace that made Kurt say, "You can let me go now, Dad. I think you're crushing my lungs."

"Sorry, kiddo," Burt Hummel chuckled. He stepped back with his hand on his son's shoulder. "I never get to see you anymore. Can you blame me for wanting to hug my own son?"

Kurt shrugged, his face heating at the sound of his father's nickname for him. "I guess not," he said. Then a pair of arms wrapped around him tightly and he inhaled the scent of flowers and perfume. "Hello, Carole!" he greeted her and patted her shoulder. His stepmother stood back, letting him go with a wide smile.

"Hi, sweetie," she said. Her smile dropped as she watched him. "Kurt, are you okay? You don't look well..." The accusation had Burt worried as well.

"I'm fine," Kurt said quickly, hoping it would assure her. "It's nothing but a little cold. It'll blow over in a few days."

"Why are you here if you're sick?" she asked sternly and Kurt knew her motherly instincts were kicking in at the moment. "You should be in bed, not out here where you can catch something else."

"Carole, I'm fine," he repeated. "I'm taking medicine, if that makes you feel any better."

She lost some of the tension in her shoulder. She nodded. "It does."

Kurt sighed, glancing around, and asked, "Where's Finn? I thought he was coming?"

"The boy decided to stay home," Burt reported disappointedly. "He said he needed sleep for school tomorrow and he didn't want to drive two hours to see you." He was rewarded with a swat to his arm from Carole. "What? It's true."

"You make it sound worse than it actually is," she claimed. She turned to Kurt. "Finn misses you, honey, don't worry. He apparently has other priorities, like sleeping, that need to be attended to."

"He sleeps like a _cat_," Kurt pointed out and reached for another tissue. He sniffed and covered his nose. "You'd think he'd get so much sleep he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of his life."

"I know, I know. But he's a growing boy. You can't really blame him," Carole sighed. Moving on, she patted his shoulder. "So how's school? We didn't get to ask the last time you called." Burt crossed his arms and was eager to listen to what Kurt had to say.

"Well..." Kurt started and shifted his weight on one foot. The trail off set his father on guard. "I mean, everything's great. I was just thinking of where to start first."

"Start with the guys," Burt requested, which made Kurt's cheeks flame.

He was hesitant to speak after that. "Um..."

"Is Blaine still around?" Carole took the words almost out of his mouth, and she starting looking behind Kurt in hopes of finding the other boy.

Kurt sighed, relieved. "Yes, he's here. I think he's talking with someone..." He trailed off as he scanned the crowd as well. As his eyes panned the people, he stopped on a familiar face and he smiled.

Cody came to his side right after seeing Kurt. He tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear and glanced up at Kurt happily. "Hey, Kurt," he said. "Are these your parents?"

"Carole Hummel," Carole said to him. They shook hands, as did he and Burt. "You must be Cody. Kurt's told us a lot about you."

Cody flushed and jabbed Kurt in the ribs. "He didn't tell you that much, did he?"

"Enough to recognize you," Burt said. He turned to Cody's dad, who had followed Cody through the crowd, and Kurt picked up hints of a conversation centered around automobiles.

Cody flushed scarlet. "Well, that's, um—"

Wes cut into his speech, saying, "Lovett wants us backstage in five. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel!" He waved cheerily as he passed them, tugging a girl with spilling blonde curls behind him into the crowd. Kurt could hear him talking to someone else—maybe David—and keep moving.

"It sounds like you need to get going, kiddo," Burt said and the Michaels nodded in agreement.

Kurt looked glum but said, "I think we should. I was nice to see you, Dad, Carole. I'll find you after the performance." Kurt and Cody left their parents and found their way to the edge of the group.

Leaning against the wall when they got there was Will. His blonde hair was oddly brushed in front of his forehead instead of slicked back, like normal. He pushed away from the wall and approached them. "I'm glad I found you," he said in a forced tone. "Have you seen James?"

"Why would we have seen him?" Cody replied without missing a beat.

He locked his eyes on Cody. "I assumed James would be following Hummel like a puppy," he snapped. "Now, have you seen him?"

"Not at all," Kurt supplied, slightly worried. "Isn't he with you?"

He gestured to the air around him, waving his arms blindly. "Do you see him anywhere?"

Kurt shook his head, feeling a little dumb. As Will put his head in his hands and tapped his foot nervously, Blaine came up to them, the girl from earlier with him. There was an exchange of glances between he and Will, and the blonde left, muttering something under his breath.

The first thing Kurt noticed about the girl was her eyes. They were almond shaped and the color of chocolate; Kurt almost drowned in them. Her hair was dark and thick, the same shade as Blaine's. Her skin was a rich tan and, standing side by side with Blaine, was a few inches taller.

"Kurt," Blaine said with extreme ruefulness, "this is my sister, Sadie."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kurt," Sadie said and stuck out a thin hand. She smiled dazzlingly and Kurt could see that was something they shared. Just seeing her smile reminded him of Blaine's smile, the one that made his knees weak. "Good to see you, Cody," she went on and reached forward to ruffle his hair.

Cody caught her wrist and smirked. "Not this time. I worked on my hair this morning, so no way."

Sadie pulled her hand back and grinned. "I'll get you later, bucko."

"I'll be on my guard." He straightened up in an attempt to be taller and puffed out his chest, crossing his arms over it.

"How do you know who I am?" Kurt piped up.

Her eyes, going from Cody to him, lit up as if this was her favorite topic to discuss. "Oh, Blaine's told me so much about you," she gushed. "I mean, he's told me so much, you could write a book with all of it." Blaine shushed her and when he thought she would comply, she added, "And then a sequel."

"Sadie!" Blaine exclaimed and his face turned a shade of pink. Cody covered his mouth to contain his giggling.

"Maybe a threequel!"

Kurt stared at the other boy and said softly, "I didn't know there was so much of me to talk about."

"Well, um..." Blaine rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder. To Sadie he said, "Why don't you go find Mom and get a good seat, okay?"

Sadie laughed and again, it was something she shared with her brother. "Whatever you say, little bro. Trying to get me away from your current crush. I see how it is." She leaned in and exaggerated a wink to Kurt. She winced when Blaine jabbed her in the ribs. "Alright," she mumbled and tugged on her dress, "I'm going, I'm going. Sheesh. You can be so demanding sometimes, you know that?"

"Just—go find Mom," Blaine commanded stiffly. His face was still pink.

But Sadie didn't take the hint just yet, and Cody laughed at that. He caught Blaine's stern glare and said, "I-I'm going to get Thomas..." And he disappeared from sight like he'd vanished into thin air.

"So," Sadie continued, propping her hands on her hips and squinting as she looked over Kurt closely, "when are you two going to hit it off?"

"What?" Kurt whipped his gaze to Blaine.

He seemed just as confused. "Yeah, what? You know what? Never mind, I don't want to hear your outrageous explanation that will follow."

"Suit yourself," Sadie sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll go find Mom and make you happy, okay?" She pulled his hand away from his face with a little force and placed her index finger in the place where a dimple would usually be at the corner of his mouth. She pushed the skin up as if trying to make him smile. She dropped her hand unenthusiastically and the forced smile fell. "Kay, then. Be like that."

"_Sadie_," Blaine said through gritted teeth, "just go already, okay? We need to go warm up."

"And let me guess," she said. "If you don't warm up properly, you'll pass out on stage during your solo, right? Am I right?" She flashed a smile at Kurt, who smiled back after a moment.

"Yes, I am absolutely going to pass out, but I'm not sure it'll be because I missed warm up." Blaine sounded like he was seconds away from ripping her head off. She leaned her elbow on his shoulder, seeing as their height difference allowed her to do that, and grinned.

Sadie jerked a thumb at him and said to Kurt, "I know my brother like the back of my hand."

"I can see that," Kurt sniffed and dabbed at his nose with a tissue. His headache was getting a little better as the minutes ticked by and his running nose was gradually lessening.

"Now, _go_," Blaine commanded and she rolled her eyes, but retreated into the crowd. Blaine covered his face and muttered something that was muffled by his palm. Kurt leaned in with his hand cupped around his ear. "I said, thank goodness she's gone," Blaine repeated.

"Why? She seems sweet." Kurt saw her pull a woman of the same stature over to the side of the crowd, whom he guessed was her and Blaine's mom.

"But she's so psychotic," Blaine said with overdone fatigue. "She gets into my business like a normal sister would, but she's worse. That's why I never told you about her in the first place. I was hoping you wouldn't have to meet her anytime soon." He sighed again for what seemed like the umpteenth time this morning.

Kurt shrugged and saw several Warblers pass them on their way to backstage. "I like her."

"Don't," Blaine insisted. "If she hears you say that, she'll absolutely tack onto you like a leech, sucking out your soul until you wither away into nothing."

Kurt took a step back and stared at him oddly. "Have you been hanging out with Ronnie again?"

Blaine smiled in relief. "Well, now I know you're getting better. You're making more jokes," he said. He noticed the Warblers heading toward backstage and said, "Come on. Lovett will kill us if we're late for warm up." He stretched out a hand.

Kurt was surprised by the gesture. He thought of objecting, saying he was sick and didn't want to spread it, but nodded and took it. He followed him down the stretch of tile with the others.

As they were approaching the door, it suddenly swung open. Several of the guys had to jump back to avoid being hit by it. Ms. Lovett poked her head out and she said, "What are you doing? Get backstage! We're running late!" Her dark hair was pulled together in a messy bun at the top of her head and she seemed demanding, so no one dared to speak.

They scrambled forward and through the door and followed her onstage, where the curtains were drawn tightly. The risers were set up in the same curving arc and the boys took their places, Blaine in the middle of the front row, like always. Wes and David stood on either side of him, with Kurt behind him on the next row back. Behind Kurt were Carson and Will, who were talking in low voices.

The third voice was absent. James was not there.

Kurt looked over his shoulder. "Where's James?" he whispered.

"Don't know," Carson replied. "Haven't seen him since this morning."

The light from the spotlights glowed underneath the curtains and Kurt could hear murmuring of the audience even through the thick fabric. Ms. Lovett directed a group note with the raise of her hands and they quietly ran through snippets of the first song they were singing.

When she was somewhat satisfied, she nodded promptly and turned to part the curtains when she stopped. She gently nudged Blaine and David aside to lean forward. "Are you all right, Kurt?" she whispered to her countertenor. "Blaine told me you were sick. You don't have to perform if you don't feel up to it..." She trailed off and looked at him genuinely.

He thought of shaking his head and taking her offer to get off the stage. _No. No, ma'am. I'm not all right. I'm sick right now. Physically sick with the cold, or something, and lovesick. Is that a good enough excuse?_

"I'm fine, ma'am," he answered quietly and nodded.

Ms. Lovett nodded back unsurely, but stepped off the risers and slipped through the gap in the curtains. Her voice echoed through the auditorium as she welcomed everyone to the Brunch. She introduced the Warblers and then it was show time.

* * *

As soon as the opening number was finished, everyone plopped down in chairs backstage. Wes, David and Diego, however, stayed close by the curtains, preparing for their trio. They murmured last minute things to each other with their heads close. David was moving his hand with a conductor-like grace as they silently moved through measures in the song.

Kurt sat down in a chair by the doors and buried his face in his hands. He had survived the opener, but barely. He had felt so bad that he thought he was going to pass out on stage. What shock that would've been. He sneezed and his head spun.

"Bless you," Blaine said as he sat down beside him. "I see you're not feeling much better."

Kurt nodded and didn't say anything more.

* * *

Adam leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the part of the control panel where there weren't any buttons or switches. He'd watched the Warblers' opener—their Queen rendition was fabulous—but he found himself watching only one person, one with dark hair that seemed to stand out from everyone else. Adam shook his head and rested his arms behind his head. He tried to focus on Wes, David and Diego as they stepped onto the stage.

Adam flicked a switch and the spotlight kicked into a higher setting. David gave the small nod he was waiting for and he pressed a button. Music sounded from the speakers on the stage. The boys jumped into the song with energy and he sat back once more.

He was almost startled out of his chair when there was a knock at the door behind him. He swung around, gripping the arm rests. No one ever knocked on the door. No one ever came up. He waited to see if it was only his imagination playing tricks on him. When his heart rate had evened out, another knock sounded.

Cautiously, Adam got up and moved to the door. He was surprised to see Simon standing there when he opened it. "Simon," he said in astonishment, "what are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be with the others?" As he asked this, the Warbler strolled past him into the room. Adam saw no other option but to close the door behind him.

"I came to talk to you," Simon said finally after he'd taken a seat in one of the other swivel chairs in the room. He curled one leg under him and folded his hands in his lap as if debating what words to say. He used his foot to push against the floor, propelling the chair in a circle.

"Well?" Adam took his chair in front of the control panel. The trio was halfway done with their song and soon Cody would be stepping onto the stage for his solo. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Your sister talked to me," he said as the chair came to a slow stop.

"What?"

Simon took a deep breath and started again when the chair stopped moving. He turned himself around to face Adam. "Marissa talked to me after you left us for the AV room earlier this morning," he elaborated and looked up at him.

Adam was turned to look out over the stage instead of looking at him. Simon could see the tension in his jaw and the stiffness in his fingers as adjusted the lighting settings.

"Your point?" Adam said, staccato-like.

"She told me everything," Simon said and he was surprised to hear his voice come out as a whisper, not the normal way he talked. The next thing he knew Adam was on his feet, the chair pushed to one side. He was pacing across the room with his hands threaded through his hair. "Adam?"

"So you know everything now. Great. Just _great_." His voice sounded broken and when he turned around to pace back toward the control panel, Simon saw his eyes welling behind his thick glasses, starting to get red.

Simon picked at a hang nail on his ring finger as he talked. He couldn't possibly look up at his friend. "I'm glad I know everything, Adam. I'm glad I know you're...gay."

"Why?" Adam shot, his voice suddenly demanding. He wrung his hands together. "So you can make fun of me for it? Tease me for it?"

"Why would I make fun of you for it? You're my best friend. I wouldn't do that to you," Simon said sharply and raised his head. "I know how much crap Blaine and Kurt went through because they were being who they were—hell, you know Blaine went through everything with his dad, and then school on top of that—and I don't want that for you. I couldn't bring myself to do that to you."

"I don't believe that," Adam muttered and continued to pace. The song on stage was still going strong and he briefly forgot who was singing.

"You should. You're my best friend. I don't care if you're gay or not," he insisted. "You're still the same person to me. You're still Adam. You're still the guy you calls me at two am to ask if I want to come over for an NCIS marathon, even though I'm asleep and you're in another wing and going to another wing could get us both in trouble."

The East Precursor stopped and he was facing the door. There was moment of silence in the room and then he sniffled. He removed his glasses and fiercely wiped the lenses at the bottom of his school-issued sweater. He jammed them back on his face and sniffled once more, ducking his head. There was another period of silence in which Simon knew the tears were flowing.

He'd seen Adam cry before, but that was long ago when they'd first met. His uncle had passed away and that was the only time he ever saw him cry. Now was the second time. Simon stood up awkwardly and crossed the room. "Adam, please don't cry. There's no reason to," he said.

Adam nodded vigorously and refused to turn around. "Of course there is. There's a reason for everything."

"If there's a reason for everything, there's a reason to not cry," Simon said and walked over to him. He touched his arm, but the boy cringed and took a step away. The motion made Simon's stomach flip uncomfortably. It caught him off guard but he continued with, "And there's a reason you're gay. You didn't ask for it. It's something you can't control."

This only made Adam burst into tears and he knew he'd said something wrong.

Adam covered his face and wiped at his eyes hurriedly with his sleeve. That was when Simon knew he had said something completely wrong. He took a deep breath, stood in front of him, and pulled him into his arms.

Adam was shocked by the act. But he embraced it fully and buried his face into Simon's shoulder. His arms wrapped around him, hugging him tightly, and Adam found that it was what he needed the most. It could've been hours or days that the pair stood like that. But then Simon was pulling away, looking at him. "You need to switch songs," he said in a whisper. "Cody's not going to be happy with you if you don't."

* * *

"Good luck out there," Kurt wished Cody with the ruffling of his hair.

They stood at the edge of the stage, watching Diego, Wes and David collect their deserved applause. Cody swatted at his hand and bounced on the balls of his feet in anxiousness. He bit his lip so hard he thought he tasted blood.

"Don't remind me," he said quickly, the way he did when he felt nervous enough to pass out. And right now, he was feeling nervous enough to pass out. If Kurt wasn't standing there with him, he was sure he'd fall flat on his face.

"You're going to do fine," Kurt assured him for the tenth time. He turned his head to sneeze and someone called out 'bless you!' "Get on that stage and sing your heart out. No matter what, Madeline will love it."

Cody smiled hopefully and turned back to the stage. The trio was walking toward him. As they passed, they each clapped him on the shoulder with mentions of good luck. Each word they said added to his anxiety level. He just about fainted when Ms. Lovett announced him into the microphone. Kurt gave him a push when he realized his feet were glued to the floor. He fumbled the first step and almost tripped onto the stage in front of everyone.

He regained his balance as he appeared in the spot light. Then, overhead, a button was clicked and the music started. With his heart beating rapidly and threatening to break out of his chest at any given minute, he stepped forward and started to sing.

_Desperate for changing, starving for truth,_

_I'm closer to where I started, I'm chasing after you,_

_I'm falling even more in love with you,_

_Letting go of all I've held onto,_

_I'm standing here until you make me move,_

_I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

Kurt sucked in a breath as he stepped back a ways from the edge of the stage, watching his friend perform. He recognized the song right off and the intensity with which he sung sent chills up his spine. Kurt turned back to the Warblers, who were silent and attentive, and took a seat, listening intently.

Blaine welcomed him with a soft smile and reached over to take his hand. Kurt's stomach flipped.

_Forgetting all I'm lacking, completely incomplete,_

_I'll take your invitation, you take all of me now,_

_I'm falling even more in love with you,_

_Letting go of all I've held onto,_

_I'm standing here until you make me move,_

_I'm hanging by a moment here with you,_

_I'm living for the only thing I know,_

_I'm running and not quite sure where to go,_

_And I don't know what I'm diving into,_

_Just hanging by a moment here with you_

Cody danced across the stage with the mellow beat. His hands had stopped shaking at his sides and instead, they were helping to tell his story. A motion here and a motion there, followed by a step here and a dance move there. The spotlights cut out the audience in front of him, making him only see dark.

_There's nothing else to lose, there's nothing else to find,_

_There's nothing in the world that can change my mind,_

_There is nothing else,_

_I'm desperate for changing, I'm starving for truth,_

_I'm closer to where I started, I'm chasing after you,_

_I'm falling even more in love with you,_

_Letting go of all I've held onto,_

_I'm standing here until you make me move,_

_I'm hanging by a moment here with you_

Kurt tore his eyes away from the performance. Blaine was still gripping his hand and he looked up at him, his eyes shining. He could see Sadie in them. He turned his head, and the first person he saw then was Will, who was sitting in a chair by Carson.

They both looked unamused and were staring at the floor. The third chair was uncomfortably empty and Kurt wondered where James was, what he was doing.

_I'm living for the only thing I know,_

_I'm running and not quite sure where to go,_

_And I don't know what I'm diving into,_

_Just hanging by a moment here with you,_

_Just hanging by a moment,_

_Hanging by a moment, hanging by a moment,_

_Hanging by a moment here with you_

Cody let out the breath he'd been holding since the beginning of the performance and in front of him, the audience burst into applause. The different noise jostled him and he jumped, but a smile grew on his face and the spotlights toned down a bit. It was enough for him to see faces in the sea. He knew she was sitting out there, clapping for him, and he bounced off the stage.

Thomas greeted him by pulling him into his arms and swinging him in a circle. "Cody, you did so well!" he cried. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Okay, okay, you can congratulate me later!" Cody said as he squirmed. "Put me down!"

Thomas did so and proceeded to ruffle his hair like Kurt had done. Cody went beet red as the other Warblers came up to him to offer smiles and pats on the back. Kurt got up and hugged him tightly, muttering his compliments. Cody noticed his voice was rough and sore, but did not ask.

Kurt left Cody to dwell in his popularity amongst everyone to sit down. He was feeling lightheaded and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked to the side as Blaine stood up from his chair, dusting off his uniform.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said and edged toward the door. He disappeared into the hallway before Kurt had the time to ask what he was doing.

Kurt nodded a little too late and faced forward again. Ms. Lovett passed by him with a copy of the program in her hands. She was just slipping through the curtains when Will leapt up and caught her. He said something quickly and she nodded, confused. He left her go out to the microphone and he took his seat again, his face grave. Carson gave him a shrug.

Their expressions were easy to read. _Where is he? What is he doing? Why isn't he here? This isn't good...not good at all._

The microphone squealed when the director adjusted it. "Ah, hello," she said. "It appears we have a change in our program this morning..." She said more, but Kurt's attention was caught by the backstage door swinging open.

Blaine came back, but with a guitar in his hands. He shut the door as quietly as he could and sat down by Kurt. He gently laid the instrument across his lap/

Kurt pointed at it. "Are you going to play?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, oh no," Blaine said with the definite shake of his head.

"Then did you bring it for the sake of bringing it?"

"Yep." He paused, then grinned. His smile glowed in the low lighting and he fingered one of the strings. It produced a warm hum. "Of course I'm playing."

Then he noticed the others trying to get his attention. He jumped to his feet and nearly dropped the guitar, but caught it at the last second. David told him about the program change from his spot across the room and settled back into silence; Wes, who usually would have been attached at his hip, was on the other side of the room.

Blaine smiled shakily back at Kurt, and Kurt gave him a thumbs up. He got up and didn't think about it as he wrapped his arms around the other boy's neck and said quietly against his skin, "You're going to do amazing, even though I have no idea what you're singing."

Blaine chuckled and his breath tickled Kurt's ear, sending shivers up his spine. Blaine patted his shoulder with his free hand. "Thanks," he said and stepped back. He gave Kurt a warm smile and hurried to the stage.

Kurt took his seat back, only to have Cody and Thomas accompany him. Cody was still bouncing and bubby from the aftershock of his performance. Thomas laid a hand on his shoulder to get him to calm down the slightest bit, but that didn't happen.

Out on the stage, Ms. Lovett introduced Blaine and clapped as he moved into the light. He waved at the audience with a cheesy grin, which Kurt caught himself smiling inwardly at. Blaine moved to the middle of the stage where a microphone was positioned on a stand. He adjusted it for the longest time as if stalling. He then left the stage, which started murmuring in the audience.

Blaine came backstage again and picked up one of the stools that sat in the back. On his way back, he winked at Kurt, which sent his face ablaze. Blaine carried it out to the microphone and sat down. He found it too short, with his legs bent insanely that would be similar to a grown man sitting in a little child's chair, but didn't bother in finding a taller one. He pulled down the stand to the right height. He tightened his guitar strap and tested a chord, and then another.

When Kurt was absolutely sure he was going to start playing, he gripped the microphone and started speaking.

"Hi, everyone," he said and the device squealed. The crowd winced audibly and he leaned back with one hand against his ear. When it was safe, he tapped it and continued. "I'm going to make this short so as to not waste your time. Just the other day, I had no idea what I was going to be singing right now. I looked forever, and by forever, I mean the last two days." The crowd chuckled a little and Ronnie suddenly burst out in explosive laughter until Wes hit him in the arm. Kurt leaned forward in his seat.

"I tried to compose my own song for today, but 'roses are red and violets are blue' was as far as I got," Blaine said and ducked his head and smiled. Again, another chuckle, and Blaine cleared his throat, losing the humor. "I found this song by chance, and it sort of matches up with an inside joke I made up with...someone special. I hope he realizes that. I mean, he should, because he said it. Now, enough of me wasting everyone's time. I'm going to sing so we can eat." Laughter, and he clicked the microphone back into place.

The start of the song started with guitar notes. Clean guitar notes. Kurt watched him intensely and only looked away when he sneezed obnoxiously. He could've sworn he heard a snort of laughter from Blaine. The world paused before he started to sing.

_Can you find the time to let your lover love you?_

_He only wants to show you the things he wants to learn too,_

_The hardest parts you'll get through,_

_And in the end you'll have your best friend_

Blaine's voice was smooth and blended well with the guitar harmony. Kurt felt his heart starting to race and vaguely he noticed that Cody and Thomas had quieted, both staring intently at the stage.

_Love like this may come once,_

_Baby it's fate, like a soul mate,_

_He's your penguin,_

_Baby, it's fate,_

_Baby, it's fate, not luck_

Kurt felt a smile grow on his face. It was like gravity was working in the opposite direction, pulling the corners of his mouth up. Blaine's eyes were shut as he focused on the lyrics. The light cast highlights on certain curls that were starting to spring out from the back of his head. Kurt disregarded his pounding headache and his running nose to listen.

_Can you find the time to let your lover hold you?_

_He needs somebody to hold, too,_

_His arrow is aiming for you,_

_And he's the one that you were born to love_

_Love like this may come once,_

_Baby, it's fate, like a soul mate,_

_He's your penguin, baby, it's fate,_

_Baby, it's fate, not luck,_

_Let go, let go of time for you and I,_

_Let go, let go of time for you and I,_

_Let go, let go of time for you and I_

Kurt sat back in his chair, unable to keep the smile off his face. He silently dabbed at his nose with a tissue. Murmurs were starting around the group. Most he heard were about Blaine and his singing; Cody was still jazzed up over his performance, looking at the way he was still bouncing up and down; Will was still worried over his head about his friend, who had still not appeared; Wes and David were putting the most space possible between them, not saying a word.

_Love like this is all I want,_

_Baby, we're fate,_

_Love like this may come once,_

_Baby, we're fate, like a soul mate,_

_You're my penguin,_

_Baby, we're fate,_

_Baby, it's fate, not luck_

Blaine strummed the last note and no one clapped. No one stood up and cheered. It was dead silent. The lyrics were moving enough to keep everyone, including Kurt, in their place. Then the stool scraped against the stage as Blaine stood up and it was jostling.

Some people started to clap and the rest joined in. Blaine bowed shortly and carried the stool back behind the curtains where the rest of the Warblers were getting ready to perform the closer. Wes gave him a pitying look as he passed and David clapped his shoulder, but didn't say anything.

Blaine placed the stool where he found it and set down his guitar on his stand. He turned back to lead the group in their closer when he saw Kurt, talking with James. Kurt slowly pulled himself away from the dark haired boy and stood up. He stole across the hardwood and approached Blaine with a smile.

But before he could say anything, Ms. Lovett called them onstage for the final song of the performance.

* * *

"...I feel so stupid for keeping it a secret," Adam whispered into his hands and shook his head. The tears had stopped and dried during Blaine's performance. He resulted to dry sobbing into his hands from that point on.

"It's okay," Simon said for the twentieth time and reached forward to pat his shoulder. "Everything's all right; you know that." They were sitting across from each other on the floor, because that was where Adam had collapsed after pacing erratically.

Adam looked up at him. "I wish I had told you sooner."

"It's okay," he repeated. He heard the last note of a guitar and perked instantly. He got to his feet and helped Adam up. He held his hand tenderly. "I would stay longer—you know I would—but we're performing the closer. Lovett will kill me if I'm not there."

Adam nodded but kept his head down. Simon put a finger under his chin and pulled his face up to meet his.

"Hey, come on. You don't need to worry. Just one more song and then we get to eat. I hear Cody made a carrot cake, and if he makes something, you know it has to be good. We'll split a piece, if you'd like." He smiled, which made Adam smile a tiny bit with him.

"Okay. I'd like that," he sighed and nodded. He gripped Simon's hand firmly and they moved toward the door. Adam pulled it open and Simon let go of his hand. There was an empty space that Adam longed for. He wanted to reach out and take his hand and never let go. But he didn't and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Thank you, Simon. I guess I needed that. The talking, I mean. It was nice to talk. About...everything."

Simon smiled at him and started edging away, down the hall. "Anytime. You needed it."

"Good luck out there in the closer," he wished and grinned halfheartedly.

"Thanks. You know, you should come sit in the audience and watch us," Simon suggested. "Take a break from the AV room for once. It'll be nice to see you sitting down there than up here."

Adam shook his head and retracted slightly into the room. "No, I-I couldn't."

He wanted to argue, but said, "Okay. I'll come find you when—"

"I love you." Adam slapped his hands over his mouth and desired for the words to get back. He wanted them back in his mouth, not in the free space that floated between he and Simon. He stared at him with wide eyes and felt the tears coming again. They threatened to spill over.

Simon blinked and shut his mouth. His forehead wrinkled when his features twisted into slight confusion. "What?" he asked finally.

"I-I'm really sorry if that's really weird for you to hear right now," Adam started in the next beat and glued his hands together, "but I-I wanted you to hear it."

"Adam..." Simon sighed, like he was disappointed in something, or someone.

He shook his head profusely. "This isn't the best t-timing, I know, but I wanted you to hear it. Just once. That's all."

"I...I don't know..." Simon shot him an apologetic glance and abruptly turned on his heel, walking briskly down the hall.

Adam reached forward to slam the door soundly with one hand, not daring to glance down the hall after him. He was gasping at the fact that he'd told his best friend he loved him. _Right after _they'd talked about how he was gay. He stumbled to his chair and looked out the pane of glass to see the Warblers aligned on the risers, listening to Lovett's instructions. He knew Simon would appear, any time now. A few more seconds, fifteen at the most, and Simon staggered onto the stage and took his place.

Lovett introduced the group one final time and left the stage. He hit a button and the music started playing. He pushed away from the control panel and moved to the door. Instead of pulling it open and running down into the auditorium like he wanted to, he leaned against it, tucking his knees against his chest. The tears were hot as they ran down his cheeks.

_Adam Harvey, what have you just done?_

* * *

Kurt was able to make it through the closer without passing out, vomiting, or falling off the stage, or a combination of all three, thank goodness. He only sneezed twice throughout the performance and both times someone told him, "Bless you," under their breath. Both times it was Blaine.

The performance was over and done with and the Warblers trickled into the hall, talking and forming small groups amongst themselves. Kurt brought his hands together, lacing his fingers, and looked around, watching everyone part in different directions. He felt odd hanging around the door and started to follow the others.

Then, looking tired, Blaine appeared at the door. Naturally, he saw Kurt first, and said, "Hey."

Kurt stopped in his track. "Hi, Blaine," he said and let the other boy catch up with him. "Your solo was...nice," he said in a small voice and swallowed against his sore throat.

"Thanks. I told you I'd find something in time." He leaned his weight on one foot, which made him shorter than he usually was.

"I still can't get over the fact that you found something," Kurt joked. Over Blaine's shoulder, he watched a girl with bouncy blonde curls approach Wes and sling her arms around his neck, smiling widely.

"Well, I had to find something to sing today. It was the only thing that seemed vaguely close to what I wanted to say," Blaine said simply. He shrugged and licked his lips.

"It was nice," Kurt repeated and nodded. He couldn't keep the slight smile off his face.

Blaine nodded and bit his lip. He stepped closer to him to allow a few straggling Warblers pass on their way out the backstage door. Ms. Lovett followed close behind and she took to directing traffic to the dining hall to eat. "It was for you, you know," he said softly, and Kurt could've sworn he felt his breath against his face.

Kurt looked up at him in shock. There was little distance between their faces and instinctively Kurt took a small step back. "What?"

Blaine suddenly turned red, which Kurt had never seen before, and he turned away. He spotted his mom and Sadie in the distance and his mom nodded slightly, seeing him with Kurt. Blaine nodded back and turned back to him, sighing, "Could you not guess?" he asked. "I mean, I thought I made it clear with the few penguin references here and there."

Kurt found it hard to swallow. He let his mouth fall open slightly in shock and he stared at Blaine with soft eyes. "You remembered that?" he asked lamely.

Blaine chuckled and ducked his head. "Of course I remember that," he said. "It was one of the weirdest things I've ever heard you say before." He cleared his throat.

"Such a coincidence," Kurt mumbled with his head turned. He peeked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what else to say, Blaine. It was wonderful." Sure, there were many, many more things he could say other than just 'wonderful,' but he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Say..." Blaine trailed off in search of the right words. "Say...you aren't mad at me. Or that you feel the same way."

Kurt was denied the option of speaking. He could only stare at Blaine in wonder, trying not get lost in his deep brown eyes. "What way is that?" he said with a little bit of difficulty. Over Blaine's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of his parents waiting for him. Kurt nodded slightly to his father.

Blaine started to say something, his jaw hanging open a little, when he noticed Kurt looking at someone. He looked in that direction and spotted Kurt's parents. "Do you want to...?" Blaine jerked a thumb at them.

But he didn't give Kurt the chance to answer because he was already starting in their direction, eager for an excuse to get out of talking. Kurt, along with his heart beat, raced to catch up with him. He walked in step with him and refrained from talking.

"Hello, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said politely when they approached the couple, nodding to him. He greeted Carole and she smiled warmly. Blaine was almost a completely different person. He didn't seem confused or worried in the least. His expression was free of worry.

"Lovely to see you again, Blaine," Carole said and she craned her neck to look around the lobby. Her caramel colored hair swished around her shoulders when she moved. "Are your folks here?" she asked curiously.

Blaine didn't falter at her words. He nodded and said, "My mom should be here. I saw her earlier with my sister."

As the quartet walked down the hall, Carole made small talk with Blaine, discussing his parents and his sister. Kurt walked between his father and Blaine, trying to avoid his father's protective stature.

When they got to the dining hall, most of the tables were crowded with parents and Warblers. The food was set up in the back along a stretch of tables. Some of the Warblers stayed by the dishes to stack plates and arrange silverware and to refill the drink pitchers.

From the back of the room, Kurt was able to see the trays of sugar cookies set out in a line. The frosting looked to be in pristine condition, and nothing was smashed. There were a few gaps in the tray from where people had already picked them up.

Sadie flagged her brother down with the declaration of his name across the room and he turned to Kurt apologetically, his face also a bit pink. "I'll meet up with you later," he promised. He smiled his charming smile and reached out to squeeze Kurt's hand briefly before heading off to a table in the back. Kurt felt his heart swell, wishing he could grab Blaine's hand and pull him back, but didn't.

He followed his family to the back table to the food. Carole found a table and they sat down with their silverware and plates and drinks. Kurt found David and his family on one side, and Wes with his on the other. Both Warblers smiled cheerfully at him and greeted his parents.

"Kurt, this is Caroline," Wes said, gesturing to the girl with springy blonde curls. She had cute facial features and smiled; dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth and she reached across the table to shake Kurt's hand. Her skin was soft and her hand fit delicately in his.

"Nice to meet you," he said as he picked at part of the casserole on his plate. "I've heard a lot about you." He didn't know what else to say.

Caroline raised one perfect eyebrow in questioning and glared at Wes, who was straightening his tie, out of the corner of her eye. "Really," she said. "What did he say? I'm curious."

Wes shot him a look that told him not to say a peep, but Kurt explained, "He said you were basically perfect, and that he's lucky to have you." He smiled when Caroline flushed pink and hit Wes in the arm playfully. Wes looked back at Kurt with a grateful expression. They started their own conversation, which involved her giggling, and Kurt turned back to his food, starting to pick at it.

Then he was introduced to David's girlfriend, the tall one with long hair. Her name was Maia and she apparently was the captain of the cheerleading squad at her high school. She certainly had the build for basket tosses.

The brunch flowed smoothly from that point. There were no fights and no one shouted. It was just another lunch hour, but with parents and girls and well-behaved boys. Kurt found he didn't have his appetite, and finished picking at some of his egg casserole and stood up with his plate. He moved to the table to grab another croissant when he saw a girl with shiny auburn hair standing by herself with her arms wrapped around her torso. She looked around and was in a daze.

"Do you need...?" Kurt faded and he started to chew on the end of his bread.

She whipped her head to face him, slightly startled. "Oh, I'm fine." She paused. "I'm waiting for someone." Another pause. "For Cody. Do you know him?"

Kurt smiled at her. "We're friends," he said and set his plate down. "Are you Madeline?"

Visibly she relaxed. She nodded, and the light coming in from the windows reflected against her hair. "Yes, I am. Let me guess: Cody's told you all about me, right?"

"Not much."

"That's a relief. I hate it when he talks about me. I always feel like my ears are burning," she sighed and moved out of the way to allow Ronnie to spoon strawberries onto his plate, which was bumping against his camera.

"Hey! Maddie! You're here!" he cried and hastily set down the oversized fruit spoon. He grabbed his camera and instinctively snapped a shot. She flinched when the flash popped and her eyes widened.

"Hi, Ronnie," Madeline said and her tone was flat. "How are you?"

_Snap. _"Good, good. You're hair's gotten longer, right?"

"No."

"Oh." _Snap. _"Never mind then." He waved to Kurt and snatched his plate off the table, hurrying away.

Madeline stared after him. "He still has the camera," she murmured and shook her head. "And he's also still the definition of paparazzi." She turned and faced Kurt, looking over closely. "You weren't here last year, were you?"

"I transferred recently," Kurt explained. Over her shoulder, he saw the doors to the kitchen swing open. Cody appeared with a glass plate in his hands, the cake on top, carrying it with extreme intensity. "Don't look now," Kurt leaned in a said, "but he's got a cake."

Again her eyes widened and she looked where Kurt was looking. Her face brightened when she saw Cody and she started to take a step forward when his foot snagged the floor and everything went downhill.

The plate didn't shatter when it hit the floor because the carpet softened the impact. Cody shrieked as he fell forward and he stretched his hands out in front of him, abandoning his grip on the plate. He shut his eyes and the next thing he, and everyone else, knew he was face first in the cake. All talking around him stopped.

Kurt gasped faintly. He and Madeline rushed to Cody's side without hesitation.

Madeline got to her knees and helped him sit up. "Cody..." she said. She was trying to sound sympathetic, but there was a giggle in her voice. She reached forward and wiped some of the frosting off his face and away from his eyes so he could blink rapidly and in bewilderment.

"What happened?" he blurted. His voice was up an octave. Seeing half of the cake smashed into the floor and the other half smeared all over his uniform made him gasp, "No! The cake!" He seemed not the be concerned with the massive amount of cake that was covering his face.

Kurt was heartbroken as he picked the plate up into his hands. He set it onto the table and went into the kitchen to fetch a rag. He handed the rag to a grateful Madeline.

"All that work..." Cody whimpered as she started in on wiping his face to get rid of the frosting quickly. "Ruined! Gone!" Kurt sat in front of him, gingerly picking cake off the floor.

"Cody," Madeline said sternly, but softly, "it's fine. It's just a cake."

"But...but..." he stammered and still stared at the mess on the floor. "I made it for you."

"But you're allergic to carrot cake," she pointed out.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. I just thought you would like it if I made carrot cake, since I know that's your favorite and everything."

Madeline turned a delicate shade of pink. Biting her lip she glanced at Kurt. She looked back at Cody and put a hand on the side of his face, despite the frosting that was still there. "You're so sweet," she said and the smile was unable to leave her face. Gently she pecked his lips.

She leaned back and licked her own lips, tasting what could have been in a piece of cake. "Yummy," she commented happily and started to wipe the frosting from his cheeks again. "Too bad you're allergic to it," she added.

Over her shoulder, Cody met Kurt's eyes. There was an unmistakable film over his pretty brown eyes and Kurt thought he might explode. Kurt stood back with a growing smile on his face and he heard Thomas chuckling behind him to someone, "Told you he'd get some today." Kurt shot him a humored look.

Madeline helped Cody stand and together they went into the kitchen to attempt to clean him up. Kurt removed as much cake and frosting from the floor as he could without cleaning supplies and rinsed his hands under the sink. He looked out over the hall, seeing people have the best possible time, though some seemed less than thrilled.

Simon was sitting at a table with Adam across from him. He held the other boy's hand over the table and for a moment, Kurt wondered what was going on. He saw a girl with a scene look to her pull out a chair next to Adam, setting a plate of food in front of him. It was piled with everything covered in chocolate, and he brushed it away, shaking his head. He looked like he was going to get sick any minute.

Apparently Thomas was interested in the sight as well, because Kurt caught him looking at the three people. Thomas saw Kurt looking at him and turned his eyes back to his own table, suddenly finding his food unappealing, which was saying something. He always ate in any kind of situation and to see him not chowing down was unusual. Kurt turned his sights somewhere else.

He found Blaine chatting with his parents and Sadie, using his hands to animate his words. Sadie kept elbowing him and making some kind of embarrassing comment that made Blaine's face turn pink, like the streamers hanging above his head.

Kurt moved back to the food table and reclaimed his plate. He picked up the bread and chewed on it thoughtfully. Blaine lifted his head for a moment and saw Kurt watching him. He offered a kind smile and Kurt looked away, feeling his face grow warm.

At the next table, he saw William with a tired looking woman with the same colored hair, whom he assumed was his mom. He acted completely different than Kurt had seen during rehearsal. He was talking slowly and in a soft tone, from what he could tell, and always nodded when the woman spoke. He reached forward to hand her a glass filled with orange juice and Kurt saw the blue cast suffocating her entire right arm up to the shoulder. She smiled appreciatively at him and took it with her free hand.

William smiled back. The motion was so different to see on his face. Kurt had only seen frustration and annoyance, never happiness. Then Carson pulled out the chair on the other side of the woman and greeted her politely. He took the napkin in his hand and folded it in front of her and she nodded in appreciation. The woman patted him on the shoulder.

Then he realized who was missing from the picture: James.

The only time Kurt had seen him was earlier that morning, in the kitchen when everyone was getting things set up. Kurt pressed his lips together. He suddenly didn't feel so hungry anymore. He took a deep, calming breath, and then another one, trying to clear his head. He was still sick as can be and, on cue, he sneezed. He wiped his nose with a tissue and grabbed his plate again. The feeling in his stomach was strong and made him feel like he was going to hurl. He tossed the plate in the trash bin and returned to his table.

Burt and Carole exchanged glances before Burt asked, "You okay, Kurt?"

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. Over his shoulder, he looked at Blaine and smiled. He looked back to his dad after a moment. "Things could be going better," he said quietly.

Burt set down his fork. "What's going on?" he demanded, yet stayed calm.

"Drama." Kurt shook his head. "I think I'm in love," he said as the silence stretched out.

Their expressions were just as he'd expected them to be: Carole's eyes were wide and she wore a mask of interest. His father, on the other hand, showed a flat face. His lips were pressed into a thin line and he gazed at his son. Kurt couldn't take the silence and instead stood up. He pushed his chair into the table and made an instant beeline for the door.

As he passed Blaine's table, he was pulled back. Blaine had his hand wrapped around his wrist and he pulled him down into a chair. "Hey," he said, smiling lightly.

Kurt fidgeted at the feeling of his hand around his wrist. Blaine noticed and loosened his grip. Across the table was Blaine's mom, whom he'd seen at Sectionals, but never had the chance to properly meet. He quickly introduced himself with a smile. Sadie leaned around Blaine to smile at Kurt with dazzlingly white teeth, and then went back to her bit of food.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, his tone filled with concern. His brown eyes were shining.

"Fine," Kurt answered plainly. He stood up with an extremely drawn out apology. "I just need to be somewhere right now. That's all." He saw Blaine's worried look and that made him smile. "Everything's fine. It's not a big deal." He pulled Blaine to his feet and into a quick, but tight embrace. In his ear he said, "We'll talk later."

Blaine pulled back reluctantly with a nod. Kurt started toward the door, passing tables as he went. The table that stood by the doorway was empty, except for two people.

Cody had his knees tucked to his chest and his face was no longer smeared with butter cream frosting, though it was a little pink. His uniform looked better than it had been. He wore a smile on his face as he talked happily with Madeline, who tilted her head.

She reached for a plate that sat between them, one that held strawberries topped with whipped cream. She scooped a little on her index finger and reached out to Cody. He stuck his tongue out to lick it off, but she wiped it on the tip of his nose. He laughed his high pitched laugh and tried to lick it off, but to no avail. She laughed contagiously and Kurt found himself snickering under his breath as he passed, reaching the doorway.

The halls were quiet enough to hear a pin drop. No one lingered, leaning against the walls or sitting in the chairs that were placed every forty feet or so. Kurt sighed as he left the comfort of noise behind him and pursued the hall. As he walked, he felt like he was getting closer to death with every step.

There was a jerk in his walk and he stopped. He pulled himself to walk again, and then, not a moment later, he stopped. _What am I doing_? he asked himself repeatedly as got himself to start walking again, passing the classrooms. They were all locked and dark and empty. No sign of James anywhere. _I'm...I haven't a clue as to what I'm doing anymore._

Kurt stepped into the wide hallway with the spiral staircase on his right. The only sound was his breathing, and then he heard a soft melody of keys coming from behind the closed doors of the choir room. They muffled the sound and made it harder for Kurt to hear what else accompanied it. Holding his breath, he walked across the hall and pressed a hand to the door. He pushed it open a crack and was able to hear everything now.

James had his back to him, sitting in front of the studio piano. The sound had stopped and his hands were splayed across the keys. The pedal was held, but the sound had faded away into the folds of silence. He sat there, soaking up the quietness and he took a deep breath, exhaling after a moment.

Kurt pushed the door open farther and the hinges squealed in protest. James whipped around on the bench and his eyes were wide in fright. When he saw that it was only Kurt, he sighed and turned back to face the ivory. "It's only you," he said.

"I wanted to talk to you," Kurt murmured and stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him and waited for the lock to click. He drifted to the piano and brushed his hands across the top of it, not sitting down.

James didn't say anything, but gestured with his hand for Kurt to continue. He scooted over to make room on the bench.

Kurt cautiously sat down, their shoulders brushing. "Why didn't you show up for your solo?" he asked timidly.

The other boy let out a bark of laughter. He didn't look at Kurt and stared blankly at the black and white keys under his hands. "Would you kill me if I said I was scared?"

Kurt looked at him with shock. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again," he said, and it didn't sound angry or forced whatsoever. James struck the piano, hard, and it produced a noise like shattering glass. Kurt jumped and the breath caught in his throat. It sent chills up his spine.

"Are you going to kill the piano, or talk to me?" Kurt exclaimed and grabbed his wrist, which made James wince. The bloodcurdling notes went away abruptly.

"Why? I'm not easy to talk to, nor the best person to talk to," he grumbled and withdrew his hand.

"I didn't say that."

"But it was implied."

"Just talk to me."

"Why?"

Kurt ground his teeth. "Because I care about you," he said.

James stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Liar."

"You're so stubborn," Kurt said and slid off the bench, his arms knit over his chest.

"You're so confusing," he countered.

Kurt shook his head and was silent. He faced the window, where light was streaming in through the blinds. The light left golden stripes on the floor and Kurt peered through the glass.

James started fingering the keys and they created a soft melody. "If you were wondering," he said, "I was scared of performing."

Kurt focused on the grass swaying outside.

"I was afraid of messing up," he went on, and his voice faltered. "I can't remember it, at all. The music."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kurt replied stiffly.

"You don't sound concerned."

"Oh, trust me, I'm very concerned." His voice came out sharper than he intended.

James grinned. "I know, seeing as you said that a minute ago."

Kurt turned toward him. Words piled up on the tip of his tongue, all ready to be spit out, but he refrained. He sighed once and started toward the door.

"Kurt," James said, almost pleadingly. He swung around on the bench and propped his elbows on his knees, something very un-James. "Come on."

"Come on what?" Kurt stopped with his hand on the door. He lost the tension in his shoulders when he saw the other boy staring at him with soft eyes.

He waved his fingers at him. "I want to play you something." He laughed. "Don't just stand there like you've seen a ghost, come here."

Kurt ruefully detached himself from the door and sat down at the piano. He held himself stiffly as James lifted his hands to the keys. "And what will you be playing?" he questioned.

James shrugged like it was not a big deal. "What I was going to play today," he answered. "I doubt I'll remember it, but it couldn't hurt to have my good luck charm." He nudged Kurt's shoulder and tested the pedal. He flexed his fingers over the keys. It was the same procedure he went through when he had auditioned for the Warblers. He tested the pedal again and struck the middle C loudly.

The piano melody that started the piece shortly after was delicate and sounded well-practiced. With every note made, he leaned into it. His eyes fell shut now as he focused on finished the opening chords. He opened his mouth and began to sing so soft, Kurt had to lean forward to hear him.

_When the rain is blowing in your face,_

_And the whole world is on your case,_

_I could offer you a warm embrace,_

_To make you feel my love_

James fumbled a chord, but he pressed on, trying to not to think about it too much. Kurt licked his lips and looked down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. The piano was delicate and perfect and flowed easily. James' voice sounded pure and practiced, like he knew what he was doing.

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear,_

_And there is no one there to dry your tears,_

_I could you hold you for a million years,_

_To make you feel my love_

On the other side of the school, Carson nudged Will in the shoulder. "Where's James?" he asked, scanning the room.

He shrugged and didn't bother looking up. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning." He picked at a chunk of fruit on his plate with his fork and pushed it around the circumference.

"Do you think he's all right?" With another glance, he found another person missing.

Will nodded. "He's fine. He can take care of himself."

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet,_

_But I would never do you wrong,_

_I've known it from the moment that we met,_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong,_

_I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue,_

_I'd go crawling down the avenue,_

_No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do,_

_To make you feel my love_

In the same room, Cody laughed and scooped whipped cream onto his fingers. Madeline tried to protect herself, but he managed to get smear it across one cheek. She laughed and reached for a napkin, wiping it off. He settled down with his face hurting too much from smiling. He rested his chin on his knees.

They were all out of whipped cream and that only left a few sliced strawberries on the plate, which were ignored.

"Thank you for inviting me, Cody," Madeline said with a pink smile. She picked up one of the strawberries and popped it in her mouth, sucking on it and swallowing.

"It was no problem," he said. "I'm glad you were able to come." He took her hand gently between both of his.

She nodded happily. "I like seeing you perform. You're a really good singer." She laughed as his face turned a bright shade of red and turned away. "You should sing by yourself more often," she suggested.

"I don't know..."

"Really, you should," she insisted and placed her other hand on top of his. "It was nice. I enjoyed it."

Cody peeked up at her. "...it was for you, you know. I sung that song for you."

Madeline watched him in surprise. "Thank you," was all she could say before leaning forward to kiss him again.

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea,_

_And on the highway of regret,_

_Though winds of change are blowing wild and free,_

_You ain't seen nothing like me yet_

Adam sighed to himself. His sister was gone again, getting another drink of orange juice. That left only he and the boy sitting across the table from him.

"Did you mean it?" Simon asked suddenly, making him look up. He noticed Adam's confused expression. "What you said in the AV room. Did you mean it?"

Adam knew exactly what he was talking about, but didn't want to accept it. There was no way he wanted to admit it to anyone, but it was already out there. Adam nodded weakly and ducked his head.

Simon was quiet enough for the span of five minutes, listening to the ongoing conversations around them. To hear him not talking made Adam peek at him from under his long lashes, only to see him staring intently at him. What was in his eyes, he couldn't tell.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Simon murmured.

Adam shook his head. "It's not Valentine's Day yet."

The boy took off his glasses to wipe them against his shirt as his sister arrived with a full glass of juice and set it down in front of him.

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true,_

_Nothing that I wouldn't do,_

_Go to the ends of the earth for you,_

_To make you feel my love,_

_To make you feel my love_

James finished the song with his foot on the pedal. The sound wavered in the air and seemed to bounce off the walls. He removed his foot, but kept his hands on the keys. His face was twisted in concentration and he struck the piano again.

Kurt jolted. "What was that for?"

"I missed a chord," James muttered bitterly. He positioned his fingers again on the keys and jumped into a spot in the song, trying to fix it.

Kurt laid a hand over one of his. "It's fine, James," he said calmly. "It was nice."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. You're saying that so I won't try to kill myself later." He chuckled when Kurt's eyes grew wide. "I'm kidding."

Kurt withdrew his hand. "I don't believe that."

James looked concurrent. "True. I don't see why you would," he murmured. Louder he said, "And it looks like my good luck charm worked! You should be in the room every time I play."

"But I was backstage when you were supposed to be playing," Kurt pointed out.

James' face fell and he bit his lip. "Right. So, are you going to lie some more and tell me you liked the song, or what?"

"I was not lying!" Kurt said hotly. He stood up from the bench and glared down at him. "Why do you assume I'm lying?"

"Because," James replied and stared up at him, "you say you care about me, and we both know that's a lie, considering you're in love with Blaine."

Kurt's face went up in flames. "I—I'm not—I wouldn't—"

"Oh, yes, you would." James nodded. "You're in love with him, so why waste time with me? I'm no good, anyway." He prodded one of the keys.

"James, you're being too hard on yourself."

"Actually, I'm not," he said and stood up. He held out his hands like a balance, one on either side of him. "There are two different scenarios: the way you act around Blaine, and the way you act around me. You're all head over heels for him"—he raised one hand much higher than the other—"and you act like I'm a lion that's seconds away from ripping you to pieces. You don't like who I am, and you won't ever like me."

Kurt blinked and turned away from him. This time when he stalked toward the door, the other boy didn't stop him. He pushed the door open and was halfway out when he hung back. "It's not that I don't like who you are," he said softly. "I just don't like how you've changed."

And then Kurt walked out of the choir room, closing the door behind him. Faintly he could hear a shout and a heavy thud, but he didn't turn back to make sure James was okay.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The brunch is over, but there is one more thing the boys have to encounter before their hefty trip to Regionals: Valentine's Day._


	17. Black Eyes & Chocolate Kisses

_Hello, readers._

_I sincerely apologize for the wait time between the last posting and this one. Over my vacation, my laptop crashed and I had nothing to work with for about two weeks. I just got my new one in today, which is the one I'm on right now._

_Though I love this one to death, I wish I could've saved the previous draft of this chapter to my phone. The previous draft was better written, and plus, I liked it better. And then I have to rewrite chapter 17 of this story, seeing as there was a draft of it saved on my old computer, as well. It sucks._

_I hope none of you are too disappointed about it. But some of you might when you hear that I'm postponing my new story until next year unless I change my mind. It is supposed to go according to the actual months, starting in August, but with my busy schedule in August, that will not happen. I don't have it planned out enough, and it just won't work until next year._

_But we'll see. I'll still have one-shots and such, but not another multi-chapter for awhile._

_But unless I change my mind, here is chapter 16._

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or anything Glee-related.

* * *

**Black Eyes and Chocolate Kisses**

* * *

**Love is a big joke. But if you never fall for it, you'll never get it. –Unknown**

* * *

There was no possible force that could remove the previous day's events from Kurt's mind. The brunch was unforgettable in every way: The performance, the meal afterward, everything. He couldn't get the image of Blaine sitting before the audience of parents and friends and singing to disappear. It was just as hard to forget James playing for him.

The thought made him sigh heavily. He had his head buried in a pillow, trying to gather the last five minutes of sleep before his alarm clock went off. His eyes were shut but he knew he would never go back to sleep. It surely hadn't come to him the night before, that was certain-he'd spent that time catching up on the current novel for his Literature class. Reading had taken his mind off the brunch for a few pages, but he could hardly get through an entire chapter without his thoughts slipping. Eventually he had thrown the book at the wall and laid under the covers for the next eight hours with only the sight of the ceiling to keep him company.

Now his alarm clock went off and his time had run out. He all but knocked it off his bedside table getting out of bed. Ten minutes later and he was dressed, standing in his bathroom and fixing last minute details on his hair. As he brushed a lock to the side, he was unable to keep from humming the tune that James had played for him. It played monotonously as he started to brush his teeth.

Thankfully, there was a little more sound out in the hall to keep him from humming. Boys lingered outside their rooms, talking. Kurt waved to a few and caught sight of the darkness showing at the bottom of Blaine's door. He didn't think much on this, and headed down the hall to Cody's room. He was about to rap on the door when it flew open.

Thomas looked down at him with pursed lips. "Am I in trouble or something?" he asked, looking critically at Kurt's raised fist.

Kurt dropped his hand. "Oh, no," he said hurriedly. "But it looks like you already did," he added and tilted his head.

Flourishing around Thomas' right eye was a purple bruise. It was hard to miss. The skin looked sensitive, like even just moving would cause him to wince. The sight of it baffled Kurt.

"Oh, well..." Thomas rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the door frame.

"Did Cody hit you with his bat?" Kurt asked through slight laughter.

"Sadly, no." Cody appeared at Thomas' side with his bag over his shoulder, his expression somewhat smug.

"The bruise would be much bigger if he had," Thomas mumbled and pushed past Kurt. He disappeared down the corridor with his bag bumping against his side.

"What happened to him?" Kurt asked Cody as he watched the redhead leave.

Cody chuckled and reported, "He got punched." He stepped out into the hall and locked his door.

Kurt blinked in surprise. That was most definitely not what he was expecting. "Who punched him?"

Cody faced him. "Hey won't say," he said with a long sigh, "but he said he got in a fight yesterday at the brunch. I know, weird, right?"

The idea of Thomas getting into a fight was impossible. The thought of him starting one was laughable. He avoided violence at all costs, unless he was dealing with Dex and Leo. In that case, the most he did to them was lift them off their feet by the backs of their blazers or lock them in a room until the Dean showed up. The only fighting Kurt had seen him do was in the video game tournaments he usually did with Wes and David.

"I wonder who got him," Kurt mumbled in wonder as they started walking.

"I'll get it out of him at lunch," Cody replied with a devious smile. "Don't you worry."

* * *

"Adam," Simon said as he struggled to keep up with his friend's pace, "will you listen to me?" He swept dark hair out of his eyes hastily and dodged a student.

This was answered with silence and a page turn. Adam held the paperback he was currently reading up in front of his face, his bag bumping against his side as he walked down the hall to the lunch room. He tried desperately to ignore Simon following him by focusing on the printed words. It wasn't working too well. Simon had been bugging him about yesterday since early this morning when the bumped into each other in the library. It was becoming increasingly harder to shake him since.

"Adam," Simon said again. He raised a hand to grab the other boy's shoulder, but stopped at the last second. He rubbed his face in irritation, then pulled the book from Adam's hands.

"Hey," Adam protested as he recovered from the shock, "I was reading that, if you don't mind."

"Oh, I do mind," Simon said lowly and snapped the cover shut on _The Grapes of Wrath. _"We need to talk. And don't give me any excuses."

Adam stared at him flatly and moved to the edge of the hall, placing his bag on one of the long wooden tables. "We have lunch. We'll talk there, okay?"

"I mean without everyone within hearing distance."

"We're within hearing distance right now!" He gestured wildly to the hall around him, where boys were passing them in clumps, some on their way to lunch, others to class.

"So?" Simon stuttered. "We can talk right here. It's better than not talking about it at all."

Adam swallowed, hard. "Give me my book back."

"Not until we talk," he insisted and tucked the book under his arm securely. "I'm sick of you avoiding me, and it's only been a day. I can't have you hiding in your room the moment you have spare time."

"How do you know about that?" Adam asked him. He felt violated, as he had spent the rest of the day after the brunch in his room, working on his laptop.

Simon spared a quick smile, but it disappeared. "Dex and Leo are very good at meddling," he said. "And they're also very good at slipping through the air vents."

Of course. After all, the boys had practically destroyed the ceiling in the choir room by crawling through the vents. Adam made a mental note to kill them later. "Can we just forget it?""

"No, Adam. Please, just talk to me. You're my best friend and you're obviously under this kind of stress that isn't good for you."

Adam took his wide glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, we'll talk. I—"

"Hey, you guys coming to lunch?" Wes asked as he passed them. David was following close behind him, though it did not look like they were talking much. In fact, he looked agitated with having to wait for Wes.

The East Precursor was flooded with relief and he replaced his glasses. "Absolutely," he said with a nod and grabbed his bag. He slipped his book out of the crook of Simon's arm and followed Wes and David.

Simon could only stand there, reveling in the terrible timing.

* * *

"Want a kiss?"

James jumped in his seat, dropping his book, and looked up. When he saw who it was, he sighed in annoyance and leaned over to pluck his book off the lunch room floor, wearing a hard face.

"I'm kidding," William said and dropped a handful of wrapped chocolates onto the table. He sat down with his tray. "You're jittery today," he observed.

"I'm not jittery," James snapped at him and he dropped his book again.

Carson came from the lunch line then and sat down. "You dropped your book," he mentioned to James.

James glared at him hotly and his face flushed pink as he bent down to retrieve it. This made Carson chuckle and Will smiled.

"The chocolates aren't going to eat themselves, you know," he said and took one for himself. He picked another up and tossed it at Carson for good measure.

James held the book in front of his face to deflect the candy that was thrown at him next. "I'm not hungry."

"Starving yourself won't make anything better," Carson said in a sing-songy voice.

His fingers flexed over the edges and he brought the book down on the table with a snap, his blue eyes bright. "I am not starving myself," he spat. "That's tacky, if you ask me."

Carson leaned back with his hands held up in defense. "Whatever."

James sat back and pushed the book away from him, glancing briefly around the lunch room. He caught sight of Kurt a few tables away, sitting with his back to him. Blaine was with him, talking with animate motions of his hands. James dropped his shoulders and he turned back around.

Will saw this and pushed one of the foil-wrapped candies toward him. "If you eat something, you'll feel better," he advised quietly.

"Fine, I'll eat." He took one of them from the table and peeled off the wrapper, popping it into his mouth. He chewed loudly and crumpled the foil in his hand. "Will that make you happy?" he grumbled, and took another one.

"Wait, Carson said suddenly, "I thought you didn't like dark chocolate?"

As soon as he said that, James snatched a napkin off Will's tray and spit out the candy, wiping his mouth in disgust. His face twisted into a grimace and he glared angrily at the blondes.

"Glad to see you still do," Will chimed happily and dug into his lunch.

* * *

"...and I told Wes to make up with him," Blaine said, "but he's so stubborn. He won't say a thing until David says something first. I wish someone would say something so there isn't this tension between them." He set his water bottle down sadly.

Kurt nodded and picked at his lunch, which wasn't looking very appetizing. He had not really been listening to Blaine talk, but focused more on_him. _Seeing him perform yesterday had completely changed what light Kurt saw him under. It was as if he was a different person altogether. His words rang in Kurt's ears like a bell pealing and it was not easy to ignore something like that. Everything played back like a movie and Kurt had felt himself zone out. He still was zoning out, which was why Blaine waved a hand in front of Kurt.

"Um, yeah, that's awesome," Kurt said, startled, and dropped his fork. He wondered what the first part of his sentence had been.

Blaine dropped his hand with a funny expression on his face. He smiled a little bit and looked down at his tray, shaking his head lightly. He looked back up at Kurt. "You weren't really listening to me, were you?"

"Of course I was," Kurt said quickly. "Why wouldn't I have been?"

"Well, you were staring at me like you were looking right through me," Blaine said and stirred his soup carefully. "Either there is someone really attractive sitting somewhere behind me, or you were insanely out of it."

Kurt felt his face flush. "Oh, um...No, I was listening..."

"Sure. I'll believe that."

"I was! You can't prove I wasn't!"

Blaine smiled wider and leaned his elbows on the table. "Let's examine the evidence, shall we?" he started and Kurt put his head in his hands. "When I asked you what you were having for lunch a few minutes ago, you nodded and said, 'That's interesting.' Next, I asked you what I should do about Wes and David, and you said that was awesome. And lastly, I wanted your opinion on the tie I'm wearing, and you licked your lips. I couldn't really tell if that was a good sign or not."

If Kurt's face could turn any redder, it did after Blaine finished his sentence. "Your tie is lovely," he blurted hastily.

This made Blaine stifle laughter. "We're all wearing the same tie, Kurt," he said, pleasantly amused.

"I knew that." Kurt grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink to avoid talking. He felt ashamed for having not listened to what Blaine had gone on about since the beginning of lunch, and he felt foolish for making an idiot of himself. Then he registered Blaine snickering and raised an eyebrow. Blaine pointed to his chin as he tried to quiet his laughter. Kurt nearly dropped the bottle when he found water dribbling down his chin. He scrambled for a napkin and recovered.

"Hello, Niagara Falls," Blaine said and resumed picking at his lunch.

"Gee, thanks," Kurt told him and placed the damp napkin on his tray. He took a dry one and started dabbing at his front, his hands shaking from embarrassment. He finished dabbing and scooted closer to the table. His lunch looked less appetizing than it had before and he pushed it away from him.

Blaine watched him do this with a solemn expression. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

"You don't look fine." Blaine stopped eating. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Kurt took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Oh, come on. I'm really good at playing therapist. Try me."

Pressing his fingertips together, he peeked up at Blaine. This time he tried to concentrate on what he was saying, not the curl that was sticking out on the side of his head. He felt the undeniable urge to reach out and smooth it back, but kept his hands together.

"This has sort of made me wonder for awhile," Kurt started off. His eyes constantly flitted back and forth between Blaine and the table. "I don't know if it's weird for you, but it struck me as weird. It's about Regionals, to make it clearer. I was wondering why...why we had to sing together?" Instantly he felt as though the tension that filled his chest left, like a balloon deflating.

"Do you not want to sing together?" Blaine asked him. His gleeful air had died.

"No, no, I do. That has nothing to do with it. It just made me wonder, that's all." Kurt laced his fingers. "I mean, there are so many great voices in the group. William, for example," he said, and instantly he wished he'd used another name.

But Blaine smiled a little and shook it off easily. "Ms. Lovett tried to put us together last year as a duet for the Spring Show, which was when we were having problems, and that didn't go as well as she planned," he said. "She should know that we don't go well together in any way but vocally. If we choose to cooperate, that is."

Kurt nodded in understanding.

"But to answer what you asked," Blaine picked up again. "You're right, there are a lot of great voices. Will is a good example, when he wants to. Wes and David are great, and so is everyone else. We all sound good, or else how would we have gotten past Lovett's audition?" A smile flickered across his face as if he was remembering his own audition. "But there is something about you that I guess she must have liked."

"About me? What things are there to like?"

He backtracked. "Well, it wasn't what _she _liked, necessarily, it was more what—"

Then Wes kicked the back of his chair as he passed to get their attention and it bumped his words. Blaine looked up at him and Wes sat down across from Kurt. He wore a broad smile, which was rare for him, considering he hadn't looked so happy since he stopped talking to David. He leaned forward.

"Guys, check this out," he hissed and gestured over Blaine's shoulder.

Thomas was coming their way with Cody close behind him. The black eye was still there, and Kurt thought it almost looked worse than it had this morning. Wes almost burst out laughing, but contained himself as the pair sat down. Then he pounced.

"You wanna tell me how you got that black eye?" he asked eagerly.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "How about I just leave it up to your imagination?" he replied with mock cheerfulness.

Wes huffed and sat back. "But seriously, what happened?" he persisted. "Who punched you? And when? I mean, it had to have been soon, because I didn't see that on you yesterday."

"That's because you didn't see much of me yesterday. I was in the nurse's office getting ice and lying down until two in the afternoon." He paused when Kurt gave him a baffled look. "You know how Ms. Walkman is. If you come in with a paper cut, she'll give you a Band Aid, some ice, and make you lie down until you fall asleep. I can't imagine what it would be like if you went in there actually sick."

Blaine made a choked, laughing noise that made Kurt wonder if he had been in that situation before.

"So?" Wes asked again. "Who did it?"

"Whoa, Thomas," said another voice over his shoulder, "what in the world happened to you?"

Wes sighed in aggravation as Simon and Adam came up behind them, taking seats and setting down their trays. Adam removed his glasses to clean the lenses and peered at the redhead. He glanced at Simon, then back at Thomas.

"Alright," Thomas burst out, "I know it looks pretty bad."

"There better be a pretty badass story to go along with that," Simon commented and stirred his bowl of rice. He looked down as he spoke, only lifting his eyes to peek once at Kurt.

Thomas shrugged and abandoned eating. If he had to keep explaining things constantly, he would rather questions first, then eat. He glanced around the table. "Anyone else have questions?"

A tray slapped down on the table and everyone looked up as David sat down on the other side of Adam. He looked particularly tired. "I do. Why exactly do you have a black eye? I thought you were a pacifist?"

He turned as red as his hair. "I am not a pacifist!"

"There's nothing wrong with being a pacifist, you know."

"I am not a pacifist!" he repeated sternly. "I just don't like fi—Oh, whatever." He pulled his tray back to him and started stuffing his mouth to keep from talking.

Without Thomas angrily firing off answers, the table was unusually quiet. As usual, Wes and David were ignoring each other's existence. Cody ate his lunch in silence while Thomas finished his and left the table with his mouth still full to avoid everyone asking questions about his black eye. Adam only ate a few bites before pushing it aside and taking out _The Grapes of Wrath. _Simon looked particularly annoyed with this, and though he looked like he wanted to knock the book away, he kept quiet. Finally, Blaine sat still. He kept glancing up at Kurt, looking prepared to say something. Kurt's stomach turned and he finished eating.

Looking for something to occupy him, he glanced over his shoulder. Although he had been enrolled at Dalton since November, he couldn't get over how exquisite the lunch room was, with its high ceiling and wide glass window. His eyes fell down and they found James sitting at a table not too far off. Will was sitting with him, Carson nowhere in sight. James looked distressed from the way he had his head buried his arms and Will patted his shoulder awkwardly.

Kurt turned around hastily before Will could look in his direction.

"So," Cody said nonchalantly, "I'm pretty sure someone punched Thomas."

The table exploded. More like Wes, but everyone still looked up in curiosity. Even Adam looked at Cody over the top of his book.

"How do you know?" Wes asked him.

Cody shrugged. "Just a guess."

"Did you hit him with your baseball bat by accident or something?" Blaine said.

"I already suggested that," Kurt chimed in.

Thomas came back to the table then, and by the look on his face, he knew everyone was talking about him. He slowed his pace slightly but returned to the table and sat down. He dropped a granola bar on the table and balanced his chin on his hands. "Okay, I got hit at the brunch. After the meal," he confessed after a moment of stares from everyone. Cody smiled and pointed silently at Wes. "By a girl." Cody let his finger drop as well as his jaw and a hush fell over the table.

The first one to speak, Adam straightened in his seat and slowly closed his book. "A girl?" he repeated nosily.

"You got hit by a girl?" Wes was clearly entertained by this fact. He bit his lip to keep from smiling obnoxiously. "Oh, man, this has got to be good. Being hit by a girl is much better than what I had in mind."

"What did you have in mind?" Thomas was wary of the response he would get.

"Nothing, go ahead." Usually when he said that, there was something incredibly insane and unrealistic working itself out in his mind. There were a handful of things that he could come up with.

Thomas chose not to ask him to clarify. "Yes, I got hit by a girl. Happy?"

David looked at him. "And how exactly did you get hit by a girl?" he asked, scrutinizing.

He turned a bright shade of red and tilted his head down so that shock of hair fell over his eyes. He mumbled something and everyone leaned in to hear. "I bumped into her and she punched me," he repeated, louder this time. "I accidentally bumped into her in the lobby, ad she sort of just punched me. I don't know if it was a reflex or something—"

"That is some crazy reflex," Kurt muttered.

"Yeah," Simon said and looked across the table at Adam, speaking slower, "some crazy reflex."

Adam shook his head at him with a wrinkled nose. "No," he said and softened his voice. He leaned across the table and talked in quick words with Simon, which set the others on edge. Thomas grew redder by the minute and Kurt was afraid his face would be completely crimson by the time lunch was over.

Finally Simon sat back and crossed his arms. Adam sat back as well and slowly looked over at Thomas.

"What did this girl look like?" he asked carefully.

Wes was the one who seemed the most interested in this. He tuned in intently to the conversation while the others sat there. David was completely out of it, his attention turned on shifting through his bag. Cody still looked smug and Blaine gnawed on his bottom lip.

Thomas was sort of surprised. "Um, she was thin, I guess," he said lamely. "She was wearing skinny jeans and a lot of bracelets on her arms. I don't know, man. Why does it matter?"

"What color was her hair?" Adam asked him, not answering the one directed at him. This got everyone to pay attention: David left his bag alone and Cody dropped his smile, Blaine quit chewing on his lip, which Kurt thought looked about to bleed, and Wes narrowed his eyes at him.

"I think it was blonde?" Thomas guessed. "It had some other color near the ends of it, maybe. Again, why does it matter?"

As he said the last part, Adam squeaked and jumped in his chair. He covered his mouth and looked at Simon in fright.

"I _told _you," Simon said to him, hitting his hand against the table. "I told you it was her."

"Who? Who are you guys talking about?"

Adam lowered his hands. "I think the girl who punched who was my sister."

Thomas blinked in confusion. David and Wes seemed befuddled and Cody raised an eyebrow; Blaine and Kurt exchanged glances. Then they all looked back at Adam, asking him if he was positive he was correct.

"Absolutely! Who else with blonde hair and wearing skinny jeans was in attendance yesterday?" Adam said. "It's obvious it was my sister. I can't think of anyone else...Thomas? Are you feeling alright?"

The redhead had taken on a paler color. "I am so sorry, man," he said to Adam with a grave tone.

"Why? Because she's my sister? I get that a lot."

"No, I'm sorry because I think I like her."

* * *

The silence had driven Carson from the table. He was currently in the lunch line and Will thought he was purposely taking so long, simply to avoid dealing with the lack of conversation. Will had finished his lunch and faced an open table top. James sat in the chair next to him, his head buried in his arms.

"I'm sorry about the chocolate," Will said softly, as if that would make some difference. He barely recalled James describing his dislike for dark chocolate; it was too bitter for him.

James shrugged but didn't raise his head. He had gone past reading, as he kept dropping the book when either Will or Carson spoke. His stomach wasn't up to eating and his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth to start up a discussion. Will had tried to get a few words out of him, but all he received were shrugs and nods and shakes of the head. With Carson gone, he felt a tad more comfortable, like he could talk about more, but kept quiet.

Will nudged his elbow. "Seriously. You're starting to worry me here. How do I know you're not sick? You could be sick for all I know. I mean, you could be like one of those guys on the Discovery Channel who get sick with some horrible disease but can't tell anyone because the symptoms are so bad," he said. "Or like one of horrible tragedies the soldiers of the Civil War suffered. Some were-"

James brought his head up. "Okay, okay, you can stop lecturing me already, too," he said harshly. "I've had enough of your History tutoring lessons. I swear, all that comes out of that damn mouth of yours is all facts."

"At least I got you to talk." Will brightened with his cat-like eyes.

"Not for long." Shaking dark hair from his eyes, he buried his head again.

Will sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," he said plainly. "What more can I tell you? You won't tell me what's wrong, you won't do anything. You're like-"

"And no more similes, either," James mumbled. "And since when do you care about whether I'm okay or not?"

"When have I not?"

James opened his mouth to say something, hopefully something witty, but he shut it. He only felt like sleeping, and sleeping only. He didn't want to talk to anyone, not even Kurt. Actually, Kurt was the last person he wanted to talk to. There was nothing he could think of to say to him. He imagined himself going up to the other boy, only to stand there with his jaw open with nothing coming out. It would only throw both of them into a tizzy.

"So, it is Kurt," Will said calmly. "I should have guessed."

He bolted up in shock, brow furrowed.

"You talk to yourself," the blonde explained with a hint of humor in his voice. James thought a smile graced his lips, but when he checked, it was gone. "A lot, really. It's amusing. I can always tell what you're thinking when you're really worried."

"I am not really worried." James raised his chin a fraction.

"Then why else would you talk to yourself?"

"I have a lot of thoughts," he stammered. "Don't you talk to yourself?" _That was a lame question, _he thought afterward.

Will smiled now and he looked down at his hands almost sheepishly. "More than you can imagine," he answered briefly. "Now, go on about what you were talking to yourself about earlier. About Kurt."

James' throat closed and he struggled to swallow. "Why do you want me to talk about him?" he asked. "Are you trying to make me feel horrible? I mean, I already kicked a piano, I think that's a new low for me."

"You kicked a piano?" He looked in debate between laughter and a poker face. "Is that why you came back to the dorm cursing under your breath, not coming out of your room until dinner?"

"I guess that's what happened," he replied cautiously. He turned his head to look back at the lunch line. Carson was visible at the end of the line but instead of going straight back toward them, he stopped at another table to talk with a few of the boys sitting there. James set his jaw and faced forward. "Why are you so concerned in the first place?"

Will shrugged again and he brought his thumbnail up to chew on it in habit. "I just want to know what he said to you that's making you so distraught. You haven't been as bad as you are now."

James bristled. "I am perfectly fine."

"Must I contradict to that? First things first, you came out of your room this morning with your blazer on backwards and I had to catch you before you walked into the common room like that. Second, you won't eat a single thing"-James frowned at him-"and lastly, you were talking to yourself just then. And you and I both know that you only talk to yourself when you're worried out of your mind. So spill. What are you afraid of?"

Fiddling with the cuff at the end of his sleeve, James gave another shrug that made Will moan in exasperation. He picked at the grooves in the table as he mulled over exactly what would come out a second later. He shrugged again.

"Kurt doesn't want anything to do with me," he sighed simply. "He doesn't want to deal with me. He's too hung up over Blaine." He didn't dare look over his shoulder this time. "He's insane if he thinks Blaine will actually go for him. He's not Blaine's type."

"And you're Kurt's?"

"Well, I'd like to think so," he stammered and tore his eyes away from his cuff. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, go on." Will waved a hand at him to continue.

"And now, I don't really know what to do anymore. There's nothing really to do," he concluded. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "It's stupid. It's all stupid. Everything, everyone-"

"Ouch, that hurt, James," Will said in fake whiny voice and put a hand over his heart.

James rolled his eyes. "You're not stupid. Most of the time, anyway." He nudged Will's elbow jokingly.

"So that's where you were?" Will asked after a few moments of not talking. "The choir room, playing the piano?" James nodded. "Why weren't you out there with your parents?"

James froze at picking at the grooves in the table. He clenched his teeth. "My dad didn't come," he responded stiffly. He went back to picking at the grooves again, harder this time.

"What about your mom?"

"Divorced."

"I'm sorry."

"That's what they all say," James told him, beginning to get tired of answering question after question. "I get it all the time."

Will looked genuinely offended, but the look faded quickly. "Did your dad not know about it? The brunch, I mean."

"He hates me. I don't see why he'd come in the first place." He dug so hard into the groove, a corner of his nail chipped off and he held it up for examination. He quit picking at the table and leaned his arms on it instead, looking at Will out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked, finding that Will was looking at him expectantly.

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me about that?" he asked him calmly, raising an eyebrow.

James' chest was tight and he scooted his chair closer to the table. He took a breath and was about to speak when Carson came toward them. The blonde plopped down in his chair and peeled open a granola bar. He looked between Will and James, who had quickly buried his head again.

"So, is Mr. Mime talking again?" he asked Will.

At that, Will caught James staring at him almost pleadingly. His eyes were burning.

"Nope," Will reported and sat back. "Still quiet as ever."

* * *

"No. Freaking. Way."

"That's insane!"

"My sister, of all people." Adam removed his glasses for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

The last ten minutes had been consumed with the shocked reactions of everyone. Thomas was the most surprised out of all, as he kept his face covered with his hands. Blaine and Kurt were plain confused and Simon kept bragging to Adam that he had been correct in his first assumption. Wes and David, who were careful to not exchange reactions, were bombarding Thomas with question after question.

"Seriously," Cody asked him between David and Wes' examination, "what were you thinking?"

Thomas removed his hands. "What was I thinking? What was _I _thinking? You should ask her! Melissa, or Margaret, or..."

"Marissa," Adam corrected automatically.

"Yeah, her. She's the one who punched me in the first place!"

"But you were the one who bumped into her," Simon pointed out to Thomas' displeasure.

"But she is naturally violent," Adam told him. "So I would be careful if I were you. She will hit you if you're not careful."

"Apparently, I wasn't careful yesterday," Thomas sighed. He let his head fall forward and his forehead hit the table with a smack. "She's insane. But I think I like her."

"You're insane," Wes told him.

"I know."

Kurt spent the rest of the conversation looking between all the boys as they discussed Thomas' dilemma. According to Adam, Marissa had rented a hotel room somewhere in the city, but somehow got in contact with a friend who lived not to far from Dalton; she was staying there for the time being. Adam was in just as much shock as everyone else and he kept rubbing his temples in thought.

Blaine prodded Kurt in the elbow. "Can I talk to you?" he asked him in a near whisper.

Nodding, Kurt got to his feet and collected his bag. He followed Blaine out of the lunch room, his stomach turning uncomfortably when they passed the table where James, Carson and William were seated. Blaine stopped outside the doors and the hallway around them was so silent, they could hear a pin drop. The clock on the wall said they had five minutes before the lunch period ended, before Warblers rehearsal started.

"I was going to finish up what I was talking about earlier," Blaine started before Kurt had a chance to speak. He tugged at the knot of his tie. "Ms. Lovett didn't really choose us to sing together for Regionals."

Kurt tilted his head unsurely. "Was there a group vote?" he asked stupidly; of course there wasn't. He would've been present for that.

Blaine grinned faintly but shook his head. "It wasn't really what she, in particular, wanted. I, on the other hand, had a say in it."

The words might as well have bounced right off Kurt. He stared at Blaine, bewildered, until the words finally sunk in. He flexed his fingers around the strap of his bag.

"You mean to say," he recited, "that _you _set us up? In the duet? Together?"

"Look, I have a very good reason for it," Blaine said without missing a beat and took a step forward. "Kurt, I—"

Above them, the bell sounded. Blaine muttered something inaudible as the doors around them fell open and boys flooded the hall. The lunch room doors swung open and all the students inside poured into the halls. Kurt saw the annoyance streaked across Blaine's face and wished there had been enough time for him to finish his sentence.

The boys came out in a group and Thomas was still as red as his hair. Cody was trying to console them as they walked toward the choir room. Adam had vanished to his next class on the second floor, and Simon was quiet. Kurt and Blaine tagged on at the back of the group. Blaine walked beside him, not talking, but Kurt wanted to know what he had been about to say.

So when they reached the choir room, instead of going in with the others, Kurt lingered out in the hall and Blaine stayed with him. Some of the others passed them, and Kurt caught James' eye. He immediately looked down at the floor. The hallways emptied and finally there was silence.

"I am still not believing that you convinced Ms. Lovett to give us a duet," Kurt said softly, knowing that he could most likely be heard in the choir room if he spoke any louder. "Why? Why me? There are better singers."

"I didn't want to sing with anyone else," Blaine stated. "I only wanted to sing with you, Kurt."

He stepped forward and took Kurt's hands. His movements were hesitant and Kurt's breath caught in his throat. He gently smoothed his thumbs over the backs of Kurt's hands in slow circles.

"This duet was my idea. Maybe, I figured, it would give me an excuse to be closer to you," he finished and pink appeared high on his cheekbones. "I thought it was a decent idea," he added.

Kurt cracked a small smile, the warmth flooding to his face. His head spun and gave him the feeling of standing on his head. He had half a second to blink and barely take a breath when Blaine closed the distance between them. Right after, Kurt made a noise of surprise that made Blaine pull back and let go of his hands. He ran one of them through his hair.

"Maybe I should have asked you first," he said abruptly, and Kurt noticed his voice was shaking. "Wow, I'm stup—"

His words were cut off, because Kurt kissed him. The feeling had sent sparks up his arms and down his spine the first time and it was all the encouragement he needed. At first Blaine stiffened in shock, but soon relaxed, and his hand found Kurt's waist to pull him closer. The kiss wasn't interrupted by gasps and neither boy pulled back.

But the choir room doors opened. Then they pulled back like deer in headlights.

Wes had opened the doors and was holding onto one of them, his lips puckered as if he'd sucked on a lemon. Unlike with the news of Thomas and Adam's sister, he was utterly reduced to silence. Half the group was staring at them in wonder and the other half wasn't paying them any attention. When they saw the first half staring, they turned and their jaws dropped.

Ms. Lovett stood at the front of the room, in front of the desk, her hands raised with the palms directed at the ceiling. She had been in the middle of lecturing them, no doubt, and Wes opening the doors had interrupted whatever she had been talking about. Her eyes flitted back and forth between the two boys, and Kurt couldn't tell if she was gawking at them in indignation or simply in wonder.

Kurt found his ability to breathe again and he sucked in a lungful of air. His face felt as hot as an oven and knew it was bright red. A glance at Blaine, and he looked the same way: Stunned and frozen on the spot.

The staring was not the worst they could receive. It was the single Warbler who sat with his back to the doors, facing the windows as calm as could be. Kurt watched him sit there, statue-like, willing him to turn around. He wanted to say something, shout it at him, anything to get him to turn around, anything to see his eyes. But James did not turn around.

"Happy Valentine's Day?" Blaine finally said with a hint of ambiguity.

Ms. Lovett let her arms fall to her side. "Happy Valentine's Day, indeed, Blaine," she said in an eerily calm voice. "Why don't you boys come join us?"

They nodded and walked quickly into the room, all eyes on them. As they sat down, Kurt couldn't help but wonder why they weren't issued detentions. Sometime when he had been out in the hall, the tardy bell had rung. The director continued on with her speech as if nothing had ever happened. As Kurt set his bag down at his feet, he cast a look to the other side of the room.

James had his eyes fixed on a blank spot on the wall, watching something no one else could see. Sometimes Kurt wondered what he saw and if it would be entertaining to him. Will sat on his left and he was the one who met his eyes. Kurt found the cat eyes spectral. It was the color that struck him, piercing and hard, and he looked away.

* * *

_Coming up in the next chapter: Regionals_


	18. Regionals

_Hello, readers._

_Before I launch into my really long apology, I would just like to take a moment to put in my prayers for those who lost their lives ten years ago. It was a horrific event that scared many people, families and friends alike, and left many people dead. The buildings are gone and so are the planes and the people, but the memory haunts us and will never cease to haunt us. I pray for the families who lost a loved one in the attack, and all the men and women who put their lives on the line to make sure others made it out. It gives me chills to think of what monsters would do such a thing, what kind of twisted people they had to be to drive a plane into a building, and then a second one._

_What took place will ten years ago will never be forgotten, nor should it. Thank you._

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**Regionals**

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**It's a very difficult thing to sing and dance at the same time. Show choir is not at all what you think of when you think of choir. It's a lot of energy. - Brink Norton**

* * *

Golden light fell through the slits in the blinds. They cast lines across the floor, and also across the various sleeping bags that were spread out all over the floor in the North common room. All were occupied by Warblers who were fast asleep. The time on the clock said five minutes till nine and there was nothing but soft, rumbling snores and the sound of sleeping bags rubbing against each other as the occupants shifted.

The movie marathon the night before had forced the furniture up against the walls to allow as many sleeping bags as possible. The only thing that wasn't against the wall was the polished coffee table, which was littered with half-empty liter bottles and plastic snack bowls, and the chairs and couch. DVD cases formed wobbly stacks in front of the television. Sometime in the night the Xbox had also been used, and the console was tilted on its side with cases and shiny silver disks surrounding it.

A handful of boys slept soundly behind the couch, near the doors. Some were piled up in front of the television under pillows and blankets. Two overlapped each other to form a large X; the tip of a baseball bat stuck out the top of another not too far from the first two; a particularly long one was curled in the shape of the letter C; a fourth sleeping bag was half under the coffee table, half leaning against the couch. One figure, though, was wrapped up tightly in a blanket on the couch, his head buried in a pillow.

The air conditioner clicked then and it hummed as it started up. It filled the room with a quiet buzz that formed a blanket over the existing sounds, but it was loud enough to wake Kurt from his sleep on the couch.

Pushing the heavy blanket lazily from his shoulders, Kurt lethargically sat up. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes to adjust to the light. He glanced around the room, his head spinning a little, and the sight of the messy room startled him. It was a moment before he remembered where he was. Sleeping bags were piled all around him. Last night, Wes had asked him if he had a sleeping bag with him. Everyone who was setting up seemed to have gotten that memo. Since he couldn't recall anything or anyone that mentioned bringing one, he was automatically granted the couch.

Sleeping had gone well for the most part, though the occasional snores kept him up. He had lain on the couch with his hands folded across his chest, trying to sleep. He never knew how loud boys could snore until he spent the night with them in a room. Even Cody snored, although it was very light.

Now he peered over the edge of the couch, to the floor, and his lips turned up in a smile. Blaine was huddled up with his head under his pillow, keeping close to the foot of the furniture where Kurt was. The lower half of his body was under the table while from the torso up, he was not. He was the only one, Kurt noticed, that didn't snore. Loudly, at least.

The night-before-Regionals movie marathon had run for hours on end, eventually coming to a close between four and five in the morning. Kurt had already fallen asleep a while before that, so that was only an estimate. Because he had crashed so early, he'd only caught one movie and half of the next one. To be honest, he was grateful he hadn't stayed up to see any of the others. The North Warblers had a knack for horror and anything with decapitation and blood. Kurt, however, didn't. Just the covers of the movies were enough to send shivers up his spine.

Leaning back against the cushions and trying to shake the terrifying images from his mind, Kurt scanned the floor in front of him. It was almost too easy to pick out Cody from the bunch, seeing as he was the shortest. Also, it was hard to miss the baseball bat sticking out of the top. Cody had a thing against horror, like Kurt. But it was completely unfathomable how he sat through two bloodcurdling thrillers without being too freaked out. Kurt figured it was because he had the bat with him; it was in his hand at all times in the instance of a vampire invasion.

"But baseball bats won't help against vampires," Thomas had pointed out when Cody had brought it in with his things. "It has to be sharpened into a stake in order for it to work."

"So? I have better aim with a baseball bat than a stake," he'd remarked. "Well, I have good aim with a steak _knife, _too, but you get the point."

"Since when do you have any aim at all with a steak knife?"

Cody had paused a little too long for comfort. "That's none of your business."

Then there had been a great deal of silence, followed by awkwardness and everyone moving their sleeping bag a good four feet away.

Now, Thomas was sleeping with his head sandwiched between two thick pillows. The pillow below him did nothing to muffle his deafening snores. He was curled in a way that when Cody happened to randomly sit up and take a blind swing in the air, he would not be hit. Vibrant hair stuck out from under the edges of the pillow and his only movements were the rising and falling of his chest.

Two sleeping bags a little farther away were overlapping, one propped against the other. It was hard to see if Wes was in the top bag, or David. Either way, both were deep in sleep.

Kurt thought it was odd they were like this, considering they were in the midst of fighting. The whole thing was vague to him, but he remembered the little snap David had made to Wes about money. Kurt tilted his head in thought when he felt a tugging on his blanket that set him on edge. Hastily he looked down and sucked in a breath.

"What are you doing up so early?" Blaine mumbled. Half of his face was covered by his pillow and the other half was covered by his hand in an attempt to block out light.

Kurt let out a soft sigh of relief and nudged Blaine in the ribs with his toe. "Good morning to you, too."

"Technically, it's not good, since I'm not happy," Blaine murmured and swatted away his foot. "I don't want to wake up yet."

"Oh, come on," Kurt said quietly and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders again. He crossed his legs under him, Indian style. "You don't mean that. We have Regionals today, remember?"

He waved a lazy hand at him. "Yeah, I remember. Five minutes, then I'll get up."

Behind the couch, the doors to the room clicked open and Diego stood in the doorway, dressed in his neatly pressed uniform. Kurt looked over the top of the couch and was horrified. Diego held a large frying pan, one of Cody's, in one hand and a thick ladle in the other. He surveyed the common room with an air of superiority. Kurt shot him a warning, wide-eyed look.

"Kurt?" Blaine propped himself up and blinked the sleep from his eyes. It was only after he hoisted himself up onto the couch beside Kurt that he noticed Diego, and his eyes went as big as the pan. "Diego, wait—"

But there was a great clamor for the next ten seconds. The harsh sound of the spoon against the pan bottom made Blaine and Kurt clap their hands over their ears. It forced all the Warblers up with groans of protest. Three boys threw pillows in the Precursor's general direction, all missing and sliding out into the hallway, while other shot daggers at him. There was one boy who didn't react at all to the sound. Ronnie, obviously, was scrambling for his camera in some sense of defense.

Cody sprung to his feet, clad in a sports jersey that stretched longer than the boxer shorts he was wearing, his bat up in the air. He panned the room in a daze before landing on the door.

"Diego! Is that my pan?" he exclaimed in shock when he realized it, in fact, wasn't a vampire break-in after all.

"You'll get it back when you're dressed," Diego told him, words clipped, and gave the pan an extra bang that made Cody wince. To everyone, he announced, "Come on, guys, get up. We have a very important day today."

"The day when you finally stop bossing us around?" Wes said under his breath and pressed his pillow to his face.

"Wes, take this seriously, please," Diego all but begged. "We all need to be focused for today to win that Regionals trophy, starting now. Lovett will kill you if you aren't ready to go in an hour."

"Why hasn't she killed you yet? You're a perfectly good target, if you ask me," Ronnie questioned. He raised the camera up and took a quick picture before Diego could blink.

"Because," he answered, momentarily caught up in the bright flash, "I'm the one who is ready to go. You all, however, are not."

Thomas clambered into a sitting position, stretching out his long legs. "Oh, posh. I could be ready in five minutes flat. Just give me five minutes."

"Thomas, you don't have the coordination to walk out of the room without hitting your shin against the table right now, let alone get dressed and be fully awake in that amount of time."

"Oh, yeah? Try me." He brushed a shock of orange hair from his eyes.

Diego shrugged and moved the pan and ladle to one hand. He snatched one of the pillows that had been thrown at him and tossed it in Thomas' direction. It hit the redhead squarely in the face and dropped to the floor before he could raise his arms.

"And there you have it," Diego finished proudly. "Now, all of you, up. We need to be able to focus, so I'm saying it now: Sugar cereals and energy drinks are not a suitable breakfast."

This caught everyone, except Kurt and Cody. The rest stared as if he'd grown another limb from his stomach.

"That's, like, the entire kitchen, man," Ronnie stated in disbelief and he lowered his camera. "You can't do away with the entire kitchen."

Diego shook his head. "There are other things to have for breakfast besides Captain Crunch and Red Bull, Ronnie."

"You _lie_," David said somewhat sharply.

"I don't care." He hit the pan again that produced a gong-like echo. "Everyone get up and get dressed. You're all eating actual food, not the junk you usually eat, and the run through starts at ten in the choir room." He looked over the room as everyone pulled themselves to their feet. He gave the pan one last good whack before leaving the room, smug.

"Is it just me or is he turning into Lovett's pet?" Ronnie asked no one in particular as he scanned through his recent pictures. A few of the boys nodded and went back to sleep.

Blaine stretched his arms and rubbed his ears. "I can't believe he just woke us up by hitting a pot."

"It was a _pan_," Cody corrected furiously and flung the bat down, "and it was _my _pan, too. He is going to get it, big time."

"I'm sorry for your loss?"

Cody nodded firmly and helped Thomas to his feet.

In a few minutes most of the boys were out walking down the hall in their pajamas, pillows hugged to their chests, yawning ferociously. Kurt thought they looked like a mob of zombies, staggering down the hall and knocking into each other.

Suddenly a warm hand slipped into his and he looked up.

"Hey," Blaine said with a half-smile. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Hey," Kurt said back. He enjoyed the warmth from his hand, and it felt as though his skin tingled whenever it came in contact with Blaine's. "Did you have a good night?"

He shrugged. "Aside from the fact that I got less than four hours of sleep, I guess I did."

Kurt nodded. "What movies did I miss?"

"'Mission to Mars,'" he listed first. "That one is one of Wes' favorites. I don't know why, though. It has this huge worm that basically kills half the space crew in the first thirty minutes."

"Worm fetish?"

"Probably."

They laughed and looked behind them. Wes was covering his face with his pillow in an attempt to keep hidden from Cody's bat and the constant flashes of Ronnie's camera. He wasn't photogenic and kept his distance from the photographer. David came out of the room shortly after he did, looking just as tired.

Blaine pulled his eyes away from Wes and David, and back to Kurt. "Do you think you're ready for Regionals?"

Kurt let out a long sigh. "Sort of. I don't know how I feel."

"If you're nervous, you're in good company," he promised. "We haven't made it to Regionals in two years. Lovett is probably the most stressed of us all. I bet she's sitting in the choir room right now with a large cup of coffee and the sheet music in front of her."

The image was easy to create, and Kurt spared a smile. That sort of set his nerves aside. "And the duet—"

"Will go just fine. We've practiced hours and hours for it. It should go smoothly," Blaine finished confidently and nudged his shoulder. He began gently swinging their clasped hands back and forth as they turned the corner into the corridor lined with rooms.

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek. "Should," he emphasized. "That doesn't mean it will go smoothly. What if I step off too early? What if I forget the words?" He took his hand away to wring them together anxiously.

"Calm down," Blaine told him and they stopped outside Kurt's room. He placed his hands on the other boy's shoulders and looked into his shining blue eyes. "Don't psych yourself out before we haven't left the school yet. Stress doesn't look good on you."

Kurt let his shoulders fall and he nodded slightly. He let up on biting his cheek and they parted to get dressed in their rooms. Closed behind his door, Kurt peeled off his navy silk pajamas—he had felt extremely out of place, as all the others had been wearing old tee-shirts and colorful boxer shorts—and stepped into the shower. He massaged shampoo through his scalp and let the hot spray run over him before carefully stepping out and wrapping a towel around him.

He had pulled on a robe and was in the process of drying his hair when there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," he called out mechanically over the roar of the drier. He stepped back in front of the mirror to run a brush through his hair.

The door opened and shut, and Blaine appeared at the door, leaning against the frame. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched Kurt work with the brush and the drier. His dark blazer was folded over his arm and his tie hung loosely around his neck. It was only until Kurt shut off the drier that he felt it was okay to speak.

"You look good," he said and raised an eyebrow.

"Please, I'm wearing a robe. I do not look good in a robe," Kurt stuttered and combed through his hair. Then he switched on the faucet and dampened a washcloth.

He chuckled. "You can look good in anything. Trust me."

"Besides stress."

"Right. Besides stress."

Kurt rolled his eyes and washed his face, following his moisturizing routine. He was surprised Blaine had enough patience to stand there as he finished up. Wiping his face with a dry towel, he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Did you run out of hair gel or something? You hair is abnormally poofy this morning."

"Actually, I did. I was hoping I could borrow some of yours," he admitted sheepishly and stepped into the bathroom to run a hand through his hair.

"Oh, so now we're to the point in our relationship where it's okay to borrow things?" Kurt folded the towel and set it on the vanity. In his reflection, his cheeks were pink.

Blaine stopped where he was and his lips flattened.

A smile spread across his face and he absently tightened his robe. "I'm kidding. I have a bottle somewhere…" He leafed through the many cylindrical tubes sitting in front of him and came up with gel. He held it out. "But you should consider keeping it like this for today. It looks good natural."

"I don't know. I guess one day without it wouldn't hurt," Blaine said, but it sounded like he was not totally set on the idea. He took the bottle and the expression on his face was halfway between nervous and relieved. He rolled it around between his hands and leaned his weight on one foot.

"That's the spirit. Now give me your blazer," Kurt ordered and held out his hand expectantly. Blaine was questioning but let Kurt take it off his arm. Kurt proceeded to lift Blaine's arms and fit the sleeves over them; he came to stand in front of him and fixed the lapels, and knotted the tie properly at his neck. "There," he said approvingly and stepped back to show Blaine his reflection. "You look better."

Tossing the bottle up in the air repeatedly, Blaine turned his head, and said, "I could've put on my own jacket, you know. It's not that hard."

Kurt tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You're right. But you were the perfect Barbie doll. It was hard for me to resist." He moved out of the bathroom, past Blaine, and went to his closet to pull out his uniform.

"Great, so I'm your doll?" Blaine repeated and stuck his head out of the bathroom. "You play dress up with me and I get hair stuff? What kind of trade is that?" There was no reply from Kurt and Blaine softened his tone. "Are you picking out an outfit for me right now?"

He pulled out his uniform, hanging on a wooden hanger. It had been pressed prior to the movie marathon and it looked as new as it had been when Kurt had worn it for the first time.

"Not necessarily. I'm picking out an outfit, but not for you. For myself," Kurt explained and padded back into the bathroom. He hung the uniform on the shower rod and made sure all the parts were in order before spinning around on his heel. "And you're not my dress-up doll. That was a one-time thing. Besides, you wouldn't fit into any of my clothes. They'd be too long on you."

Blaine narrowed his brown eyes and they glimmered. "What does that mean?"

Kurt hesitated. "We would have to hem them," he said finally. "Can you leave? I'd like to get changed."

He balanced the bottle in the palm of his hand and kept it from falling, not moving out of the bathroom. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" The corners of his lips pulled up in a sly smile and there was a glint in his eye.

Kurt blushed, blinking rapidly. "No! Now get out, before I chop all that pretty little hair off. I'll have you know I have poor skills with scissors."

"Then that's one field you won't be going into: Cosmetology."

"Just let me change clothes."

* * *

Kurt left his room twenty minutes later with his hair smoothed to perfection and in his uniform. His face was still flushed from Blaine's earlier comment, and he felt more heat come when he saw Blaine waiting for him out in the hall, still yawning. He brightened instantly when he saw Kurt; his hair wasn't flat and sleek like Kurt had expected.

They proceeded on to the kitchen, where Diego was supervising Cody as he made several batches of scrambled eggs. Cody mumbled under his breath as he spooned eggs onto plates and handed them to every Warbler that entered the kitchen. Though he usually screwed up the recipe whenever he was being keenly watched, the eggs turned out edible.

After the unpleasant and eerily silent breakfast, in which Diego was quickly abandoned to clean the dishes as punishment for waking them up, they met in the choir room for the run through. As Blaine had predicted earlier, she had the thin stack of sheet music sitting in front of her on the desk, a mug of piping hot coffee curled in one hand. Half an hour of twirling and swaying and singing and Ms. Lovett appeared frazzled with the whole ordeal, yet satisfied.

As she led them down the halls to the front entrance, she gave them a pep talk in which the majority of her sentences were repeated more than once. Half the words made it into the boys' head while the other half went straight over them. Outside, the midday wind was chilly and the sky was blanketed with clouds. The boys focused more on huddling in their coats than her words.

"Can she just cut the talking? No one ever listens to her competition speech, anyway," Wes muttered to no one in particular, walking at the back of the line behind Kurt and Blaine. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Can you just start talking to _me_ again?" David asked him and hit his shoulder lightly, giving him a look. He lowered his voice. "You're kind of worrying me, man. I'm sorry I brought it up. It was my bad."

"Yeah, it was your bad." Wes stared intently at the back of Blaine's head as he chewed on his tongue, preparing his next sentence. "Just so you know, I might not come back next year. To Dalton." He went right back to biting his tongue anxiously.

This almost stopped David, but he kept walking. "What?"

"You remember my mom working a teaching job, right?"

"Wes—"

"You can assume everything from that, can't you?" Wes spat venomously and finally turned to look at him. There was nothing of him that was joking around. "Can't you?"

David swallowed roughly.

"She is on the verge of losing her job, David," he hissed when David said nothing. "She's losing her job, my dad's not around to take care of my brother and I anymore–do you see what I'm dealing with here?"

David pursed his lips. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is–"

"You're right: it's _worse_," Wes said as they climbed the stairs onto the bus. "It's much worse. If she can't keep her job, I don't know how we can afford the tuition here."

"What about your shift at the Coffee Corner?" David asked him, recalling the coffee shop located in a popular shopping center not too far from the school grounds.

He scoffed quietly and plopped down in one of the seats. "Practically nonexistent. I mean, I earn a good pay, but it's not enough to cover my entire tuition for next year."

David nodded and said nothing. His throat burned like he had swallowed acid and he sat down as well. He couldn't think of anything to say that would make any of it better, and even if he did, he knew Wes would interrupt him again.

The rest of the ride was smooth, save the pothole Ms. Lovett purposefully ran over to wake a few sleeping Warblers. Shortly after that, Ronnie began belting out the finale of their show and started to record it on video. This got everyone going and quickly the bus was filled with a chorus of voices. Kurt sat there, unable to decide whether to stay quiet or to join in. In the seat beside him, Blaine followed with a chipper hum.

Kurt leaned his forehead against the seat in front of him, the seat where James and William were seated, and he sighed in exasperation.

The ride couldn't have ended soon enough. They spilled out of the bus and into the parking lot, headlong into the large, foreign performance hall. Other school buses were parked nearby in the lot, with a few fancy-looking charter buses, and Kurt couldn't help but wonder if the New Directions had arrived yet. He had a feeling the Institute was already there, and he was correct, seeing a few boys' heads whips around when they entered the building.

The girls stood with who Kurt assumed to be their director a distance away from the entrance. Their uniforms were dark tops and slightly lighter skirts, knee-high boots on their feet. Their hair was teased and frizzy, and the boys gave them weird looks after a double take. The girls responded with their own group sneer and turned back into their huddle.

The lobby of the performance hall was grand, with polished wood floors and very high ceilings. The men and women who walked past them all wore suits or other professional attire. The aroma of paper and wood polish filled the air and made the boys, as well as some of the Institute girls, wrinkle their noses.

Ms. Lovett left the group to check them in. She came back with a man with a clipboard and headset, who led them down one of the many halls. The greenrooms were all in a line on one wall and Ms. Lovett popped open one of the doors for them. As they entered they were so silent it was as if they were on their way to be executed. The room was a simple square, with two small sofas and a table between them. It was dimly lit and the smell of artificial pine was in the air. Kurt wrinkled his nose again and sat down carefully between Wes and Blaine.

"Well," Ms. Lovett sighed heavily and closed the door behind them, "we made it. Right?"

She had intended to bring about wild applause, but only a few boys gave appreciative cheers. The room went quiet, fast. She did not look amused, and she brushed dark hair from her eyes.

"Very well," she said stiffly and positioned herself in front of the boys. "We are at Regionals. We made it because we did well enough to beat out the other competitors at Sectionals." Will mumbled something contradicting in the back, which she easily ignored. She held the clipboard of papers the coordinator had given her up to her face, then lowered it. "According to the itinerary, the show is running on schedule. We drew the last slot when we signed in today—"

The room was filled with groans.

"Settle down, settle down," she shouted over them. "Performing last doesn't mean we're going to do horribly, if that's what you're thinking."

Nick nodded zealously. "When we've gotten to perform last at all our competitions, we always lose. It's a tradition, I think."

"Last year, we drew last for Sectionals and we lost that," Cody chimed solemnly, picking at his tie. Some of the boys around him slumped with the memory.

Ronnie snorted loudly. "We didn't just lose that, Cody, I think we sort of bombed it. I mean, did you see the way Nick tripped and fell headfirst onto the judges' table?"

Nick turned a bright shade of red and whipped around to face him. "Hey! It wasn't my fault! There was a wire in the way. In my opinion, that should have given us extra points for the staff trying to sabotage us. Actually, they should've just given us the trophy and called it a day."

The director was manic. "Enough, enough! The staff was _not _trying to sabotage us! It was a common misunderstanding!" She snapped the clipboard down on the nearest table with a loud _crack _that made the boys flinch and lean back in their seats. She spoke with a hint of acrimony in her voice. "This so-called tradition you boys have come up with is about to be broken. Listen to me. All of you. Matt, stop fooling with your brother's tie, and Ronnie, put that damn camera away right now. I don't want to see that thing out this entire day. Now, I don't care what the outcome of today's performance is. You are all going to go out there on that stage and give the judges the best show you have ever performed. Do you hear me?" Her eyes were flat and hard, like panes of glass, and it was clear she was sick of trying to get them to calm down.

Kurt glanced at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Instead of listening to the director as she spoke, he fiddled with the zipper of his guitar case. The guitar was needed for the second song in the program: the duet. Simply thinking about it sent a zap up Kurt's spine. He wasn't afraid to admit it, he was nervous. He did not want to go up on stage with the intention of singing perfectly, then miss his entrance or trip or step on Blaine's foot, or anything else. There was a part of him that wanted to hide out in the bathroom until the entire thing was over, but he knew one of the others would eventually find him in time. The other part wanted to jump on stage and get it all over with. He was hoping to do the latter, but with his hands shaking so much in his lap, he doubted he could even open a door without difficulty.

Blaine reached over and covered Kurt's hands to stop the shaking. "You're going to do fine."

Startled, Kurt nearly yelped. Ms. Lovett had stopped talking minutes ago and his slight sound was the only noise in the room. Instantly all eyes fell on him and his face went as red as Nick's had earlier. James' bright blue eyes were on him as well, while Carson and Will hummed the show music under their breaths. Lovett acted as if he hadn't made any noise, and clicked her pen swiftly against the clipboard as she scribbled down things. Kurt glanced back at Blaine.

"Thanks for nearly giving me a heart attack," he hissed and stared down at his hands.

Blaine lifted his hand and licked his lips. "Kurt, you're going to be fine. It's just a performance."

"Yes, but it's also a competition," he said as the room started to fill with chatter, his heart skipping. "I do not do well under this much pressure. I haven't sung with another person before, not even at McKinley." He briefly recalled the duet he had been set to sing with Sam, though he ended up singing by himself.

A faint smile flickered across his face as he glanced down at the floor, then back at Kurt. "I know you're worried, but you don't need to be. It's going to be over before you know it. Trust me on this."

Kurt met his gaze for a moment. His hands were shaking even more now, if that was possible, and he got up from the couch without another word. He asked Ms. Lovett if he could grab a drink—he really was aching to clear the dryness in his throat—and left the greenroom in a hurry. Every step he took away from the greenroom, he imagined himself getting lost in the maze of hallways, never to find his way back again. He half expected to see Mr. Schue striding down the hall toward him, but he was nowhere in sight, and neither were any of the other New Direction members.

As he expected, he heard a door open and close as he strode down the hall, filled with staff members and coordinators, show participants and directors; all of them were people he had never seen before.

Kurt had reached the bathrooms when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Blaine, I'm fine—"

"No, you're not." The voice was distinctly different in tone, shy and quiet. And, it was a girl's voice.

Kurt turned on his heel in question and was tackled by a pair of thin arms that wrapped tight around his neck. There was a blur of black hair and he nearly toppled backwards.

"Kurt!" Tina shrieked happily and hugged him to her.

Another moment and he pried her arms away in realization. "Tina! What are you doing here?" He paused and laughed. The feeling of urgency and tight nerves left him in a hurry. "That was stupid, of course you're here for the competition. How could I forget?"

Her only answer was to smile widely again. Her hair had grown a little longer since Sectionals and there was a stripe of bright blue in her hair. The blue matched the dress she was wearing: electric blue with gaudy rhinestones dotting the neckline. Black boots were on her feet and they made her look taller. Her jet black hair was in a sleek sheet that fell down her back and her eyes were ringed in a light circle of eyeliner.

"Oh, Kurt," she sighed and bounced on the balls of her feet, "I'm so glad to see you! How are you?"

Kurt wrung his hands together. "I could be better…"

She gave him a concerned look.

"Nerves. Nothing to be worried about," he assured her. To change the subject, he asked, "How is everyone else? Pumped and ready to go, I suppose?"

Tina gave a short laugh. "As you said, things could be better. Rachel's in the bathroom right now either throwing up or pacing and Finn's waiting outside the door for her and trying to convince Quinn to go in there and check on her. Sam and Mike are attempting to fix a loose screw on Artie's wheelchair that could be the difference between his wheel staying on or falling off during the performance. Things could be going much better."

"And Mr. Schue?" Kurt asked curiously.

"He's getting us signed in and having one of his episodes," she answered and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Hey, did you see that girls' school? They look like they caught the wrong end of a hair drier, if you ask me."

Kurt stifled laughter. "That's one way to look at it. Despite their hideous hair, they're actually very good. One of our—"

"Very interesting company you keep, Kurt."

Both Tina and Kurt turned to glance down the hall. Walking toward them with his hands clasped behind his back was James. He didn't seem to see Tina; his eyes were frozen on Kurt, and Kurt's chest tightened. Finally James looked at Tina, looking her over critically. Tina squirmed. That was the most common reaction: everyone fidgeted under his gaze, even Will did occasionally.

"The blue stripe is a little tacky," he said disdainfully and tilted his head to the side. "And your makeup makes you look like a raccoon." Turning back to Kurt, he said, "The Institute is getting ready to start and Lovett sent me to get you. We're heading into the auditorium to get seats."

"Tacky?" Tina interjected at the same time Kurt said, "Already?"

James nodded once and Kurt could see it in his face that he was also nervous. Aside from his expression, he played with the cuffs of his sleeves and reached up to pull at the knot of his tie.

"Okay," Kurt said sadly, "I guess that means we should go."

Tina frowned, mostly at James, and pulled Kurt into another tight hug. "I'll make sure to look for you when you're onstage. I know you're going to do amazing."

Kurt held her for another second and let go. James was already a few steps down the hall when Kurt hurried after him.

"What was that?" he asked when he had gotten in step with the other boy.

"What was what?"

"You know what I mean," Kurt told him furiously. "You basically insulted Tina!"

He looked thoughtful. "That's her name?"

"Yes, that is her name! I can't believe you told her she had raccoon eyes!"

"I didn't say it like that," James defended. "And you can't really blame me, can you? I mean, her makeup _did _make her look like she had raccoon eyes."

Kurt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe you. What is your deal? You act like I've done something wrong, and being rude to my friend is payback. What gives?"

He slowed his pace. He stared at Kurt intently. "Maybe you did do something wrong," he said sharply.

It struck him like a stone over the head and he dropped his voice. "If this is about the brunch, I don't want to talk about that. We're already past that. I'm sorry, but I'm not your Prince Charming, okay?" The heat rose quickly to Kurt's cheeks and he balled his fists. There was an urge to punch him right there, in the middle of plain sight, but he kept his hands tight by his sides.

"Oh, you are," James insisted. They had turned the corner and were walking back toward the greenroom. One of the doors was open and Diego stood out in the hall, gesturing for others to get in a line. "My Prince Charming, I mean. I'm just not yours."

"Would you stop with that?" Kurt demanded and looked at him. "You're making everything more complicated than it needs to be."

James halted where he was and his eyes were cold. "Maybe if you would just give a smidge of a chance, then maybe things wouldn't be so complicated between us. Have you ever thought of that? Have you ever thought of giving me a chance?"

"I gave you a chance," Kurt said. He took a step back when James advanced. "Don't you dare say I didn't give you a chance."

"You _never _gave me a chance. You gave me everything but that," he hissed. "I thought maybe there was a glimmer of hope for me, for us. And you–"

"I was the only one who paid you any attention!" Kurt shouted over him. "You were nothing when you came here. You were a stupid little pianist who could memorize by the page and play in the dark. No one looked twice at you! If that's not giving you a chance, then I don't know what is."

Instead of shouting right back, James ground his teeth together. He was breathing hard, and he turned away from him. There was a look of distress across his face.

Confused as to why the conversation had ended so abruptly, Kurt almost spoke up. Then he saw what James was watching: Lovett was ushering the boys out of the greenroom and into the hall to grab seats in the auditorium.

At the same moment, the two boys glanced at each other and started forward. James lagged behind and let Kurt reach the room first.

"…Okay, boys, come on," Ms. Lovett's voice came from inside the room, "you can leave your things in here, just as long as you remember to get them after the performance. Blaine, your guitar will be fine in here, the door will be locked until we get back…" She pushed past Nick and Matt out the door and nearly ran into Kurt. "Oh, there you are, Kurt. Thank you for getting him, James. Now, everyone, follow me!" She tucked her clipboard under her arm and took off down the hall. Diego, with ramrod straight posture, followed quickly, and so did the others.

Kurt waited until the last boys came out of the room to join the line. Blaine was there with his hands empty, as the guitar was placed across the table in the room. He made room in the line for Kurt and glanced at him apologetically.

"I'm fine," Kurt said automatically. He reached out to grab Blaine's hand tightly and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

This time Blaine said nothing encouraging or helpful. He simply gave Kurt a warm smile and faced front. Behind them, James was cross, trailing behind William and Carson.

After winding through the hallways to get to the auditorium, they filed into a row of seats near the back. The lights were dimmer there than they were in the front handful of rows. Kurt's heart skipped constantly as he sat down, Blaine on his right and Carson on his left. Behind him, Nick and Matt were murmuring about the Institute and what they would be singing.

"I heard they were doing a rock and roll theme," Nick said matter-of-factly. "That would explain the hair."

"Or maybe they're doing a Halloween theme," Matt chipped in. "You know, like the bride of Frankenstein."

"I don't care about their hair, let's just hope they suck today," Jon said flatly.

Kurt sighed and leaned back in his chair, picking at his lip. Beside him he heard Blaine wince and he looked over with worry.

"You were holding my hand too tight," Blaine explained with half a smile and gently loosened Kurt's grip.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"Nervous," he finished for him. "I know, I am too. Back in the room, I was biting my nails off."

Kurt lifted his hand up and squinted. "And to think they looked pretty good before," he said solemnly and lowered his hand.

"I know, I know, but that's my habit."

"I'll get you gum, then. I'm picking the flavor, though."

Blaine stared at him quizzically. "Why? I'm the one who's going to be chewing it."

"Because," Kurt smirked, "then when I kiss you, I'll actually enjoy it." He laughed at the genuine shock on Blaine's face. "I'm kidding, Blaine."

"Are you implying that I have bad breath?" he asked. His gaze flitted to the stage, where the curtains were shifting back and forth, and a man with a sheet of paper in his hands was toying with a microphone.

Kurt shook his head. "Not at all." He started to lean forward, but Nick, Matt, and Jon made kissing noises behind them before they got any closer. Blaine sighed heavily and his breath washed over Kurt's face. Kurt pulled back, his face flushing hotly. Before he could glare at the boys, the lights began to dim. He settled back in his seat and held Blaine's hand firmly.

Up on the stage, the man stood under the center spotlight. He clicked the microphone on and tapped on it to test it.

"Hello, and welcome to the 2011 Regionals competition," he said in a bold voice. "Today, we are pleased to have three schools with us: the New Directions, from William McKinley High School in Lima, the Warblers from the Dalton Academy for Boys in Westerville, and the Ladies of the Chamberlin Institute in Dublin. We thank all of them for making the trip here to perform. Now, please welcome the first school to the stage, the Chamberlin Institute." He quickly backed off the stage.

The curtains shifted as they were pulled back and Kurt held his breath. The spotlights shined down on the stage, but no one was there. The Warblers stared in shock at the stage and Kurt thought he heard Ms. Lovett gasp. Then soft music came into play and the familiar dripping made the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand on end. He knew the song they were performing before they had even appeared. A quick sweep of the faces around him told him no one had any idea what was going on. They were only concerned with the fact that no one was on stage.

Kurt put his head in his hand and waited until the singing came in. He and the Warblers sat through a well-presented rendition of 'The Cell Block Tango' from Chicago. He doubted that the boys had ever heard the song before, but their mouths were open in awe. When the song was over, they were all too numb to applaud with the rest of the audience.

"That was… suggestive," Will said in a tight voice and slowly clapped.

"Very suggestive," Carson added in agreement.

"I don't remember them singing that when we spied on them."

"That's because they knew we were there," James replied. "They knew we were there, and now they're just shoving it in our faces."

On stage, the girls reset for their next number, but the Warblers did not have a chance to see it. Ms. Lovett got them on their feet and ordered them to exit the auditorium as silently as possible. The walk back to the greenroom was quicker than the walk from. The boys were talking back and forth to each other about the girls' first song, and most of them couldn't believe it was_ only _the first song.

"Boys, settle down," Ms. Lovett said when all the boys had taken a seat and their states of shock had lessened. "Just because the Institute was okay—"

"Okay?" Cody squealed. "Just okay? They were amazing! I've never seen anyone perform 'The Cell Block Tango' like that!"

"—doesn't mean we're going to lose. It means we have to work harder. There is no need to get all worked up about it." Even though she spoke of being calm, she paced the room as she talked and twisted a large lock of hair between her fingers. The crazed look she had in her eyes the next time she turned to them reminded Kurt of one of the insane witches from one of Blaine's Harry Potter movies, the one with the shrill laughter. "Okay? Is everyone fine? We all know our music, right? And the steps? And the backflip routine William and Carson do in the last number?"

All eyes fell on the blondes and Will's cat eyes grew wide. "What does that mean? We don't have that ready, Ms. Lovett—"

"Yeah, we don't," Carson said fearfully, "we don't have it ready yet. We were saving it for Nationals, if we make it—"

She waved a hand at them. "Sheesh, calm down already! I was kidding. It's called a little pre-show humor." She rubbed her hands together. "Alright, boys, stand up and give me a group note. We're on next, and I don't want us to sound bad because we were too busy freaking out to warm up."

The boys stood unsurely. With the raise of their director's hands, they sustained a steady group note. She was satisfied with that, and led them out of the room in single file and onto the stage.

* * *

"Ronnie, stop taking pictures with that damn camera already!"

"Just one more! I have to have something from Regionals for the slide show at the end of the year!"

"To hell with the slide show! Give me the camera!"

As Wes put Ronnie in a headlock for his camera, which was being held out at arm's length, Kurt settled for leaning against the wall by the bathrooms. Half the group was drinking from the fountains or waiting in line and the other half was in the bathroom. Ms. Lovett was talking to one of the coordinators with clipboards, discussing where to stand during the awards ceremony.

The performance had gone slightly better than expected. Nick was likely to plunge headfirst off the stage again, according to what happened last year, but that did not happen. There were no wires for him to trip over and even then, he didn't trip over his own feet. The formations were assembled almost flawlessly and the songs went as practiced. The duet, however, was what Kurt obsessed over the most.

The start of the duet went well, with Blaine strumming out the opening chords. Kurt came in but not at the right time. He had come in two counts too early and was off with Blaine, forcing both of them to stop and guess where to start. It was a total blow in Kurt's opinion and he barely lasted the finale without thinking about it. When he got off stage, it was all he could do to not slam his head into the wall repeatedly.

Blaine stepped away from the water fountain and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He leaned against the wall where Kurt was and turned his head to look at him. "You did really well today, you know," he told him softly.

"Well? I blew it," Kurt said shortly.

"You didn't blow it."

"I came in early. If that's not blowing it, then I don't know what is." He crossed his arms tightly and stared up at the ceiling. He wished it would swallow him up.

Blaine took a calm breath and stood in front of him. "I think you did amazing. That's all that matters. You did better than me."

"At least you didn't come in early," Kurt said, annoyed. He desperately wanted to jump on the stage and do the whole thing over again. Weeks upon weeks of preparation, all to come in at the wrong time. What had he been thinking?

"Kurt."

"We practiced for weeks, Blaine."

"Kurt."

"And I can't understand how I could just _do _that!"

"Kurt."

"I mean, I must've been insane—"

He did not finish his sentence. Blaine had grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform and pulled him forward, kissing him right on the mouth. The kiss was fervent and urgent and Kurt's head spun. He hardly had any time to kiss back when Blaine pulled away. Around them, a few of the stage crew and coordinators were staring in silence. Wes had stopped grappling Ronnie for his camera and Ms. Lovett paused her conversation with a coordinator. At least half the group turned their attention to them.

"I think you did just swell," Blaine concluded evenly and leaned forward to kiss Kurt again on the cheek.

Kurt merely stared at him as he smiled and turned on his heel to get another drink from the fountain.

"Boys!" Ms. Lovett called and their attentions snapped to her. "Would you like to see the last group perform, or watch Ronnie and Wesley fight over a camera?" She didn't add the kiss and Kurt was grateful for that.

She gathered them into a group and led them into the auditorium. Kurt could hardly walk straight, he was still in the daze of the kiss. Blaine came up beside him and took his hand, smiling broadly.

"What was that?" Kurt asked him in a hushed tone as they came around into the auditorium once more. They took the same seats they had before when they had watched the Institute.

"What?"

"Do not play dumb with me," he said hastily, their heads close together. "You kissed me back there. In front of everyone."

Blaine shrugged and settled back into his seat. "You wouldn't exactly be quiet, so I didn't know what else to do."

Kurt shook his head, looking forward at the stage, and took a deep breath. His throat was closing up and he rested his chin in his hand.

Up on stage, the curtains shifted and the announcer came into view. "Thank you all for coming. So far we have seen two amazing schools perform at the best of their abilities. Last but not least, we have the New Directions from Lima, Ohio! Give them a round of applause!" He left the stage as the crowd burst into polite applause and the lights turned on brightly.

The curtains parted and, as before, the stage was empty. Instantly the boys around he and Blaine began spreading predictions about what was to happen. They imagined it would be like the Institute and in unison they all fell silent. Shortly after there was a flash as Ronnie took a picture. Wes stole it from him and passed it down the row to Ms. Lovett.

Then a girl wearing an electric blue dress came onto the stage. At first Kurt thought it was Tina, but quickly saw it was Rachel, from the flat brown hair and bangs. She gripped a glittery microphone in one hand while the other one was visibly trembling. Placing it on the stand at the center of the stage, she spared one last glance at the side, where Kurt knew someone was cheering her on. Music started from the speakers and Rachel began to sing.

A few verses in, Kurt leaned over to Blaine in awe and said, "I _love _this song."

"What _is _this song?" he asked sheepishly.

"'The Story'," Kurt answered. "Now, shush. I've wanted her to sing this song since the day we met."

Rachel finished her solo soon after, with Brittany and Tina singing the background vocals. She was grinning from ear to ear and her eyes welled as if she was about to cry. She shared glances with Tina and Brittany and then the song morphed into an upbeat tune.

"And how exactly do we compete with that?" he heard Ronnie mumble behind him.

As the rest of the group bounced onto the stage with Rachel, Brittany, and Tina, Kurt picked out each face: Finn came out with Sam and Quinn; Artie was rolled on stage by Puck; Mercedes, Mike, and Santana appeared shortly after. Lauren was nowhere to be seen and Kurt wondered for a moment if she had quit. Counting the faces, he saw only eleven. Recounting them again, there was still eleven. Then one more figure, clad in the black shirt and thin tie the rest of the boys were wearing, stumbled out and hid behind the rest.

Kurt's heart kick started when he saw David Karofsky, and his mouth popped open.

Blaine must have recognized him as well, because he tensed and his hand tightened over Kurt's.

They sat frozen through the group's second song, and then the third one. The time they sat there was an eternity. Kurt's eyes were still fixed on the stage long after the New Directions had retreated behind the curtain. Ms. Lovett hurried them out of the auditorium, one hand tangled nervously in her hair and the other waving frantically at the boys to get them to move.

They were arranged in a block behind the curtains. To Kurt's left, the Institute appeared with their director, who wore some kind of full skirt and a ruffled top that made her look Victorian. Will said something about her being like Glinda the Good Witch, or whoever it was. The girls were in a perfect line and formed a square with their hands clasped one in front of the other. Their hair had drooped a little from their performance and their makeup was smeared around the eyes. One of them, an unfamiliar blonde wearing a smirk, turned to them.

"Hey," she said, gesturing to Will, Carson, and James, "you're those boys who snuck in and watched one of our rehearsals."

"Yes, we are," Carson answered quietly.

"Your point?" William butted in.

Kurt stayed facing forward, but turned his ears back to listen. The lights overhead were so bright, the audience was replaced by a sheet of darkness and that only made Kurt's nerves rise. His heart pounded in his chest and he gripped Blaine's hand like a life preserver.

"My point," she said snippily, "is that you are going to have a hard time scraping first place."

"And why is that?" James asked her. He actually leaned out of the group to face her, and Kurt had a feeling he was infuriated from earlier. A quick look at him told him James wouldn't have too many regrets punching a girl. Especially in public.

The question stunned her for a quick second and she wavered. "We pulled a better show than you did. That's why."

"I think we're not going to argue," Carson interjected and pulled James back into the group. "Nice to see you again. Sort of. Well, not really. No offense."

The blonde glared heatedly at them and folded her arms before whispering to the girls around her.

Just then electric blue dresses took up the right section of the stage, and Kurt automatically craned his neck forward. Mercedes was the first one he saw. She was conversing with Rachel and Tina, looking exhausted from performing. The entire group looked wiped. Mercedes turned around and caught Kurt looking at her. A smile crossed her face and she waved animatedly to him. Holding up a finger abruptly, she disappeared between Rachel and Tina. A minute later she came back, the two girls following her.

"Kurt!" she squealed and pulled him into a hug. The perfume she was wearing was strong and Kurt got his fill of it.

Blaine let go of his hand as soon as Kurt stepped forward and smiled when he saw the girls. He said a small hello to Tina and Rachel as they waited for their hugs.

"It's been so long since we've seen you!" Rachel exclaimed when she threw her arms around Kurt's neck.

"We saw each other at Sectionals, I think," he replied and returned the hug. "It hasn't really been that long."

"I don't care. It's been more than a day," she said and pulled her arms off. "That's a long time to me."

Kurt chuckled and grinned widely. He was about to say more when the announcer took the stage. The girls hurried back to where the rest of the New Directions were and Kurt fell back in his place. Behind him, someone was so nervous they were nibbling on their nails.

"Thank you again for coming today. It's surely been an eventful program, hasn't it?" he said and made his way to the center of the stage, a thick envelope in his hand. Kurt and just about every competitor locked their eyes on the envelope. "This is the part of the competition every person looks forward to the most. Every step in today's competition boils down to now. And again, I would like to thank the three groups who have traveled to get here to showcase their talents." He lowered the microphone to lead the crowd in a wave of applause.

"And now, two of these marvelous groups will be sent home. One will continue on to Nationals, which will take place in New York City this year," he continued on and picked at the flap of the envelope. Kurt willed it to open. "The results have been calculated and we have a winner. The runner up is…" He flipped it open and removed a thin sheet of paper with tiny writing no one could read unless it was in front of your face. "... the New Directions, of Lima, Ohio! Congratulations!"

Kurt's stomach churned uncomfortably and he held his breath. A blanket of silence fell over the choir and Rachel was teeming with disapprobation. Face the color of sour milk, she glared furiously at the others before facing front and knitting her arms tightly over her chest until it looked like she would squeeze herself to death. Mr. Schue hesitated, then retrieved their small trophy. Kurt swallowed the urge to get sick, right there on stage, when he saw a glimpse of Karofsky wading awkwardly in the back. He didn't exactly look happy to be there in the first place.

It didn't take long for the announcer to be able to continue on with the results; there were no cheers or hollers to stifle.

"And now, the group that will go on to New York to take part in the Nationals competition is..." The man read further down the card and the tension strung out between the two choirs remaining on stage.

The gaggle of girls was on the verge of hyperventilating and some were gnawing wrathfully on their nails, others practically yanking on their hair; there were three who were holding hands tightly and muttering like they were praying. The boys stood alertly. Cody was whispering hastily to someone, who shushed him with a hand over the mouth. In the back, either Wes or Nick was grinding their teeth in anticipation.

"The Dalton Academy Warblers, from Westerville! Congratulations!"

At first, the reaction was to stand unmovable in disbelief. Then Ms. Lovett started crying, and that was how everyone knew it was safe to celebrate. They jumped up and down in a massive group, shouting and cheering. Beyond them the crowd was clapping uproariously. Ms. Lovett pushed forward to accept the trophy and she brought it back with tears glistening in her eyes. She was shouting to them but the amount of noise in the auditorium covered it up. Not knowing what to do, or really caring, as a matter of fact, the boys nodded and passed the trophy around.

Kurt caught a glimpse of the trophy in all its shining glory before he was suddenly pulled into a tight embrace. Blaine wrapped his arms around him, and Kurt did the same. He felt safe where he was and did not want to move. He didn't want to let go or look over Blaine's shoulder and see Karofsky. He wanted nothing to spoil what he was feeling at that moment.

"Congrats," Blaine murmured in his ear, loudly so as to be heard above the roar around them. Kurt nodded briskly and shut his eyes and tightened his arms around Blaine's neck.

But Blaine broke the hug, a smile across his face. He leaned forward like he wanted to kiss Kurt again, however he rocked back on his heels and kept one arm around Kurt's shoulders.

The boys were hoisting the trophy above their heads with each of them touching some part of it. They chanted excitedly and the trophy glinted in the light.

Thomas had the most leverage in holding the trophy, as he was the tallest; his face was as bright as his hair. He pulled one hand away and bent forward, only to return with Cody atop his shoulders, flailing in pleasure. Wes and David seemed to have put aside their dispute and were cheering with each other. William had his arms around the shoulders of Carson and James, and was beaming. They turned to find the blonde in the group of sour Institute girls and made a smart remark that couldn't quite be heard over the applause and cheering.

Ms. Lovett was off to the side with a tissue up to her eyes. Simon stood by her with a tissue box in his hands, feeding her them as soon as she used one up. He was as ecstatic as the rest but showed it with a simple smile. He looked almost out of place without the East Precursor by his side and Kurt wondered if Adam was back at Dalton.

The left side of the stage had fallen silent. The girls only looked up to make eye contact with their director, then their head dropped after. The blonde James had almost punched was looking pretty upset with herself and took it out on the rest of her group. Kurt could hear her complaining and nitpicking the entire show, also adding in a theory that the Warblers had bribed the judges.

Kurt snorted inwardly and faced his group. Looking past them, the New Directions were heading off the stage with their trophy in hand. The lingering member was the one Kurt hurriedly tried to hide himself from. Karofsky scanned the uniformed boys closely. There was an instant in which they locked eyes and Kurt stood eerily still. Then, Mr. Schue called for Karofsky to join the group, and he dropped his head. Kurt rocked back on his heels, his shoulders dropping.

Ms. Lovett rounded up the boys and the trophy and started to lead them off the stage. She was still crying a little and Simon kept having to hand her tissues. Dark hair fell in her face and she brushed it back triumphantly, leaving backstage and starting down the hall toward the lobby.

Blaine kept close to Kurt, even if Karofsky wasn't in sight. Kurt was reassured by this and felt the pounding of his heart lessen as they walked forward.

The lobby was filled with the parents and friends who had come to see the competition. Over by the group of electric blue dresses, Tina was hugging a woman with slightly graying hair, and Quinn stood close by her mom. Both surveyed the lobby in the same calm, sharp way. Mr. Schue stood on the outskirts with the trophy in his hand. Kurt wanted to approach him, but the Warblers already had a plan to start the long trip back to Westerville. As a substitute, he waved when he passed them.

For a moment, he caught his stepbrother's eye. Finn smiled hugely at him and looked like he wanted to stride across the lobby to hug him, but Rachel tugging on his arm prevented him from doing so. He looked less hopeful now, but his smile was still bright.

Then, as they were pushing open the doors that led them to the frozen parking lot, a girl with dark hair scurried up to Blaine, panting.

"There you are, Blaine!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Do you know I've been looking everywhere for you?"

Blaine did not look surprised. "Now I do. How are you?"

"A little on the irritated side, but otherwise I'm fine."

The girl had to be only eleven or twelve at the most. Her dark hair was cut into a bob that brushed against her shoulders and her arms were stacked with an array of beaded bracelets. It was obvious she was related to Blaine somehow or another.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she demanded of Blaine and gestured to Kurt. "Wait, never mind. I got it. Kurt, right?"

Kurt jumped. "That's right," he answered cautiously.

"Blaine's talked so much about you, he practically painted a picture," she said elatedly. Her brown eyes sparkled as she looked back up at Blaine. "Now palm out, please. You haven't had a proper reading since Christmas."

Kurt stared as Blaine sighed and willingly extended his hand. She took it and stretched out his fingers, searching the lines on the palm of his hand.

"This is Alice," Blaine explained quickly. "She's my insane cousin who can read palms."

"And make absolutely accurate predictions," she added without looking up.

"And make absolutely accurate predictions," he repeated with the shrug of his shoulder. "She's the one who made me this bracelet." He raised his left hand in the air to show the beaded bracelet Kurt had seen at Christmas.

Alice dropped his hand with a flat face. "You're the same as always. You're not even going to die soon. Do you know that you're such a boring person?" She looked at him, bored.

Then some of the group paused to see what was going on. Nick's face lit up when he saw Alice and hurried over. His abrupt action made a few of the others turn their heads, and soon, the entire flock was circled around them.

"You brought the clairvoyant, did you?" Nick asked Blaine excitedly and rubbed his hands together. He thrust one out to the little girl. Alice let out a long sigh and took his hand.

"And she's related to you?" Kurt clarified under his breath and took a step back. Blaine nodded. "How are you not as weird as her?"

He shrugged. "It's a mystery. But I'm pretty weird, in my opinion."

"You _are _pretty weird, Blaine. There's no doubt about that." This time, a girl Kurt recognized came up to them with her arms crossed over her chest. Her thick hair was done back in a braid that fell halfway down her back and she wore a pair of boots that made her two inches taller than the boys.

"Thanks, sis," Blaine drawled. "You know exactly how to reassure me."

Sadie Anderson smiled at him, and found Alice in the middle of the group of boys. "Oh, god, is she reading palms again?" she asked tiredly. "I told her not to do that when we got here."

"It's fine. They kind of enjoy it," he answered thoughtfully.

"What? Getting fake predictions that are all basically about drying a horrible and unusual death?"

"Basically."

Kurt watched the little girl pull hands toward her and skim it with the tips of her fingers. She pushed them away and said words, her lips barely moving. The boy receiving the reading was either pleased or grave.

"Her predictions don't really…you know, come true, do they?" Kurt asked the brother and sister.

"Most of them actually pull through," Sadie mused.

Blaine nodded in agreement. "Last year at Sectionals, Alice gave Ronnie the prediction that he was going to drown very soon, and then he tripped over a wire and pitched into the library's fish tank the next morning."

Kurt snorted and covered his mouth. He had never noticed the fish tank in the library before. "There's a fish tank?"

"Not anymore. He was the reason they got rid of it."

"Oh."

There was a short pause. Then Nick shrieked after his palm reading and jumped back. He looked worriedly at Matt and Jon, who merely shrugged defenselessly in unison. Nick continued to wear his concerned mask and whirled around to face Diego. He was about to open his mouth and tell about his prediction, but gave it a second thought and ducked away, Diego glaring after him.

"What do you think Ronnie got?" Kurt asked. Part of him couldn't help but worry what Alice had told him. If he was freaking out this much, it must've been something dreadful.

Sadie gave a shrug. "Whatever it is, I hope it gets rid of that goddamn camera of his. He's like the paparazzi."

Kurt looked to Blaine. "Is he on the school newspaper?"

The other boy gave him a flat look. "Of course he is. The professor in charge practically begged him to be their lead photographer," he said.

Tired of being crowded by boys, Alice crossed her arms over her chest and squeezed through them to where Kurt, Blaine, and Sadie stood off to the side. Her hair was tousled, her eyes bright with annoyance. As soon as she moved, the boys moved and she was once again surrounded by them.

"One at a time, one at a time!" she called over their voices. She pointed at Wes and David. "You two. I don't even need to look at yours hands to know that both of you are going to get in trouble in the next week. So much trouble, in fact, that it jeopardizes your chances at going to Nationals."

Wes and David shared a startled glance.

Ten minutes passed in which Alice swept around the circle of boys to give them readings. Ms. Lovett did not seem to mind; she stood a distance away, talking with parents and others who asked her questions about the performance, the trophy standing beside her. Now that it was on the ground and not above everyone's heads, it was tall. It extended from the floor up to Ms. Lovett's torso. She wrapped her fingers around the golden replica of a microphone at the top.

Turning back to the circle, Kurt found that Alice had shooed most of the boys away. All that were left were the blondes, James and Simon, and he and Blaine. Cody and Thomas were there as well, standing by Sadie..

Alice first approached Cody. She yanked his hand forward and glanced over his small hand. "You're safe," she concluded in an eerie whisper. "Well, for now. I would watch out for kitchen knives and glassware." She moved onto Thomas, leaving Cody with a gaping mouth.

By the time she got to Kurt, nearly everyone had their own reading. Simon explained that he was going to fall down a flight of stairs in the next week, and Thomas said he was never going to find a girl that would actually pay any attention to him. Carson's and Will's were the same: somehow they were going to end up with a fractured bone doing something extremely idiotic. They only scoffed and rolled their eyes, dismissing the idea. Alice gave them a final warning and proceeded with James.

Instead of the corner of her lips turning up like they had the past five readings, they went flat. She dropped James' hand like it was a hot stone and gestured for him to bend over. He did so cautiously and she whispered in his ear. He stood back up and did not say a thing, only clasped his hands behind his back and looked at Blaine as Alice moved to him. Kurt couldn't help but wonder if she had seen the small red lines that crisscrossed his wrists and lapped over onto his palms.

"You're fine. Even after ten minutes, you haven't changed," she told him without taking a minute to examine his hand.

"You mean I'm not going to get hit by a minivan when we go out to the bus?" he joked.

"You can if you want to. That's your choice, not mine," Alice said and swiped Kurt's hand.

Instantly Kurt felt a shiver run up his spine. Not because it was odd having a twelve-year-old girl picking at his hand, but because across the lobby, he saw a burly figure in a black dress shirt and a long tie. Kurt's shoulders tensed and he averted his eyes to the floor in hopes that Karofsky would not see him.

Alice noticed this and glanced in the direction he had been looking. "You know, I was just going to predict that you were going to run into an enemy soon. He looks pretty enemy-ish to me. On second thought, he looks like a bear. A big grizzly bear. Are you sure he isn't part bear?"

Sadie slung her arm around Alice's shoulders. "Alright, Alice," she said, teeth clenched, "I think it's time we let the boys go back to school. They've had enough fun for today."

She pouted but nodded. The pair waved to Blaine and Kurt and disappeared into the crowd. After they had gone, Kurt quickly scanned the lobby for the tall figure, his heart racing. His search proved negative and he was able to relax the slightest bit.

Behind him, Ms. Lovett was calling for the Warblers to get together. Most did so, and Kurt fell in step beside Blaine. He wanted to burst into a sprint and run out the doors, though he held still.

"He's not here anymore," Blaine said under his breath.

"I know. I just want to get out of here."

When attendance was taken, Ms. Lovett led the group out into the cool air and across the parking lot. Diego and Simon were at her side, carrying the trophy. They shrugged on their coats and hurried to the bus, which was about as cold as standing outside. The heat was cranked up and the engine turned on. Cheers of excitement were given as Simon placed the trophy in the seat behind the driver's seat.

Blaine and Kurt settled in the same seat as before and huddled in their coats. All the windows were pushed up and locked and the door swung shut as soon as everyone was seated. The engine growled as Ms. Lovett shifted the gears and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I just want to say," she called, "that you all did an amazing job. We pulled through and took the trophy, and now, because of your hard work, we're going to Nationals!" The bus exploded with roars and hoots and hollers. It was silenced when she added, "But don't think this means we can put off planning our program until the last two weeks!"

She continued on about ideas for their program and what songs they would perform. She discussed with them a plan to feature a soloist, like the New Directions had done with Rachel earlier in the competition. Auditions would be held to choose the lead soloist and no one interrupted her. Blaine perked and tilted his head in thought, and Kurt could see he gears turning in his head, planning what he would sing for the audition. If Blaine was setting himself up for that, Kurt was going to back off. He did not want to have to compete against him, of all people, for a role in a competition as high as Nationals.

As for the visual effects, William and Carson wanted to showcase their gymnastics routine and were working on it. Carson leaned across the aisle to convince James to join in on it. James declined the offer with the wave of his hand, saying he wasn't flexible in any way, shape, or form.

"You don't have to be the one doing all the flips. I bet you're light enough to toss in the air a few times," Will teased.

James made a squeaking noise that the blondes found hilarious and he pressed his forehead against the freezing window.

Behind them, Kurt leaned back in his seat. He was swaddled in his coat and intended to sink lower in it, stuffing his hands in the pockets. He turned his head to look at Blaine, who was watching him.

"I still think you did well today," he said quietly.

"Aside from entering early, you mean."

"Aside from that."

"Then I guess I did do pretty well."

Blaine beamed. "That's the spirit," he said. He leaned forward to press his lips against Kurt's swiftly. Kurt sighed against his lips and had pushed himself into a sitting position when the bus hit a large bump that made the boys fly out of their seats. Kurt was thrown against the window and Blaine fell backward into the aisle. Everyone's muscles were too locked to move back to their seats. Eventually the terrain smoothed out and Ms. Lovett assured them that it was simply a pothole.

"Say, James," Carson said as he clambered up out of the aisle, "was your prediction dealing with the bus getting a flat tire?"

"Not even close," he muttered and picked himself off the floor. He brushed his hands together.

Will eyed him. "What was your reading? You never told us."

By then the bus had gone silent, all tuned in to what was being said. Though Kurt was sitting back in his seat, his arms knitted over his chest, he listened. He had been curious about James' prediction since Alice had whispered it to him. Blaine, on the other hand, did not look interested and peered past Kurt out the window.

Seeing the rest of the bus staring at him, James turned a light shade of pink. "She, um, told me I was going to die a horrible death before the end of this year."

Silence, then Will laughed. It ebbed away the tension.

"Maybe you are going to kill this bus after all."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Things simmer down after the win at Regionals, though not in the way it should, tension is taut as four boys fight for the solo for Nationals, and a long-abandoned war is unearthed with a simple Harry Potter reference._

* * *

_Just a little note: I apologize deeply for my absence. School has been keeping me away from writing, and I just now finished this chapter. I'm surprised I actually had time to finish it. I will try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible. Also, this story will have a predicted number of thirty chapters, including epilogue. This is only seventeen. More to come._

_Update on my other story in progress: It will make its debut next year, around August. That's if any of you are interested._

_Reviews would be lovely._


	19. Stop for a Minute

_Hello, readers. _

_I apologize hugely for the lack of updates. It's been about a month and a half since I've posted a single thing, and I apologize. Marching band has taken its toll in me since August, and people who have been in marching band know that. I have my last contest Saturday and I'll be done for the year._

_And then starts my other Klaine fic, premiering in August of next year._

_Yes, it will take that long to write it and post it. Plus, I would have had it ready a month ago, but I have a very changing mind, thus I would've rewritten the prologue a million times more..._

_Oh, and happy birthday to me, on the 21st of September, in which I turned sixteen. Woo._

Disclaimer: I don't anything own Glee.

* * *

**Stop for a Minute**

* * *

**And if I stop for a minute, I think about things I really don't wanna know, and I'm the first to admit it: Without you I'm a liner stranded in an ice floe. – Stop for a Minute, Keane**

* * *

"Excuse me, Clarisse, I hope you don't mind me borrowing a few of your students for a moment."

At those words, the entire room froze. Ms. Lovett, who had been preaching to the boys, stopped where she was with her hand raised in the air. Her expression was startled and she blinked. Her lips puckered, as she didn't prefer people interrupting her, but let it slide for once, and dropped her hand.

Kurt glanced up from his music folio. The entire lesson he had been doodling on the corner of the sheet music for Regionals. The competition had taken place three weeks ago, yet it felt like they had just gotten off the bus with the trophy in their possession. Everything from that day was still fresh in their minds: the blinding lights, the rush of adrenaline, swaying across the stage. But what stood out to the boys—not just the Warblers, the entire student body—the most was jostling.

The South Wing had been found in shambles when the Warblers returned from Regionals. The common room curtains were torn down and strewn down the corridors, some in individual dorm rooms; the books arranged on the shelves were misplaced and appeared everywhere you looked; the appliances in the kitchen were unplugged and the dishes stacked everywhere save inside the cabinets, the counters coated in slimy car soap; in the field house, the equipment that belonged specifically to boys in South were tweaked in such a way that they were useless. Endless streams of white toilet paper hung from the ceilings and chandeliers and mobs of Silly String coated every window. More things had been shifted out of place in the dorm rooms, like beds stripped and closets dismantled. The Wing looked like it had sat through a full-blown war, with a tornado following after.

"Alright, this is insane," Simon had stated when the South Warblers had found their section of the building in the state. "I know a lot of people hate us, but seriously: Who would hate us enough to turn this place upside down?"

Carson had shrugged and nudged a book out of the way with his foot. "Who cares who did it? All I care about it getting everything back to normal. I'd rather not open the toilet and see an encyclopedia, thank you very much."

"You mean, you don't want to see the perpetrators hung from the ceilings by their ankles for what they did? I'd quite like that, to be honest," William had mused thoughtfully while running his finger over a patch of red paint that was splattered on one wall.

James had been about to add something, but a clod of Silly String had peeled itself from the ceiling and nailed him on the head.

The mess in the South Wing was an irritable roller coaster for the Dean. Almost everything was in too hideous of a state that it had to be replaced. The process required a list of numbers to dial and people to talk to and things that had to be paid for and getting the boys to settle down about the whole thing. They all argued constantly about who was behind it, but came up with nothing. Rumors were created, saying that it was the Dean's prank, others saying it was the lonely little West wing behind it. Almost as infuriating as searching for the culprit was cleaning the wing.

Silly String was incredibly difficult to remove from the ceilings, floors, and windows, especially if it had hardened. The toilet paper streams were easy to take down and the remains of the curtains were to shredded to be put to good use, so they were discarded. The sheets to the beds had to be found—and they were, but the place of discovery was in the oven—and all the boys had to pick their clothing off the floors, as their closets had been emptied all over the wing.

By now, the damage was cleaned away and everything was back in order. Most everything, at least.

Not a day was spent without the incident being whispered about, or someone being accused of setting it all up. Each person had their suspicions and their opinions. Carson was constantly in a rage, not because the person behind it wouldn't step forward, but because his running shoes had been a part of the sabotage of the field house; the soles had been ripped out and the laces cut. Will was annoyed that no one had been suspended, expelled, or hung from the ceiling by their ankles. James decided to stay quiet and stay out of it, though it was his wing.

Now, Kurt stopped his doodling to look up at the Dean. He stood in the doorway, eyes locked on the director. Ms. Lovett nodded simply and left her position at the front of the room. The Dean strode to the front of the room and as he passed, postures straightened and phones were slipped back into pockets. He panned the room like a vulture watching for dead bodies. His menacing glare became slightly less menacing when he leaned casually against the desk.

"Again, I would like to congratulate you all on winning Regionals. It takes a great deal of work to get this far in show choir, and to beat out two other talented groups. I'm very proud of you all," he started off, and half the room slouched with relief. They tensed when he continued with, "Now that that is out of the way, I would like to see Mr. Moore and Mr. Rivers in my office, please."

With that, he pushed away from the desk and left the room.

There was only silence as Wes rigidly got to his feet, David following in suit. They departed with their heads down.

Will smirked. "I told you it was them."

"You said nothing," Simon said scornfully as the doors closed behind them.

"Well, it was my original suspicion."

"But you never said anything."

"Boys, please," Ms. Lovett said over them and stood back at the front of the room, "let's not discuss this _again. _Need I remind you that we should be at work preparing for Nationals?" She turned to grab a sheet of paper from the desk behind her and scanned over it.

Nationals was the next and last branch in their string of competitions. It was set for the last week in May, approximately seven weeks from the present time, and would take place in a lavish performance hall in New York City. Their sleeping arrangements were set already, as Lovett had called in reservations the moment they arrived back from Regionals. The hotel was located not too far from the performance hall, and there was no doubt most, if not all, the competing groups would be staying there as well.

Kurt found the idea of going to New York as thrilling as the others found it. Sure, taking part in a national high school show choir was unbelievable, but he was looking forward to walking the streets and seeing the sights, exploring the parts of the city. All he had seen were from pictures on television or in magazines. Central Park was the first place on his list to visit, followed by the array of shops that lined the streets. Radio City Music Hall was next and he itched to do so much as stand before it. Just thinking about it made him squirm with excitement.

"But Nationals is, like, a month away," Nick complained, falling back into his seat.

"Ten weeks. That's a great deal of time that shouldn't be wasted on goofing around," she corrected him and folded the corner of the paper absently. "If we want to do well at Nationals, we need to start pulling together songs now. And no song switches without my permission!" She glared in the direction of the blondes and James, who ducked their heads. "Actually, no song switches, period! Even though that set list won us Regionals, we need to carefully plan out this one."

"Now, to start this planning process, I have settled for the standard three song set list. There will be two group numbers, in which everyone sings, and one soloist. This is where my list comes in." She held up the paper for them to see. "I have arranged a sign up list for anyone who wants to audition for the solo. I'll pass it around now and anyone who puts there name down, see me after class for more details." She handed the list to the nearest boy.

Kurt was the fifth person to receive the sign up list. So far the only name on it was Blaine's, in the first slot. This was expected, and Kurt easily passed it on to Cody.

"You're not signing up?" Blaine asked him in a whisper.

He shrugged. "Why would I? I already got to sing at Regionals. I don't think I should press my luck any further."

"I think you should," Blaine told him, and smiled a little. "You're a good singer, Kurt. And knowing Lovett, she'll want a flashy number. You're the only one who can do flashy around here." His eyes flickered around the room.

Kurt stared at him. "I'm trying to decide whether that's a good thing or not," he murmured. "Being flashy around here doesn't get you the right kind of attention. It gets you the bad kind, and then Lovett obsesses over you until you're as dull as a piece of paper."

Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "Flashiness is good, Kurt. And there is not one person in this room who is dull."

Now it was Kurt's turn to shrug.

He laughed softly and nudged him in the shoulder. "Just think about it, okay?"

Kurt presented him with a promise to do so and a half-smile, but dropped it as soon as he turned back around.

The rest of the rehearsal consisted of Ms. Lovett scrutinizing every detail of Regionals and going back on what they needed to improve. As she moved on to Nationals, everyone moaned. It was so far away, in everyone's opinion, and therefore it didn't need to be discussed until later on down the road.

Will and Carson immediately offered to showcase their dance routine during the finale, to which Simon made the comment that they were "just doing a bunch of flips back and forth." That emitted a few chuckles from the group, and Will gave him a hard glare. The final song and the intro would be determined by the end of the week, the day before classes were dismissed for the long-awaited Spring Break.

Spring Break lasted for one week. It was time to take a break from class, a break from show choir, and a break from drama. The latter Kurt would happily get away from. After Regionals, he noticed that James was more sullen than usual. His eyes were more sunken, his pallor changing to something whiter. His voice was less heard than it had been until it reached the point where he wasn't saying a thing at all.

And Kurt couldn't help but take the blame for whatever was happening to him.

He knew James was still cutting himself, he knew James was still hopelessly head over heels for him, and he knew Blaine was not on terms with him. Every bullet point in his head could be traced back to him, and what he could've done to prevent it. Maybe, if he had given James a little bit more of a chance, maybe he would not be like this. Every time this thought surfaced, without fail, Kurt shook his head.

What was done was done. There was no going back on anything to change it. He couldn't all of a sudden start giving the other boy more attention, or talk to him more. James had dug himself in a hole that he could climb out of himself, Kurt decided. There would be no helping him. But then, as he found himself pondering this, he argued against it. James was his friend, and friends did things for the other, didn't they? He would help him out of the hole, right?

Kurt confided in the only person who would never judge him, even if he unexpectedly wanted to rob a bank: Cody.

"What if the hole is really, really deep?" Cody had asked after Kurt finished with his lengthy inner argument. "What if you want to help him, but he's so far down that you can't do anything?"

"There has to be something I can do," Kurt sighed and flopped back onto Thomas' bed. At the time, Thomas had been away from the room, in the library for research on a project. "I mean, I can't simply… leave him there. Metaphorically, of course."

"Sure you can," Cody told him quietly.

"You sound a lot like Blaine right now," he said sharply. "Blaine would probably want to push dirt into the hole and plant flowers over it."

"Not even flowers, just grass. Monkey grass, actually."

"Whatever," Kurt sighed and covered his face.

"Metaphorical monkey grass, if that makes anything better."

"It doesn't," Kurt said flatly. "Do you see how he is right now? I can't help but feel that it's all my fault. I'm the one who caused this."

Cody paused in his homework to look up at him. "None of this is your fault, Kurt. You can't let yourself feel this way."

"But I can't! He blames me for what he's doing to himself!" he said, irritated. "All because I don't like him back."

Cody set aside his homework now to give all his attention to his friend. "Kurt, you're not the only reason he cuts. There are obviously other things in his life that make him do it. It's not completely you."

Kurt threw his hands in the air. "But I have at least some part of it!"

"You're hopeless. Why did you come to me in the first place?" he asked.

"Because Blaine would not be a suitable audience, Wes would take Blaine's side, _David _would agree with Wes who took Blaine's side, and Thomas would only make jokes about the monkey grass." Kurt sat up and rubbed his face. "I can't talk to Will about it because that would only enrage Blaine, and Carson would be no help at all. Simon doesn't know James as well as I do, and everyone else is a knucklehead. Does that sum it up?"

He nodded. "Basically."

Now, the bell rang overhead and Kurt gathered his things. Blaine left him to talk with Lovett about the solo, and Kurt was surprised to see both Simon and William up there with him. He could see Will wanting to audition, but not Simon, who spent most of rehearsal every day reserved. Kurt half expected to see James making his way to them, but the dark haired boy was packing his things and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Kurt was jostled when Cody prodded him in the arm.

"Are you doing anything exciting for Spring Break?" he asked as they left the room and entered the crowded hallway to their last class of the day.

To be frank, Kurt thought his plans were dull. He had arranged with his parents to come home for the week and spend time with Mercedes and the New Directions. It was the same as he had done last year. Last year, he learned how to change a tire in under thirty seconds flat and endlessly flipped through magazines with Mercedes. Last year, it had been only he and his dad, not Carole and Finn with them.

"Family," he sighed. "Just going back to see my family. Nothing out of the ordinary. What are you doing?"

Cody nodded contently. "I'm going home, too. Baseball try-outs start the week we get back, so I'll be training for that. You know, going out to the batting cages and everything. There's one near my house that I use a lot."

The idea of Cody playing baseball was still having difficulty going through Kurt's head. There was no way a boy of such a small frame could pile on bulky gear and catch pitch after pitch. It was easier to see him whipping up something in the kitchen, not sweating it out on a baseball diamond in the bottom of the ninth.

"I'm sure you'll do fine at try-outs. I wouldn't worry," Kurt said as they turned the corner.

"I hope I will," he said fretfully and he rung his hands together. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't make the team this year."

"Again, you'll do fine. Would it help if I came to watch try-outs?"

Cody laughed nervously. "If you want to. I mean, it's a really boring process. You have to go through each person and it goes on and on. You don't want to sit through it unless you have nothing else to do."

Kurt stared at him oddly. "You're one of my closest friends, Cody. I think it would be fun to watch you."

"It's your choice," he shrugged and tugged at the strap on his bag to loosen it. "You'll be almost dead from boredom by the end of it."

Kurt smiled. He parted ways with Cody to go to his last class, right as the bell rang.

* * *

"You dirty traitors. You _dirty freaking traitors._"

"Mr. Moore," Markus snapped. "Sit down and be quiet."

"Yeah, _Wesley,_" Leo Kingsley sneered over the back of his seat, "sit down, why don't you?"

"Mr. Kingsley. Please," Markus scolded.

The blonde sighed and slid back down in his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the potted plant in the corner.

Markus gestured to Wes and David, who stood in the doorway. "Boys, take a seat."

The Dean's office was small and boxy, with a stout window on one wall. A tall file cabinet and a lush potted plant posed in the corner. Dark frames taking up most of the wall space. Instead of family photos, they were all some kind of certificate from something, whether it be academic or athletic. There was only one personal snapshot and it sat under the sheet of glass covering his desk. It showed him with an arm around a woman with bushy brown hair and a small boy standing between them with a football cradled under his arm. They were all smiling at the camera.

The last time the office had been seen by Leo and Dex were when they were caught for starting the massive food fight just after returning from the holiday break. They had taken multiple trips here for every reason in the book—pulling up the roots of the flowers in the beds around campus, sticking gum on their teachers' seats, you name it. After the fifth or sixth time, the trips became casual.

For Wes and David, however, it was only the second time this year, and simply standing in the doorway made them tense.

Finally Wes stepped forward and took a seat in one of the empty chairs. David closely followed and sat down as well. His fingers curled over the armrests protectively. Glancing over at Wes, they shared a glance. Both of them had a strong feeling as to why they were called in, and they knew they were caught. But even with their hearts jumping in their chests, they stayed cool.

"Whatever they told you," Wes blurted out a moment and jabbed a finger at the redhead and the blonde, "they're both lying. You can't possibly believe them for anything they say."

Markus held up his hand and they fell quiet. "Please. Don't start accusing each other for anything when I haven't even told you why you're all here." He let his hand drop and scanned their blank faces. Sure they would be obedient, he continued on. "I'm sure all of you know about what happened to the South Wing. Inexplicable damage was done over the weekend three weeks ago. Around the time of Regionals." He slowly looked to Wes and David.

"Yes, sir," they both said.

"The damage is as follows," he said and reached for a sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. He pulled his glasses from their perch on the top of his head and read. "The beds stripped, Silly String on the windows, the glass taken _out _of some of the windows, toilet paper attached to the ceilings and various hanging mobiles, litter, closets pulled apart and spread about the wing, the kitchen appliances dismantled, peanut butter jammed in the slots of the game consoles and disc players, jelly stuffed under the cushions of all the seating in the wing, and paint splatters everywhere." He looked over the paper at them.

"I didn't hear about the peanut butter and jelly part," Wes mentioned weakly.

The Dean slapped the paper down on the desk and pulled off his glasses. "That was the worst part, aside from the Silly String. Do you know how hard Silly String is to get off of _anything_? Especially when it hardens?"

Slowly Dex and Leo burst into a fit of quiet giggles, to which the Dean shushed them. They bit their lips to keep from laughing.

"What are you trying to tell us?" Wes asked evenly and narrowed his eyes. "Surely you didn't call us in here to tell us all the dirty details."

Leo snorted and covered his mouth.

Markus played with his glasses, folding them and unfolding them. "I have a very reliable source that says the cause of this entire ordeal was you two." He pointed one arm of the spectacles of Wes and David.

"It was _not _us!" David said immediately. "Like you said, we were at Regionals when the South Wing was sabotaged. Wes and I couldn't possibly have done it. We don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. I have something you boys may be familiar with," he said somewhat brightly. He pushed back from the desk to dig in a drawer. He came back up with a sleeve of paper. Inside was a shiny disc, which he inserted to his laptop.

As he did this, the hairs on the back of Wes' neck stood. He whipped his head to look at Leo and Dex and shot a glare at them. "What did you do?"

"Justice," Leo said, an air of satisfaction coating his tone, and he crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "Sweet, sweet justice."

Markus clicked his mouse and reached for the volume control. The sound was crackly and people's voices filled the room. David and Wes began to think it was only a joke being played on them, but then they gasped in horror. Their own voices appeared on the track. A few seconds into the recording they realized it was the phone call they had made to Dex and Leo at the supermarket, the day they were preparing for the brunch.

"You taped the call?" Wes asked hysterically. "Why?"

Leo shrugged. "We've gotten into the habit of taping all calls we make. Who knew it would finally pay off?"

"How?" David sputtered.

"Let's just say the lock on Adam's door is very insecure," Dex said smugly, "and he has some pretty neat equipment in his room. Which includes state-of-the-art sound recording stuff."

"The tape is a fake," David insisted, ignoring the two boys and turning to the Dean. "We don't have anything against South. We swear."

Markus raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely. Sure, there are a few choice people we despise," Wes said and scooted to the edge of his seat, "but we would never vandalize their wing under any circumstances."

Dex laughed. "Yeah, right. Wesley here practically admitted that you two did it."

"Yeah," Leo agreed. "And I'm glad you called us. It was a hell of a lot easier to tape you telling us about it. I mean, imagine if you had talked to us face-to-face? We would've had to stick microphones on the both of you, and that would've been a little suspicious, wouldn't it?"

By the time he finished, Wes and David were sitting white-faced. David gripped the armrests tighter and Wes sunk back in his seat. There was nothing either of them could say that would make a difference. They looked up at the Dean, dreading what was going to come out of his mouth.

"The evidence is clear, boys," he said solemnly. "Mr. Kingsley and Mr. Greene presented me with the tape yesterday. I reviewed it several times, boys. There is no denying this kind of proof."

Dex and Leo smirked in their seats and Wes had to hold himself back from leaping at them.

"Sir, we didn't mean for them to basically destroy everything. Just mess them up a little. It was a joke," David explained calmly as Wes struggled to stay in his chair.

"A joke that went wrong," Wes muttered under his breath.

The Dean nodded. "A joke that went wrong indeed. Do you boys know how much the damage was worth? All the windows had to be replaced, and new curtains were bought…" His voice faded and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And not to mention that someone could have gotten hurt."

"No one was at the school when they did it, sir. They were either at Regionals with us or home for the weekend," Wes said quietly.

Markus took a deep breath. "That's beside the point. The point is that the South wing was vandalized and all evidence points to you. Vandalism in the first place is a serious offense at Dalton, and is worthy of serious punishment."

Wes pursed his lips. "Wait, so you're going to punish us, but not them? They were the ones who actually turned South upside down! At least give them kitchen duty, or suspend them, or something!"

"Hey!" Leo exclaimed and almost got to his feet in protest. "Shut up! Shut up!"

David beamed triumphantly. "That's what you get. If you want to frame us, make sure you're not going to get caught in the crossfire."

"Wesley does have a point, Mr. Kingsley," Markus said.

Dex's jaw dropped. "So you're really agreeing with those bozos? We didn't do anything!"

"According to the lovely taping of the call we just listened to," he said casually, "it's clear that both of you had something to do with it. I don't know how you would defend yourself in this position."

Leo tried to say something, but it only came out in sputters and wide-eyed glances Dex and death glares to Wes and David, who were looking pretty smug at the moment. Then they looked back at the stone stare of Markus and ice shot through their veins.

"Partners in crime. If one is sentenced, the rest are sentenced as well," the Dean sighed. From the top drawer of his desk he drew a pink pad of paper that struck fear into the four boys. "Let's see now… For Leonardo Kingsley and Dexter Greene, let's say twelve weeks of campus arrest. And for Wesley Moore and David Rivers… twelve weeks as well."

He finished scribbling on the pink pad and slid across four individual sheets with their names on them. "For the next twelve weeks, you are not allowed to go anywhere besides your own wing and your classes. You may not compete in any extracurricular activities that leave the campus, which include the musical arts, theatre productions, athletics, or the creative arts. You may leave the campus only if a parent or guardian personally signs you out with valid identification."

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," David stated indefinitely as he took his slip of paper. "I mean, three months? One month is enough—"

Wes' eyes widened suddenly. "You can't do this, Dean Markus! Three months overlaps into May! Nationals! You're holding us over into Nationals!"

The Dean blinked and for a moment his stone glare was replaced by a look of innocence. "Isn't that unfortunate?"

"You mean you aren't going to let us off in time to go?" David exclaimed, nearly crushing the slip of paper in his hand.

Markus slipped the pad back into the drawer. "That would break my conduct as an educational administrator. Next time, think about the consequences before you commit to something this serious," was all he said.

"So you aren't going to let us off?" Wes repeated and actually stood up. "Why? It's Nationals! We have a commitment to the Warblers. If David and I don't go, we won't have enough people to compete."

"You and I both know that the school choir has enough people to compete," Markus said evenly and folded his hands on his desk. "Even if half the group quit the day before you leave for New York, you would still have enough to meet the qualifications, and then some."

Defeated, Wes plopped down in his seat and clutched his pink slip.

"Boys, you are dismissed. I expect you all to carry out your punishment. If I hear otherwise, other penalties will be assigned. You may leave."

Dex and Leo slipped from their chairs and left the room as soon as he said this. David stood slowly and tucked his slip in his pocket, waiting for Wes.

Markus raised his hand. "Actually, Wesley? Could you stay here for a little longer? I would like to talk you about different matters."

Wes turned in his seat to look at David. David nodded gravely and left the room quickly, closing the door behind him.

"Okay, if this is about that time I accidentally punched William Fitzroy in the face before Christmas break, I sincerely apologize for that and I will never do it again," Wes said hastily and leaned back in his seat. The pink slip crinkled in his pocket as he adjusted. "Unless he's asking for it, then no promises."

The Dean stared at him closely. "I wasn't aware of that."

He flushed. "Oh. Never mind. So, what were you going to talk to me about?"

Markus shook his head to dismiss the earlier thought. His face fell flat. "Wesley, I understand that your family has been having financial troubles lately." He paused when Wes' jaw dropped open a little. "Let me explain. Your mother called me the other day and discussed it with me. The school district cut her from her teaching position."

Wes ground his teeth. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Wesley. The school district couldn't find a use for her and decided to cut her, as well as many others," he said, and folded his hands on his desk.

"Why did she call you first? Why didn't she tell me?" he asked as his throat started to close up.

"She said she didn't want you to worry."

"Well, she was wrong, because I'm worrying now! I mean, I've been worrying ever since I heard about the job cuts! What is she going to do? She has a family to support—"

Markus cleared his throat. "I understand that. Being the oldest son of two is difficult. And being without a father role is even more so."

Wes balled his hands into fists and leaned his elbows on his knees, staring straight down at the floor. He bit his lip.

"Your father was a brave man, Wesley," he said almost inaudibly. His chair squealed as he leaned back into it. "He served our country well. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed!" Wes shouted and his head snapped up. Rage set his throat on fire and he stopped himself from getting up or shouting any louder. He reminded himself he was talking to the Dean of his school, not a friend or his brother. His voice dropped. "I will never be ashamed of him," he said.

Markus nodded once in understanding.

Wes sat on the edge of his chair with his hands on his knees, taking even breaths. The slightest mention of his father set him on edge without fail. Wes' father had been an important role model for both him and his younger brother. He was always there to run to, to hug, to play football out in the front yard with.

The time between the fifth grade and the eighth was a blur to him. In those four years, his father constantly came and went, never staying at home for more than ten days at a time. His leaves felt shorter than a second, and his time away was measured as if by the century. Though his father was never around, he sent letters by the bundle, with pictures and the smell of sand. They came every three weeks and Wes had gotten into the routine of marking it on the calendar on the fridge.

Slowly, stealthily, the bundles of letters never came on the predicted third week and the comings and goings became less frequent until it just… stopped. There were no phone calls, no letters, no visitations, no Skyping overseas. Nothing. No explanation.

He hated the string of memories. They led to the final scene: his mother waiting in the principal's office, struggling to keep a strong composure, but with tears welling in her eyes. His brother was too young to understand what was going on when it was explained that, "Daddy wasn't coming home anymore." He simply thought he had moved residences and was permanently living wherever he was stationed.

Wes figured it out. He hated how quickly and easily he figured it out.

No father.

He hadn't realized his eyes were wet until a tissue box was slid across the desk. Raising his head in fright, he saw Markus offering him them, and he swiped one from the box. He dabbed at his eyes and cleared his throat.

"What's going to happen now?" he asked, his voice sounding clogged. "Is she going to get a job? How are my brother and I going to be able to stay in school next year?"

He chuckled and clicked a pen slowly. "For a sixteen year-old-boy, you sure have a lot of questions. That's not a bad thing. As for now, she has a part time job at a shopping district, but that is until she can find something better. For you and your brother's educations, your tuitions for this year were paid for in August of last year, right before the term started. Both of you are covered until next year. If she cannot acquire a job and pay for your educations by August of this year, the school board has agreed to chip in and pay a standard expense."

"Either you're lying, or I'm delusional. Which is it?" Wes said. He chuckled slightly to hopefully imply that he wasn't being seriously, and added a smile for good measure. He grabbed another tissue.

Markus chuckled with him. "I would never lie to you about such a thing," he said. "What I'm telling you is all truth. Everything is going to turn out fine, Wesley. You're in good hands."

Wes nodded and his breathing started to even out. He hadn't noticed that it had been erratic. "What about my brother? Who's going to take care of him when my mom's not home? I can't make the hour trip every day to pick him up from school, and do everything…" His voice trailed when he realized none of what he was saying would turn out to make sense. It didn't even fit together properly in his head.

"He is staying at one his friend's houses until this is all sorted out," he reported.

There was a bout of silence between them in which Wes sat back in his seat and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. He let his eyes fall shut, trying to push away the burden that over took him, weighing him down.

* * *

"…do you understand it now? I've explained it in every way I know, including drawing it out, singing a song, and making a Powerpoint slideshow. What is there to not understand at this point?"

Kurt looked up from the book that was open in front of him on the table. "Mostly the entire chapter," he said sheepishly.

Adam heaved a sigh and tucked the pencil behind his ear. "Really?"

"I'm sorry, Adam, really, I am." The words tumbled out of Kurt's mouth all at once. "I'm trying to get this, but it's not coming to me as easily as the other chapters. Don't think I'm not trying: I am."

"I know, I know," the East Precursor sighed again and leaned back in his seat. "Let's… take a break, and see where we can get to after ten minutes."

On most days the library was empty after school. It wasn't the place to be unless you had a report due the class after lunch. Then, it was the bee's knees.

Only the librarian sat at her desk near the entrance and she usually had a sappy romance novel in her hands. All the tables but one were vacant. The one that Adam and Kurt used was tucked away in the back corner of the spacious book room, near the windows. From this spot, Kurt could see the parking lot and he was able to study all the cars parked there. Blaine's small car was always in the first slot on the right, then David's car, then Wes'. William's was parked off near the back of the lot, with Carson's. James had a car as well, a dark blue one, that stayed put in the corner. Kurt's red truck, the one Burt had confiscated for a few weeks because of a small argument between them in his freshman year, was near the front.

The library was their place for study sessions, which had been carrying on for a few weeks now. They had first started out in the East Wing common room, but Kurt was receiving too many stares to be calm. He convinced Adam to relocate to the library instead. That worked out better for him, though Adam seemed a little edgier at the library. He flinched and looked over his shoulder whenever the main doors opened, as if he was looking for—dreading, was more like it—someone in particular. When asked about it, he would shake it off and turn his attention to the next chapter in Kurt's Physics book.

The sessions were beneficial to Kurt. Since they had started, Kurt found a gradual raise in his grade. At this point, it was nearly a whole letter grade higher than when he had first started. It was amazing how much an hour after school each day could help him.

Now, Adam reached over and flipped the page. He tapped the edge of his pencil sharply against the table. "Kurt? Earth to Kurt. It's been ten minutes, and you've been staring into space the entire time."

Kurt snapped back to reality, as he had been in a daze, staring out the window.

"I'm sorry," he said and shook his head. "Where were we?"

"Chapter seventeen. You were supposed to start the worksheet we got today during class," he said and twirled his pencil like a baton.

Kurt nodded and stared down at the words. Finally, he pushed it away and asked bluntly, "Where were you at Regionals?"

The question had followed him the moment he had seen Simon sitting by himself on the bus back from the competition. He had heard that Adam was coming along to act as an organizer and tech support for Lovett, not perform on stage. Adam hadn't showed up and that made Kurt wonder. He had meant to ask the Precursor what the deal was, but nine times out of ten, he was interrupted when he tried to ask.

Adam raised his eyebrow at the question. "I decided not to go."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to," he answered quickly. He took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses against his shirt to clean them.

Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek. "You should've gone with us. It was… interesting. We won."

"I heard. Good job."

"Thank you."

Adam set his glasses back on his face. "You sung a solo, didn't you?"

"Duet," he corrected reticently. "With Blaine. I sung the duet with Blaine."

"I'm sure that sounded good. You're both very talented."

Kurt nodded awkwardly. "Thank you."

"Let's get back to the homework, shall we?" Adam offered and nudged the book closer to Kurt, turning the worksheet to him.

"You didn't answer my question," he interjected and closed the book.

Adam stared at him. "What question was that?"

"Why weren't you at Regionals with us?" Kurt repeated, sliding the book away from him. "I thought you told Simon you were coming with us. You know, as technical support."

Adam bristled and raised his chin a fraction. "Simon must've been misinformed, because I had no intentions of going. I don't know where he got that idea."

"He got that 'idea' from you, Adam." Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. He leaned against the table. "Did something happen?"

"No. Nothing happened I just didn't want to go." He picked his pencil up off the table and pulled the book and worksheet back toward him, starting to write once more. The tip of the pencil snapped against the paper and his jaw set.

Kurt watched him closely, slightly alarmed. "We don't have to work on this chapter right now. We can do it tomorrow," he said calmly. It took him a moment to realize that the other boy was on the verge of crying and he blinked in confusion.

"I didn't go to Regionals with you," he said in a constricted voice, "not because I didn't want to go, but because I didn't want to be around Simon."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Kurt said uneasily, tilting his head slightly.

Adam removed his glasses again and shakily set them on the tabletop. He leaned his forehead against his hand, and his elbow on the table.

"I did not want to be around Simon," he repeated firmly. "That's that. Nothing in depth about that whatsoever."

"What are you talking about? I thought you two were friends." Kurt asked him, bewildered. He and Simon were a matched set. Kurt saw them eating lunch together on most days, when Simon didn't have a private voice lesson with Lovett, and when Adam didn't have to go in to see a teacher about homework. They were best friends, as far as Kurt knew.

Adam peered up at him through spread fingers. "Don't get me wrong, we are. We're like peas in a pod. But it's so hard to be around him right now…"

Kurt kept his mouth shut, deciding not to say a word, only listening intently. He didn't want to talk through what was going to be said.

The Precursor pursed his lips. "Before you and Blaine… you know, started dating, did you find it hard to be around him?"

"Not particularly," Kurt answered cautiously. "Adam, what are you getting at?"

He raised his eyebrow and let out another sigh, burying his face in his hands. "I-I like Simon, okay? There, I like him."

Blinking with confusion, Kurt stared. "You… like him."

"Do I have to repeat it?"

"No, no, I heard it," he insisted hastily. He fell silent, trying to pull together what to say. Finally, "So you're… gay."

"Yes." Adam's voice held a tremor.

"You're absolutely sure."

"Positive."

"Very sure?"

"I don't see why you have to ask me three times when I confirmed it the first," he huffed, exasperated. "I already said yes. What more do you need?"

Kurt shook his head. "That's why you didn't come to Regionals with us? Because you didn't want to be around Simon? Why?"

Adam glanced over his shoulder, only seeing the librarian perched behind her desk. He turned back to Kurt. "I like him, Kurt. I'm like a stupid little schoolgirl with a crush. Who knows what I would've done or said if I had gone with you?"

Licking his lips, Kurt tasted the Chapstick he had applied in fourth period, which tasted like lemon and cherry. His attention was absorbed by the balm until he looked back at Adam. The boy was rubbing nonexistent specks off the lenses of his glasses as an excuse to hide the shaking in his hands.

"Does Simon know?" Kurt asked him softly.

"Only a little," Adam scoffed. "I blew it during the brunch. It was all tears and confessions and, oh, Kurt, it was so horrible. I'd never been so humiliated in my life." He paused to swallow heavily. "He was the first to know about me, besides my parents and my sister." He choked on the last words.

"What did your parents think of it when you told them?" Kurt dreaded the answer. He had been afraid of the consequences of telling his father he was gay. Instead of yelling or rioting or throwing a fit, his father was acceptant of him.

Adam shrugged and his brown eyes shone. "I was kicked out. Nothing big," he said airily.

"Kicked out?" he repeated breathlessly and instinctively placed his hand over Adam's on the table. "I am so sorry, Adam. I didn't know."

"You had no idea. It's fine." He turned his head so that he stared at the neat row of encyclopedias to his right. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? Of course it's a big deal!" Kurt nearly shrieked, but was shushed hurriedly. He lowered his voice to above a whisper, though it kept the same energy. "When did they kick you out?"

"Right before freshman year here. I told them I liked a boy in my eighth grade class, and they kicked me out," Adam sniffed. "They kicked me out at the right time, which I can't decide whether it was a coincidence or what, because I was already enrolled here. I had a dorm room set up under my name and I was all set. They shipped me here and never wanted to see me again."

Kurt sharply sucked in a breath. "Adam… I'm so sorry. But what about your sister? Wasn't she here for the brunch?"

He seemed to wince at the mention of her. "Yes, she was. So?"

"So? So, why did she come from... wherever you live—"

"North Dakota," he interjected.

Kurt stopped. "Okay, North Dakota. Why did she come that far?" he asked, gripping his hand tighter.

"I fully believe she went through an epiphany that not all gays were evil and what not," Adam explained with a sour frown.

"She came down because of that?"

"I think so. And sadly, she's staying," he grumbled.

"Staying where?" Kurt questioned. As far as he knew, Dalton didn't offer its boarding services to family members, let alone girls.

Adam ran his tongue and he looked irritated with the talking, but he went on. "She started out paying for a motel room at first, but after my endless ranting about how eventually, she would get mugged or worse"—he was oblivious to Kurt's horrified face—"she found one of our cousins in the same county as Dalton. She's staying with them until she feels like going back home. And I hope she goes back soon. She's annoying me by being in the same state. It simply amazes me how our parents don't mind. I mean, it's the school year after all, and my sister is in enrolled in high school." He paused. "Ah, well, our parents don't really care about either of us, it seems."

Kurt stared at him. It took him a few moments to process what Adam had said in a flurry.

Finally, "Do you stay with them? Your cousin? I mean, since you were kicked out of your home, do you…" He stopped, fearful of how terrible he would make the situation sound.

"Oh, no, I don't get along with my cousins. I stay with Simon and his family during the school holidays," Adam said. When he spoke of Simon, his eyes instantly brightened, like there was a lamp behind them. "His three brothers seem to like me, and not because I practically do their summer homework for them." He stopped to catch his breath and noticed Kurt trying to keep up with his fast words. "And yes, before you ask, that's how I came to like him. Summer bonding."

Homework was the last thing on either of their minds. The textbook and the worksheet sat abandoned on the other side of the table, the page of the current chapter marked with Kurt's pencil. Neither of them had an intention of going back to it.

"Slow down. I'm sorry, but you're talking too fast for me to keep up," Kurt told him guiltily. "Back to your sister. Why did she come down here again?"

"I think it took one of the gay football players committing suicide to realize that I could've been going through exactly the same torture, had I come out publically. She explained to me vaguely that she had to see, physically see, that I was well and not having suicidal thoughts."

Kurt leaned back, surprised. "You didn't come out publically?"

"I told you," he said snippily, "you, Simon, and my sister are the only ones who know. I'm not including my parents because they don't care. They would never tell a soul that their son was gay." He said the last word like he had tasted something foul. Then his hard expression softened slightly. "I…I was too afraid to, to be honest. I'd seen what had happened to others who did, and I didn't want that to happen to me. I was a coward."

Kurt let his head fall for a moment. "You're not a coward, Adam. I didn't come out until just last year, at my old school," he admitted, recalling the dreadful scene of telling his father after that first victorious football game.

"Really? Why?" Now he finally looked away from the encyclopedias and at Kurt.

"I didn't have a reason to," Kurt said quietly. "I mean, I knew who I was at a very young age, but I never told anyone because I didn't feel the need to. Then, there were so many incidents when I had to scramble to hide it from my dad and from the other boys in my classes. I thought that if the jocks found out about me, I would be beaten to a pulp and thrown in the Dumpster until senior year." He hesitated for the slightest bit, and Adam caught it. Kurt was positive he was thinking of the rumors that had floated around the school as to why he had transferred in the middle of the semester. Kurt quickly caught himself and went on.

"Then I thought that if my dad found out I liked boys, he would disown me or kick me out, or beat me." He shuddered at the thought, and he thought he saw Adam blanch, too. "Finally, I decided I didn't want to hide who I was anymore. I didn't want to have to cover up who I really was. Besides, some people were questioning my taste in fashion. You think football jocks had never seen someone wear Armani to public school before." He smiled nervously.

This made Adam smile a little and he ran his free hand through his short hair. "And nothing happened when you told your dad?"

"Nothing at all. As it turned out, he'd had a good idea since I was in diapers, so the whole ordeal wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. He did most of the talking for me, actually," Kurt explained, laughing. "I mean, I was a toddler with a desire for sensible shoes. That's got to mean something."

Adam chuckled. "That does have to mean something." He exhaled with what sounded like relief. "Thank you, Kurt. For everything."

Kurt removed his hand from Adam's. "I think touching advice for Physics is a good exchange," he said, smiling.

* * *

Dinner approached quickly and the luscious aromas of food lured the student body to the dining hall. Classes were long past over and the sun was slipping below the horizon, tinting the clouds shades of pink, orange, and yellow.

Kurt slipped into the hall nearly twenty minutes late. It was caused by the time he had spent in the library with Adam. They had spent the next two hours talking between each other instead of working on Kurt's homework. He had a worksheet to do on his own now, but talking with Adam was worth it, he decided.

Coming directly from the library, he still had his book bag and textbook with him. He shifted his book to his other arm, his eyes sweeping the tables for anyone barely familiar. Even after attending Dalton for more than four months, he was ashamed to admit that he didn't know a soul past the boundaries of his small group of friends.

Instead of finding someone he actually wanted to sit with, his eyes fell on a clump of South boys talking loudly over dinner. Neither Will nor Carson was a part of that group. Kurt bypassed the table and headed toward the line. He retrieved a small bowl of soup with a salad on the side, and a bottle of water. Balancing his food on his tray and his tray on the textbook in his hands, he broke away from the line.

The large room was packed. Again he panned the tables in search of an open chair. This time, he spotted Thomas' unmistakably vibrant hair. He was talking to Cody, who sat across the table from him; the seat beside him, Blaine's usual place, was empty. Kurt let out a long breath and his eyes drifted down.

The dark haired boy seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was sitting at a table not far from the North boys, alone, a book open in front of him. There was no food tray or drink with him. He was simply reading. Kurt's heart skipped a beat and he stopped so abruptly he nearly tripped. He gripped the edges of his tray tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Kurt shook his head and pushed forward through the maze of tables, desperately hoping he wouldn't trip. Part of him was thinking logically: if Blaine wasn't in the dining hall, Kurt could steal a few minutes to talk. There wouldn't be repercussions if Blaine had no knowledge of it. The idea was sounding better to Kurt as approached the nearly vacant table.

Without saying a word, mostly because his mouth was too dry to articulate, Kurt pulled out a chair. He noticed that his hands were shaking terribly and he tried to keep the tray from vibrating.

James glanced up at him, his dark eyes nearly black in the low lighting. His hands froze where they were, poised on the novel, and he quickly folded down the ear of the page he was on and shut the cover.

"Can I help you?" he asked dryly and gnawed absently on his lower lip, which was cracked and almost bleeding.

"May I sit here?" Kurt asked.

James slumped in his seat. "I don't know why you'd want to sit with me, of all people. I mean, your friends are only a few tables away." He gestured lightly over Kurt's shoulder at Thomas and Cody, who were still engaged in conversation and hadn't taken notice of him.

Despite the vile tone James spoke with, Kurt pulled out a chair for himself and practically dropped his tray and textbook on the table. The soup nearly jumped from the bowl and the bottle of water toppled over. He sat down with a defiant expression.

"Where are William and Carson?" he asked tightly, not taking his eyes from the pale dark haired boy, who was seething.

"Them? Oh, they're in the choir room. Will wants Carson to help him with a solo. He's auditioning for the Nationals solo, you know," James gritted through his teeth. Kurt had thought he was going to snap.

Kurt clasped his hands in his lap. "Really. I didn't know. What is he singing?"

"How should I know?" He opened his book and brought it up to cover his face.

"You're his best friend. I thought he would've let you know," Kurt replied.

He lowered the book slightly. "He didn't."

Kurt braced his hands on the table now and glared at him. "Is it so much to ask to talk to you?"

"Yes, it is, as a matter of fact." James slapped the book down on the table and rested his forehead in his hand, concentrating on the tiny black print. "Now, if you'll please leave me alone, I'd like to read."

"All you ever do is read! It's like your religion!" Kurt almost shouted, but caught himself before the words exploded. When James didn't answer right away, he huffed. "Why aren't you eating?" he asked as a topic change.

"I already ate," was his answer.

"I don't believe you," Kurt hissed. "You can't do this to yourself, James. I won't… I won't let you." He reached forward and touched the other boy's hand.

Instead of flinching and tearing away his hand, James slowly lowered his book. He shut it and placed it on the table, giving every bit of his attention to Kurt.

"Kurt," he said softly, a lock of dark hair hanging over his eyes, "I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. I ate dinner, trust me. You came in late. There is no way to prove that I didn't eat. What, are you afraid I'm starving myself now, too?"

For a moment Kurt was caught by the smoothness, the calmness, of his voice. It was fluid and he reached up to tuck the lock of hair behind his ear, focusing intently on him.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased lightly. "Come now, Kurt. I'm only kidding with you."

Kurt swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "All I want to do is talk to you, James. Why can't you stop interrupting me, or making jokes, and listen for once?" His voice shook slightly.

James fixed his sapphire eyes on him and he clasped Kurt's hand between his own. A smile traced his lips.

"I don't want to argue with you right now, Kurt," he said lowly in an eerie voice that made the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand on end. Kurt actually felt the urge to lean back in his chair. "You have such good intentions, but if you want to talk, you know it will only come down to arguing in the end. Have you noticed we argue a lot? Even if it's about the goddamn weather." He paused and glanced toward the doors. "I'd rather talk when we aren't in front of the student body. Somehow there are always interruptions."

He hesitated another moment, then pushed away from the table. He scooped up his book and tucked it under his arm, disappearing into the through the double doors that fed into the hallway.

As soon as he had left the table, Kurt took in a deep breath, as if he could only now breathe. He sat there for a second, his head spinning. That was where he spent the last ten minutes of dinner. He did not get up and join Thomas and Cody at their table. By the time the ten minutes had run themselves out, his meal remained untouched. His appetite had gone and he threw the food away, stacking his plastic tray.

As he paced toward the doors, he caught up with Thomas and Cody and walked with them outside to the dorm building.

"Where was Blaine tonight? I didn't see him," he asked curiously as they walked.

Cody shrugged. "He was studying with Wes and David in his room, last I heard. And where were you for most of dinner?" he retaliated.

"The library," he said. "My study session with Adam ran a little later than usual."

He knew Cody and Thomas were giving him odd looks, but he kept his eyes forward.

Then there was a scream.

Kurt jumped and stopped dead in his tracks. Cody stood stiffly, and Thomas' eyes grew wide. Almost a minute passed in which they stood absolutely frozen, waiting to see if it was a part of their imagination. Another shriek came, muffled behind the doors of the dorm. They shared one glance and rushed to the doors, yanking them open and barreling inside.

There were crickets. Hundreds of chirping, hopping, beady-eyed crickets, swarming the hall and bouncing against the walls.

The North Precursor stood amidst it and he was cursing up a storm. Crickets constantly launched themselves at him and he thrashed to get them off. He noticed the door opening, or maybe it was Cody's squeak that made him look up. Either way, he spotted the three boys at the door and rushed to them, shaking the creatures off his arms and hands.

"What the hell is going on?" Thomas shouted and his voice raised an octave.

"How am I supposed to know?" Diego replied just as shrill and he pressed himself against the wall.

Cody knitted his hands over his face. "You're the Precursor! You're supposed to know these things!"

"Well, let it be known that I don't know what happened! Put it in the minutes, I don't care! Just help me get them out of here!"

Although it was a strict order, no one dared to stick a toe out of line. Cody was tangled up in trying to scrape the crickets off his legs, and Thomas winced every time he happened to squish one under his shoe. Crickets seemed to be the only thing Diego was afraid of, as he wore a mask of disgust and squirmed.

"Oh, my god, guys. Who let in all the crickets?" came a voice to their right. Wes stood in the doorway of the corridor that led to the rooms, David and Blaine on either side of them. They were all in awe, having never seen this many of the bugs in one place before.

"I don't care!" Cody shrieked at the top of his lungs. It ranged up there with a high F and Kurt covered his ears. "All I want to know is how to get rid of them!"

By this point, most of the North wing had arrived back from the dining hall, all staring, aghast. They crowded the doorway that led outside and as a result, the bugs headed in that direction. Instead of screaming or freaking, the boys smushed them under their shoes. Slowly but surely, the main hallway was emptied of the little things either by being released to the gardens or falling victim to being squashed.

When the infestation finally cleared out, Diego peeled himself from the wall. He was flustered and annoyed, sputtering at Thomas, who kept making fun of him for his apparent phobia. He adjusted his tie and stalked down the corridor after two of the redhead's jokes and vanished behind a door, which he slammed hard enough to shake the wal.

"Huh," Thomas commented and turned to the others, "you'd think he could take a joke once in awhile."

"I don't blame him," Blaine said and fell to Kurt's side, taking his hand. "I hate crickets with a passion." He added a shudder for emphasis.

"How did they get in here in the first place? Last I remember, no one left a door wide open," David wondered. He watched the rest of the wing come back inside, also bewildered with the odd appearance of the insects.

"And plus," Wes muttered and his face twisted in antipathy seeing the black smears across the marble floor, "we usually don't get crickets this time of year."

"When do you get them?" Kurt asked. He held Blaine's hand tightly and their fingers twined together.

"April and May, usually," Cody said. "Sometimes September or October."

"It's like they came out of nowhere," Thomas murmured, and that was the end of the conversation.

The main hallway cleared out as quickly as it had filled and the boys retreated to their rooms, most likely in fear of seeing the Dean on the off chance someone told him about the crickets. Kurt stayed where he was against the wall and he and the rest hung around until it was empty. Then, they took to the kitchen and reappeared with sopping dish rags. Diego would be rubbed the wrong way when he eventually found out they were using the same towels they wiped dishes with, but unless they wanted cricket guts all over the floor, it was all they had.

"I still don't understand what happened exactly," David said while he scrubbed the floor, perched on his knees. "You came in after dinner to see Diego being eaten alive by crickets? Do I have that right?"

Thomas gave a shrug. "More or less."

"It wasn't that bad," Kurt told him, ignoring Thomas. "It was only a few crickets, and they weren't eating him alive."

"A little? Are you kidding me? It was like at the end of 'Men in Black' when K kicked a hole in the Dumpster and unleashed that family of crickets and started killing them one by one. It was majorly creepy. My life seriously flashed before my eyes," Cody said, his arms crossed over his chest. Unlike the others, who were down on their hands and knees, he refused and stayed standing, using his foot to push around the towel.

"See? That's what you get for watching horror movies," Wes said. "They taint your mind. Brainwash you."

"Then can you explain where all those crickets came from?"

He hesitated. "The Chamber of Secrets?"

"That's snakes, idiot, not crickets," Blaine corrected smugly.

"Do you think I care? The Chamber of Secrets has been opened! Beware the crickets!" He wiggled his fingers tauntingly.

Twenty minutes of silence passed over them and the floors were somewhat clean. They were clean enough to pass a surprise inspection if Markus happened to pop in for a check and the boys left it at that. The boys returned the towels to the kitchen, rinsing them out with soap and steamy water, and all retreated to their rooms.

It took quite a bit of convincing on everyone's part and apologizing on Thomas' part to get Diego to emerge from his room. He saw that the floors were spotless and not a cricket was to be seen or heard. He gave a short nod, still embarrassed from earlier, and hid in his room once more.

"I imagine he's very grateful," Wes muttered as he and David said their goodnights and retired to their room.

Cody and Thomas did the same, Cody complaining that he needed a hot shower before he could do anything. Thomas called him a him and that was all Kurt heard before the door was shut, ultimately leaving he and Blaine in the hallway.

"So, who do you think brought in the crickets?" Blaine pondered aloud.

"Who? What makes you think someone brought them in?" Kurt asked him.

Blaine snorted. "It's obviously South taking a hit on us. They found out Wes and David were the ones who had the idea to trash their wing, and—"

Kurt let out a gasp, recalling the damage done to the wing. "Wes and David did that?"

"Dex and Leo actually did it, but Wes and David were the ones who thought of it. All four of them got campus arrest. Anyway," he went on, swinging their clasped hands gently, "South knows it was us who started this, and now they're striking back. They want revenge."

"What about East? Won't they get caught in the crossfire?" he asked and his face flushed as Blaine played with his fingers.

Again he scoffed. "East doesn't need to worry. It's only us South targets. We have it out for each other, big time," he said. "It's a tradition that hasn't been revisited for years for specific reasons."

"What tradition?" Kurt shook his head.

"The wing war. Once it starts, it takes a lot to stop it and keep it down," Blaine sighed. "If someone from South could get that many crickets in the main hallway within the starting and ending of dinner, I'm afraid to see what else they have planned. I guess it's like the inaccurate reference Wes made earlier: the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, in a sense. The war has started." He looked tiredly and smiled. "But it's nothing you should worry about. No one's ever gotten seriously injured in a wing war. At least, not that I know of."

Kurt widened his eyes. "Please keep me out of this, then. There is no way I'm breaking a limb over a few pranks."

"Good luck with that. I said the same thing my freshman year, and Dex broke my leg with baby oil on the main staircase. Good night," Blaine ended with a semi-cheerful smile. He leaned forward to peck Kurt on the cheek and left for bed.

Kurt did the same. He let himself into his room and prepared himself for bed, brushing his teeth and throwing on a pair of pajamas. He checked his phone for messages and found one voicemail from his dad, asking how he was doing. A quick glance at the clock told him it was too late to return the call. Kurt sat on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hands.

A tingling erupted under his fingertips as he hesitated with the device in his hand. He wanted to tap out a text message to James, just to see if he could get any reply at all, but he had a feeling he would receive nothing.

The thought had followed him from the dining hall and stayed with him all night. James was starting to worry him. Since they had come back from Regionals, he absolutely evaded talking and kept to himself more than usual. He was still cutting, Kurt was sure, and the idea made him burry his face in a pillow.

Needless to say, sleep did not come easily.

And when it came at last, a single chirp came from the corner of the room.

Kurt bolted upright.

"Stupid crickets," he muttered scornfully and yanked the covers over his head.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Spring Break arrives quicker than everyone thought, and Kurt spends time away from school, away from singing, and, most importantly, the two boys who tug at his heartstrings. _


	20. Spring Break

_Hello, readers._

_Sorry for the long wait for an update. I've had all my time taken up with marching band that started in September. It's over now, and we go into concert season, which means I'll have more time to write and update. Actually, since I'm in the middle of nowhere stealing wifi from a motel, I have nothing to do but write. Thank goodness Microsoft Word doesn't use wifi..._

_So yeah. I don't really have much to say this time except thank you for all who have stuck through until this point. I hope you find the rest of the story somewhat pleasing._

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Glee. If you recognize it from the show, I don't own it.

* * *

**Spring Break**

* * *

**There is no rest for the wicked. – Proverbs**

* * *

"Au revoir! Vous voyez en une semaine!"

Cody stared blankly at him, gripping the handle of his suitcase. "I have no idea what you just said. You know I did not take French for five years, Kurt."

Kurt tilted his head. "It was only three," he corrected.

"And yet you are still fluent," he said, stooping down to check his bag. He carried a duffle bag over his shoulder and a small suitcase behind him, both with the Dalton logo printed somewhere in lovely crimson script.

"And if you were wondering, I said, 'Goodbye, see you in a week.'"

"I never would have guessed."

It was the Friday before Spring break, and all bags were packed, cars loaded for the road trip to see family. Boys were pouring out of the school with suitcases and various bags, all heading to the vast parking lot. Classes were over for the next seven days, which meant sleeping in until two in the afternoon and no stress of homework. The teachers were lenient and decided against giving assignments over the break. There were no worries.

_Supposed _to be no worries, anyway.

Kurt was set to drive the two hours back to Lima. His suitcase was beside him, with his duffle and all his clothes. He had plans to spend time with his parents and Finn, and the New Directions. Mercedes had promised him a day at the mall with Rachel, with a night of gossiping and movie watching at Rachel's house to follow. Kurt hoped the plans would go as smoothly as possible, with no interruptions or setbacks. But of course, whenever he did so much as think about what could possibly put a damper on anything, everything was set for the worst.

But for now, he focused on the drive to McKinley to pick up Rachel. The two schools released for Spring Break at the same time, which would've be problematic for Kurt because of the two hour drive. But Rachel insisted that she would be staying after with the choir room all to herself to get practice in, even though the New Directions weren't competing in Nationals.

Now, he flexed his fingers around his suitcase handle. He reached his truck with Cody talking on about his plans at his side. Clicking a button on his keys, the trunk unlocked and he heaved the lid up, hoisting his luggage up into the bed.

"You are so lucky you don't have to drive two hours," Kurt told him, envious. He hated long car rides, and his trips between Westerville and Lima always sent his stomach churning uncomfortably. The only thing that kept him on the road was a custom music playlist and Saltine crackers.

"Only an hour for me," Cody cheered happily and beamed. "But still, it's a long way, if you look at it out of context."

Kurt nodded. "I hope you have fun with your parents. Where did you say you were going again?"

"We're going to a few museums and hopefully going shopping. Madeline's going with us," he added and two bright spots of pink appeared on his face.

"She's your girlfriend now, right?" Kurt asked, smiling, and nudged his shoulder.

This made him turn another shade of pink. "Yessheis," he said quickly.

Kurt chuckled, remembering the petite girl from the brunch. "Have fun."

The sky was a cloudless blue. March was a lovely month and the weather was flawless. There was a breeze that made the grass wave back and forth the slightest bit and the sun was bright. Somewhere in the trees, birds were chirping pleasantly. Kurt inhaled the sweet air deeply and exhaled, shutting the trunk of his truck. Past his truck, his eyes spotted a boy heading toward them.

The sight of Blaine still sent Kurt's stomach churning. Blaine was walking through the grass toward them, clad in a pair of loose jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the Dalton logo on the breast pocket. They were granted the option to dress casually for the half day of school instead of having to wear the stiff uniforms. His hair was in its curly state and a lock few in front of his eyes. Kurt gripped his car in the case of his knees weakening and he let his shoulders drop.

Cody narrowed his eyes at his friend and then followed his line of sight. When he saw Blaine coming toward them, he rolled his eyes and patted Kurt's shoulder, starting toward his own car.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine said when he approached him, luggage rolling behind him and a bag over his shoulder. "Are you all ready for the week?"

"Definitely," he sputtered and swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. "Are you going home?"

Blaine set his suitcase on all four wheels and clicked the handle down. "Yes, I am. I'll be lucky to survive this week. Sure, there's no homework to worry about, but Sadie will annoy the hell out of me. She always plays her music too loud at night when I'm trying to sleep, and she drinks orange juice straight from the carton, and leaves her stuff _everywhere. _Including in the hallway, where I can oh-so-conveniently trip on them."

"Are you sure that's not you?" Kurt asked with a short laugh.

The corner of his lips twitched. "So maybe part of it's me."

"Does she really drink from the carton?"

"Okay, we're both guilty of that. She does it more often than I do, though," he admitted.

"And does she really play her music too loud?"

He shrugged his shoulder. "Maybe that's me."

Kurt shook his head, stifling a chuckle.

"Don't tell me you don't do the same thing at your house," Blaine said and leaned his weight on one foot.

"Actually, I don't," Kurt said, smiling. "My dad doesn't like it when he can hear what I'm playing over the TV. If it covers up the sound of a football game, it needs to be turned down."

He nodded and clicked up the handle of his luggage. "Well, I should probably start the commute home. I know it's not as far as you usually go, but it's still time consuming. Tell your dad and Carole I said hi. And Finn, too. And the rest of the New Directions."

"I will," Kurt promised and clasped his hands in front of him awkwardly. "Tell your parents and Sadie the same thing. That I said hi, I mean."

Hesitation flashed across Blaine's face. But when Kurt searched for it, it was gone and was replaced by a pink-lipped smile. He wondered if it had ever been there at all. Blaine stepped forward and pulled Kurt into a tight hug, his arms around the other boy's neck. Kurt gladly hugged back and he buried his face in his neck. The smell of his sweater was thick and reeked of his shampoo and spearmint. It was a scent Kurt would miss for a week.

"I'll call you when I get to Lima," Kurt promised and stepped back. His car keys felt heavy in the pocket of his skinny jeans.

"Okay. You're meeting up with Rachel later, right?" he asked. "Tell her hi for me. I know she probably hates me, but it's the least I could do."

He dug the keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his index finger. "She doesn't hate you, necessarily. She's in debate."

"About what?"

"About whether to hate you for being my boyfriend or to hate you for beating her at Regionals." He grinned, amused.

Blaine was puzzled. "I know she hates me from Regionals, but how in the world could she hate me for being your boyfriend?"

"She doesn't want me to get hurt. You're my first boyfriend, and she doesn't want you to be stupid," he replied and chewed on his lip.

His face fell. "Kurt, I would never do anything like that to you. You know that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I would never do anything that could lose you," he said earnestly.

Kurt swallowed. "I know, I know. She doesn't know you as well as I do. She's being cautious about the whole thing."

Blaine was quiet. "But seriously, Rachel doesn't trust me?"

"I never said that. I said she was only being cautious."

"It's basically the same thing."

Kurt stared pointedly at him. "Let's just forget about this, okay? I want to enjoy my seven days of freedom, not spend it worrying about whether Rachel really disapproves of you or not. I'll call you when I get to Lima."

Blaine looked like he wanted to continue on, but he simply smiled. "That's fine. Have a good time."

"You, too," Kurt said. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Blaine's chastely. They pulled apart soon after and Kurt watched him carry his things to his car. When he turned back to his truck with his keys ready in his hands, he saw a head of dark hair and nearly dropped the keys.

James stood a few spaces over next to his car. The trunk was open and he was positioning his things in the back. The first thing Kurt noticed was the lack of uniform. The boy looked completely different without his navy slacks and blazer. In their places, he wore a dark pair of jeans that were loose on him. He wore a striped sweater and his hair was oddly unruly, sleek curls falling in front of his face every time he moved his head. He stepped back from the car and slammed the truck shut.

Kurt almost took a step forward, but then two blondes appeared by the car. William and Carson wore identical smiles and they talked to James, who was clearly not paying attention to either of them. His face was vacant as the two boys talked and he nodded in random places. Over Will's shoulder, he caught Kurt's eye. Kurt was able to hold the stare for two seconds before he had to glance away.

For a few minutes, Kurt played with his keys. He moved on to opening his trunk and checking his bag for things he may have forgotten. As he did this, his ears were wide open, listening to the blondes chatter on. Will's voice was much more vibrant than Carson's and he talked using his hands and a smug tone. From what Kurt heard, both boys were heading home to see family and old friends. The words brought the image of the woman with the cast over her arm, from the brunch, to Kurt's mind, and he could only imagine what Carson's family was like.

Finally the colorful sound of Will's voice stopped. Kurt stopped rifling through his suitcase and shut the trunk to peer at the three out of the corner of his eye. Will had his arm around James' shoulder in a form of a hug and Carson followed in suit. James looked a little uncomfortable but he chuckled. The boys said their final goodbyes and left James to himself.

There had been more than enough time for Kurt to rethink what he wanted to do. He could've been pulling onto the highway, on his way to Lima by now if he hadn't paused. Kurt ran his tongue along the fronts of his teeth.

Before he knew what he was doing, Kurt was stuffing his keys in his pocket and striding toward him.

"James," he said when he came close to the car.

James turned at the sound of his name and he pressed his lips together when he saw Kurt standing there. His skin was pale even in the bright sunlight and he looked very thin. His sapphire eyes were still bright, though, and that was something that hadn't changed about him.

"Hello, Kurt. Aren't you going home?" he said quietly. He sounded less… hostile, in a sense, Kurt thought. He was so used to the snapping and sarcastic comments that the calmness to James' voice caught him off guard.

"I am. I was going to leave soon. I just wanted to say goodbye," he said.

James raised an eyebrow, amused. "It's only one week, Kurt. I'm sure you are able to last seven days without me."

"Is it so bad to want to say goodbye?" The blood rushed to his face and he wondered why he had come over in the first place if he was only going to blush profusely.

"I guess not. Well, I'll see you when we get back," he said. He reached for the keys that hung on the lanyard looped in his pocket and unlocked the doors with a press of a button.

Kurt nodded and knit his hands together. His eyes found the ground almost immediately. He looked up when James brushed past him to get to the driver's side of the car. Words were piled on the edge of his tongue and he couldn't decide on what to say.

"If you need to talk, you have my number," he suddenly blurted.

James froze where he was and turned his head, looking at Kurt from across the car. His expression was hard and he raised his chin a fraction.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "I'll keep that in mind. Have a nice Spring Break, Kurt." For the first time in what seemed like ages, he smiled. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and slipped into the driver's seat.

Kurt stepped back rigidly and headed back in the direction of his car. His head was down so that he stared at the ground as he walked. When he got to his car, he looked up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling warm. Then the growl of an engine was in his ear and he looked up to see a car pass him. James slowed slightly as he passed and he offered a weak smile, and Kurt couldn't help but smile back.

The car passed and proceeded to the end of the lot and turned out onto the main road. Kurt pressed his hands over his face and sighed heavily. He leaned against his car. He needed to focus on the week ahead of him and what he had planned with his friends, and he opened the driver's side door and slid in.

* * *

Adam Harvey leaned against his small car with his ear pressed to his ear. He tapped his foot nervously against the concrete as he waited for the girl on the other end to pick up her phone. Knowing her, she was probably asleep in their cousin's bed with her phone on vibrate. She would never get into the habit of turning up the volume on her phone, no matter what.

Sometimes he hated his sister. He hated the way she dressed and the way she acted and her disrespect for most people. She dressed in leg-hugging jeans that seemed impossible to walk in, with bracelets covering her arms and her hair in that hideous, unnatural blonde. She talked back to most everyone, from their parents to teachers to people she just met. She considered herself at the top, not the bottom, and therefore, she was the most important. That alone made Adam grit his teeth together with annoyance.

He groaned when the answering machine picked up.

"Marissa, this is Adam. Learn to turn up the volume on your phone, will you?" he started off. "Listen, I need you to call me back as soon as you can, this is important. Okay? Bye." He dropped the phone from his ear and snapped it shut to end the call.

"Did she not pick up?" Simon asked as he threw his suitcase into the trunk of his Nissan. He shoved it in as far as it would go and zipped up his jacket to the neck.

Adam shook his head bitterly and knitted his arms over his chest. "She needs to learn to answer it. Or to not sleep in so much. It's one o'clock, for crying out loud. Most everyone should be awake by now. What kind of person sleeps until one?"

Simon stared at him. "Um, people like Marissa?"

He sighed and put his head in his hands.

Adam was not excited for Spring Break in the least, like the rest of the student body. They were thrilled about being able to go home for the week without homework or other worries. It was what they looked forward to the most, after Thanksgiving break and Christmas break. Adam, however, wished it was already over. He was going home with Simon to see his family in Pennsylvania. Last year and the year before, he didn't have a problem going at all, but of course, Simon hadn't known at the time that his best friend was gay.

That didn't make a difference to Simon. He acted as though nothing had ever gotten between them. There was no harsh glare in his eyes or in the way he spoke. Adam was worried to the point of chewing off his nails. He hated the fact that Simon knew, and to him, that would make the trip more awkward. One of them knowing was fine, but both of them knowing would end up uncomfortable.

Simon was perfectly fine with it. He didn't mind that Adam was gay and couldn't see why Adam was so apprehensive about everything, from sitting in the same car on the way to the airport to sharing the same room. He understood when he realized Adam wouldn't be too comfortable sharing the same king bed in his room, like they usually did when they went home for a break in the school year, and he willingly gave it up in favor of a sleeping bag on the floor. After that, he figured he would have to make more adjustments to their living arrangements.

"Is she going with us or not?" Simon asked. He rubbed his hands together and lifted Adam's suitcase to load it into the trunk of the car.

"She said she wanted to, and that she bought a ticket and everything, so I assume she's going with us," Adam said nervously and he looked down at his phone.

"Well, if she doesn't call back in fifteen minutes, then I say we leave her. We'll miss our flight if we stand here waiting for her," Simon decided ultimately and put Adam's laptop bag in the trunk with their suitcases. "Plus, I think I can speak on behalf of my family when I say I don't think I'd mind not having her on the trip with us."

Adam sort of smiled. "I know."

"I'm sorry, but why is she here in Ohio again?" he asked suddenly. "I thought she had to go to school like the rest of us. She would've missed a good month by now."

"She'll make it up over summer school or some other way. She always does," Adam explained. His kept his shaking hands busy by tossing his phone back and forth. He didn't have the thought that he could drop it if he missed. "In the fourth grade, our grandfather passed away and she convinced our mom that she was too emotionally distressed to go to school. That went on for about three weeks until finally the principal called and ordered her to come. Then, in middle school, she broke her arm and used that as an excuse to stay home for a month, even though she wrote with the opposite hand. So if you're concerned about her and school, she always gets out of it without a scratch."

Simon bit his lip and nodded. "I thought she would've missed your parents."

"What makes you think that?" he questioned.

He shrugged his shoulder. "Well, they're your parents. I mean, it's just a thought."

Adam blinked and raised his phone to his face to check for a missed call. But he wouldn't have missed a call if it was right in his hands. "I don't know if she misses them or not. She might. She always sucks up to them, so they might miss her…" He trailed off, rethinking his sentence. "No, they don't miss her."

"I'm surprised your parents aren't worried about her by now. It's been nearly a month or more since she came. If my kid did that, I wouldn't let them be away for more than two days," Simon said, bracing his hands against his car.

Adam tilted his head. "You'd be a good dad," he said lightly.

"Isn't that the goal?"

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't," he answered rigidly. "Take my dad, for example. I could go jump off a cliff and the only thing he would worry about is the price for a funeral, if there even was one."

Simon looked absolutely shocked. "Are you sure you're talking about your dad? Not one of the crazy ones on crime shows?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm talking about my dad." He looked down at his phone again and stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was March, which meant a little spring weather and a little winter weather. "Everything was fine before I told my parents. They loved me like I was the best thing since sliced bread. Then I came out and I might as well have been a woman being accused of being a witch in the Salem Trials."

Simon stared at him blankly until he understood the reference. He turned his head to see boys packing their things into cars, like Blaine, who was throwing his duffle bag into the backseat of his small car. "Oh, come on, Adam. It wasn't that bad. Right?"

Adam snorted obnoxiously and covered his mouth with both hands, dropping his phone. He stooped to grab the device and jammed it in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

"I don't get it," Simon said, and he was irritated. "Why are you laughing? It's not like it was horrible."

"It was just _awful_," Adam said through a laugh. "I'm sorry for laughing, really, I am. It's just… the way you said it is so contradictory to what happened. You acted like it couldn't possibly happen when it really did, and that's what made it funny for me. You don't know the half of it." He stifled his laughter upon seeing Simon stare blank-faced at him. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he mumbled.

"No, I really am sorry. I'm acting like you already know everything about my entire life, when really, you don't," he said quickly. He found himself running out of breath when he spoke. "I wish I would've been honest from the start. I wish I would've come out to you, Simon, when we first met, because then there wouldn't be any of this awkwardness right now." He waved his hands in the air.

"It's fine," he said again, and he pushed away from his car to set one hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I understand why you didn't tell anyone after what happened with your family. Don't think I don't get it. I would've done the same thing if I was in your position. You don't need to worry about anything, okay? I fully understand you."

Adam bit his lip and Simon's hand felt heavy on his shoulder. He nodded. Slowly Simon stepped back and leaned against his car once more.

"Is that why you always come home with me on holidays? Because you're afraid of going back to see your parents?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, it is. They don't care where I go," Adam said almost inaudibly with his head down.

Simon was about to say more when Adams' phone went off, startling both of them. Adam pressed a button and held it to his ear without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" he said into the receiver.

"Hey, thanks for letting me know where you are in the parking lot. I've spent the past five minutes looking for you. Even Thomas here doesn't know where you are," a feminine voice chastised.

"Marissa?"

"Who else would it be?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Where are you? You said you were in the parking lot?" He stretched onto his tiptoes to scan the lot of cars and boys.

"Yeah, I am," she replied. "I'm over by Thomas and his car, if that helps anything. Which it should, because this guy's hair is as bright as a light bulb in the middle of the night. It's actually really awesome." She laughed.

"That helps a whole bunch. Thank you so much, my loving sister," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Finally he spotted a head of vibrant orange hair in the next row over and he saw Marissa, in all her skinny-jeans-and-band-tee-glory, by his side, chatting up a storm. "I see you. Simon and I will be over in a minute."

He hung up before she had the chance to reply.

"I didn't know she was here yet. I thought she would've been late," Simon mused to himself. He followed Adam's line of sight and saw the blonde girl talking animatedly to Thomas, who stood there staring at him. He was either in awe at her or too distracted by her clothing to pay attention.

"Yes, I thought the same thing," Adam said and started across the lot, "but she surprises me sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean not often at all."

Simon snickered and followed him. They came up to Thomas and his black Audi. Marissa had her back to them, her hair in a single, gleaming sheet down her back. The ends were dyed in a different color now, an electric orange. Black jeans hugged her legs until they looked almost painted on and she wore a purple tee-shirt. Beaded bracelets covered her arms from her wrists to halfway to her elbows. Thomas, who stood in front of her, saw the two boys over her shoulder.

"Hey, guys," he said and broke Marissa's train of thought.

"Before you say anything more, Thomas," Adam said and stared at his sister, "I sincerely apologize for the brain damage my sister has caused you. I promise it will never happen again as long as she keeps to herself."

"Brain damage?" she repeated crossly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're tainting his mind with your weird ways!" he answered.

"Actually, we were talking about music. We like a few of the same bands," Thomas interjected somewhat shyly.

Adam moved his eyes from Marissa to the redhead. "Really? Who?"

"My Chemical Romance for the win!" Marissa declared loudly and jumped into the air. She beamed and gave Thomas a high five.

"Oh, that's who," he mumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Simon cleared his throat. "Um, guys? I don't mean to be the wet blanket in this party here, but we kind of need to get going if we want to catch our flight. It leaves in a few hours, and the airport is a good hour away."

Adam perked and he smiled. "Thank you, Simon. Let's get going, Marissa, and stop bugging Thomas. I'm sure he'd like to get home, too," he said and looked over at Thomas.

Thomas shrugged as if he didn't care. He turned to Marissa. "You have my number, right?"

"Of course I do," she said to him and showed him her hand, which had digits scrawled across the back in black. She smiled. "And I'll call when we get off the plane, okay?"

He grinned. "Cool," was all he said.

They said their goodbyes and Simon, Adam, and Marissa retreated across the lot, Marissa dragging her suitcase behind her.

"I can't believe you have his number," Adam snapped at her when they were well out of earshot.

She looked appalled. "Is that such a bad thing? He has my number, too. It's not like we're committing a crime."

"You're not," he said.

"But you act like it."

Simon stepped between them, shooting sharp glares at both of them. "Okay, let's not fight. It's Spring Break, for crying out loud. It's supposed to be a week of no fighting and no homework."

"Well, we've sure got the no homework part down," Adam muttered and pushed past him to the car.

Marissa huffed. "What's his problem?"

* * *

Kurt jumped and nearly swerved into the next lane over when his phone rang in the cup holder. He blinked and hesitated, one hand staying on the wheel and the other drifting toward the phone. He knew he shouldn't answer it, but he did anyway. He set it on speaker and his heart rate gradually went down.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Kurt," said a familiar voice. "Just checking in, seeing how you're doing."

"Blaine, it's only been an hour and a half," he sighed. A smile spread across his face.

"I know. But an hour and a half has been too long for me, I've decided," he said adamantly. "It's nice to hear your voice again."

Kurt let out a laugh. "I can't believe you. I thought you would've been able to last longer than ninety minutes without me."

"I'm weak. I can't stand being away from the person I love. In fact, it's killing me right now. Like a dagger through the heart," Blaine said, and there was a smile in his voice.

"You're being too dramatic, Blaine," Kurt told him.

He glanced in the rear view mirror and switched lanes. The familiar sights of the highway blurred past him. He knew the roads like the back of his hand. Going back and forth between Westerville and Lima for holidays was enough to commit the sights to memory. The names on the signs were recognizable. Then, a green blur proclaiming Lima was only twenty-five miles away. He was getting closer to home.

"I am not being dramatic," he argued playfully. "It kills me, bit by bit, to be away from you. I'd rather have that kill me than Sadie. At least I would die in the name of love instead of in the name of stupidity."

"Sadie? Are you home already?" Kurt perked at the sound of the older sister's name. Sadie Anderson was only a few minutes older than Blaine, but she was still older. The image of her at Regionals, with her long, dark hair in a braid and her sweet smile, came into Kurt's mind. She was thin with cocoa colored skin and had a knack for sarcasm, which he'd picked up as soon as he met her.

"Yeah, I am. It's not that far of a drive. Only forty-five minutes," Blaine said.

"You don't know how jealous of you I am right now," Kurt growled into the receiver.

"I know. That's why I said it."

"When we get back from this break, I promise to shove you off the stage."

Blaine made a wincing sound. "Ouch, that's harsh. I didn't know you could be so violent."

"Trust me, I am very violent," he said and he flexed his fingers over the steering wheel. "If you were smart, you'd lay off it."

"Okay, okay, laying off it. Sorry. I forgot you have to drive two hours."

"No, you didn't."

"You're right. I didn't."

"So you're calling to rub it in my face?"

Blaine hesitated. "No. Just calling to see how you are. You know, making sure you didn't crash yet, run over anybody, etcetera, etcetera…" He chuckled.

Kurt smiled a little. He took the next exit on his right, the one near the sign the read "Lima" in bold white letters.

"To make sure I haven't crashed _yet_? Does that mean I'm going to crash?" he questioned.

"Gee, I sure hope not. Then I would most definitely run out in a busy intersection and have myself killed, just to be with you," Blaine joked.

Then there was a great clamor in the background that set the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck on end. Someone shouted and it sounded like a pan was dropped and water was spilled. Everything went silent and Kurt wondered if it was the right time to speak.

"What happened?" he nearly whispered a minute later.

"Sorry," Blaine apologized, his voice fuzzy, "my sister and my mom are trying to cook. My mom was carrying a pot of water to the stove and Sadie ran into her on accident. They dropped the pot and spilled the water and now it looks like the inside of the Titanic right after it hit the iceberg. Lots and lots of water."

Kurt bit his lip. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it didn't do much damage."

"Oh, it's fine. We've had water damage before, and this isn't even bad to start with," he assured.

Kurt nodded and didn't reply in order to make a sharp turn that led him over a bridge above the busy highway. The road transitioned from the big city and the messy roads to narrow, two-lane roads and small buildings. The shops he passed were familiar, some eateries and others stores and boutiques. Soon, he would be reaching William McKinley High School.

"So," he said as he came to a stop at a light, "running out into a busy intersection, huh? Are you trying the whole 'Romeo and Juliet' approach?"

"Definitely," Blaine laughed. "If you die, I die."

"It sounds a little like 'The Notebook.' You know, 'If you're a bird, I'm a bird,'" Kurt mentioned and he flicked his turn signal on. "Have you read the book? Or at least seen the movie?"

"That's a chick book, isn't it?"

He felt the blood rush to his face. "It's not a chick book. It's a very memorable and romantic novel."

"So it's a chick book."

Kurt rubbed his face with one hand and peeked out at the road through spread fingers. "It is a good book. You and I need to see the movie. Actually, I'll bring it from my collection at home and we'll watch it."

"You have it?" he questioned.

"Of course I have it," Kurt said with an air that said his answer was obvious. "I also have 'A Walk to Remember' if you want me to bring that. And 'The Last Song.' Though I must warn you, 'The Last Song' put me in tears by the end."

Blaine was silent on the other end. Then, "So if you have the movies, I'll bring the popcorn?"

Kurt sighed pleasantly. "That would be nice."

Another crash sounded in the background, and this time, it sounded like glass shattering.

"Listen, Kurt," Blaine said. He sounded distant. "I'll call you back later, okay? I need to help clean things up. I love you."

"That's fine. I love you, too," Kurt told him.

The line went dead. Kurt inhaled deeply and let out a long, breathy sigh. Part of him wished Spring Break was already over, just so he could go back to Dalton to see Blaine. The other part wanted to revel in the seven days he had to himself without homework or troubles. He favored the latter.

The building appeared fifteen minutes after he hung up. William McKinley was a large, cream colored building with three flag poles on the north side. The parking lot, as he expected was nearly empty, save a few cars and the football trailer. Kurt instantly picked out Rachel's small Toyota parked in the front closest to the side doors. He pulled into the slot next to the Toyota and switched off the engine.

Kurt sat there instead of getting out right away. Simply sitting there sent a wave of nostalgia rushing back to him. He used to sit in his car in the mornings before class started in order to avoid being shoved into the lockers. He only got out when it was five minutes until the bell and even then, he ran into hockey jocks or football thugs.

Pushing back the memories, Kurt stuffed his keys in his pocket and got out. The air was crisp and smelled like freshly mown grass. He locked the car and headed up the side steps. One of the double doors was locked and the other wasn't. He slipped in silently.

The halls of McKinley were just as he remembered them. The lockers were the same, ugly beige color and painted posters were taped over doorways. The floors were covered in scuff marks from hundreds of shoes walking across them. The classrooms were dark and most likely locked. One he recognized as his Math class from the year before, when he was a sophomore.

It was utterly quiet as he walked slowly down the hall. The smell of wood varnish and bleach was in the air, which made him wrinkle his nose. He hated the smell. He stared down at the floor as he walked. He missed McKinley. He missed seeing his friends every day. Sure, the friends he had made at Dalton were amazing, but they would never take the place of the ones he had met in glee club.

Kurt took his phone from his pocket and opened a message to send to Rachel, telling her he was there, when he heard a muffled hum come from one of the rooms. He lifted his head and paused. The hum came again, but a half step up. Quickly he tapped out his message and sent it, starting down the hall.

Following the faint singing led him to stand before the choir room. His stomach dropped and he bit the inside of his cheek. The window was taped over with black paper, but he could see light peeking from the edges of it. He was reaching out to turn the door knob when there was a riot of shushing and hurried whispering from inside. It made him freeze with his hand outstretched and his heart skipped a beat. He knocked once on the door.

In his hand, his phone vibrated.

_I'm in the choir room practicing! – Rachel _

With that, Kurt twisted the knob and pushed the door open. He imagined Rachel sitting at the piano with her back to him, tapping out notes and singing words to herself, but instead, he got the entire glee club standing in an arc and smiling like no tomorrow. Mr. Schuester stood at the end of the arc, next to Sam Evans, and he smiled when he saw Kurt. The piano was occupied by the constant accompanist, Brad, who looked fondly at Kurt. Along with the pianist, the school's jazz ensemble was present as well. He recognized a few of the trombone, saxophone, and trumpet players.

Rachel stepped forward from her position at the center of the group and it was easy to tell she was having a difficult time containing her excitement. Seeing her grin obnoxiously and practically skip forward made Kurt smile a little.

"What in the world is going on?" he asked in disbelief and panned the faces of his friends.

"It's your welcome-back-for-a-week party," Rachel explained and stretched out her hand for him to take it. "I told the others that you were coming home for Spring Break, and it was impossible to not throw a little concert in your favor."

Kurt took her hand and followed her into the room. "A concert?"

"You heard her," Quinn Fabray said quietly. She stood between Puck and Santana, her hands clasped in front of her. She looked as radiant as ever, with her flowing blonde hair and sparkling eyes. "We're throwing you a concert and you're going to sit here and take it without any objections." She grinned and revealed pearly white teeth.

"We thought it would prove to be a wonderful gift. We don't get to see you too often," Tina added. She came forward and threw her arms around his neck in a hug.

He laughed and returned the hug. She stepped back into the arc, and next, Santana and Brittany came forward. Santana wore a friendly smirk, her black hair in a glossy ponytail. Brittany had on a kind expression and she couldn't help but hug Kurt as well.

"Hey, boo," Kurt told her and hugged her back. The greeting made her smile.

"So, Kurt," Santana said casually when Brittany had dropped her arms from his neck, "what are the chances that you're going to change your mind and leave that cooped up bird school of yours?"

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. "Not high, that's for sure. I'm sorry, but I've got a commitment to the Warblers. We're going to Nationals and they need me."

"Of course. Your little chickadees need you," she scoffed, but she smiled. "It's good to see you again."

She and Brittany returned to the arc and Mercedes hurried to him for a hug. She radiated and squealed when she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"I missed you so much," she gushed. "I'm so glad you're staying for the week."

"I missed you, too," Kurt said, resting his chin on her shoulder. She smelled strongly of hairspray and some kind of fruity perfume. "And I'm glad I'm here. I couldn't miss the opportunity to see everyone again. Especially you."

Finally, she let him go and took her place next to Tina.

Sam, Artie, and Puck came together as soon as she left and greeted Kurt with a round of unsuccessful fist bumps and rough hugs. Finn was one of the last to come up to Kurt.

"Oh, Finn," Kurt sighed and hugged his step-brother tightly. "How are Carole and my dad?"

"They're doing well," Finn reported. He seemed to have grown taller since Kurt last saw him. "Your dad's having a little bit of trouble with his diet, but Carole's trying to keep him on it. "

"And no heart attacks?" he asked.

Finn grinned goofily. "No heart attacks."

"Okay, okay," Rachel butted in, suddenly appearing between them. "I know it's nice to see Kurt again, but can we please get on with the show?"

"Rachel has a point," Mr. Schue agreed. He received from her an approving look. He pulled up a chair and set it in the middle of the room, gesturing for Kurt. "You're going to want to sit down for this, Kurt. I've heard it's quite a showstopper."

Kurt took a seat as instructed and crossed his legs. "What will I be hearing this afternoon?" he asked, looking up at his old director.

Mr. Schue smiled. "Let's just say you're going to recognize it right off the bat." He retreated to lean against the piano.

"I guess I'm in for something good, then," Kurt hummed. "Go ahead, I'm ready. Dazzle me."

Rachel gave him one last grin and turned to the others. She shooed Finn off to the drum set in the corner of the room and he twirled the sticks between his fingers, awaiting her next move. The rest of the group all gave her large nods and she signaled to the jazz ensemble. Almost immediately, the room exploded with music. The tune was jazzy and upbeat, and the group fell into an eighties style dance routine, singing along.

_We go together,_

_Like ramam lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong,_

_Remembered forever,_

_As shoobop sha wadda wadda yippiyu boom de boom,_

_Chang chang changitty chang shoobop,_

_That's the way it should be, whaa ooh, yeah_

As a musical fanatic, Kurt broke into a silly grin. He tapped his toe to the music of Grease, mouthing the words as they came up in the song. Rachel's powerful voice topped the other girls' by a mile, and the boys made up a fine melody. They sung perfectly in unison.

_We're one of a kind,_

_Like dip dadip dadip doowop da doobee doo,_

_Our names are signed,_

_Boogedy boogedy boogedy boogedy shooby doowop shebop,_

_Chang chang changitty chang shoobop,_

_We'll always be like one, wa wa wa wah_

Finn kept a steady beat on the drums and he was singing along. The piano notes ranged up and down the keyboard from the highest octave to the lowest in a fashionable taste. The jazz instruments gave much color to the song. The dance routine was spectacular, and it must have been Brittany or Mike who put it together. They displayed flawless dancing and although Artie was unable to, he stayed off to the side and sung.

_Rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong,_

_Shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom,_

_Chang chang changitty chang shoobop,_

_Dip dadip dadip doowop da doobee doo,_

_Boogedy boogedy boogedy boogedy shooby doorwop shebop,_

_Sha na na na na na na yippity dip de doom!_

The girls and boys split up to sing, with the two groups nearly shouting the lyrics at the other. When the boys sung, they leaned forward and the girls leaned back, and vice versa.

_Rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong,_

_Shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom,_

_Chang chang changitty chang shoobop,_

_Dip dadip dadip doowop da doobee doo,_

_Boogedy boogedy boogedy boogedy shooby doowop shebop,_

_Sha na na na na na na yippity dip de doom,_

_Wop baba lumop a wap bam boom!_

The lyrics took a pause and in that time, the members of the group paired up. Quinn fell in step with Puck, Mercedes with Sam, Brittany with Santana, and Mike with Tina. Rachel danced forward to pull Kurt out of his seat and into the mess of dancing. He laughed as she led him through swing dancing, and he found himself singing along.

Just like that, Kurt was back to the start of last year. He was still a student of McKinley and a singer of the New Directions. It was, to be cliché, just like old times, and it really was. He was surrounded by his friends, the ones who had led him through since the beginning. One prominent message stood out to him:

They were one, even if Kurt was enrolled at another school, and they would always be one. There was nothing that could separate them, not the two hour drive, not the tension of rivalry in competitions, not anything. Leaving meant nothing. In a physical sense, he was gone, but really, he would always be there, he would always be a part of the New Directions, no matter what. That thought comforted him as the song wound to a close.

_We're for each other,_

_Like wop baba lumop a wap bam boom,_

_Just like my brother,_

_Is sha na na na na na na na yippity dip de doom,_

_Chang chang changitty chang shoobop,_

_We'll always be together wha ooh, yeah!_

_We'll always be together, we'll always be together,_

_We'll always be together!_

The song ended on a happy, short note and laughing filled the room. Mr. Schuester clapped in appreciation. Finn cheered and threw his drumsticks high in the air. Hugs were given and Mike gave Tina a short twirl that made her giggle. Kurt clutched Rachel's hand and she pulled him in for a long embrace. Unable to hide his exhilaration, Kurt swung Rachel off her feet in a circle.

"Oh, Rachel," he crooned as he set her down on her feet, "thank you so much. Thank you, all of you. It means so much to me. Who's idea was this, exactly? I know it wasn't Mr. Schue's idea, that's for sure." He cast a look over his shoulder at his director.

"It was mine. I proposed the idea and came up with the song," Rachel claimed right away. She wobbled on her feet a little from the dancing and held on to Kurt's arm to stay upright.

"But," Mercedes drawled and stared at her.

The starlet dropped her smile. "But, it was Mike and Brittany who taught us all the dance moves," she said flatly.

"So cheers to them!" Mercedes said and started a round of applause to the blonde cheerleader and the blushing dancer.

"We wanted to do something nice for you. I mean, we never get to see you anymore. You're spending all of your time at your pet store," Brittany said over the clapping, seeming almost oblivious to it.

The room quieted and watched Brittany curiously. The silence was broken when Santana gave a great sigh and laid her hand on Brittany's shoulder.

"We want to let you know that you're still a part of the New Directions," Artie said, taking up from where the blonde left off. "You're still with us, Kurt. We're always going to be here for you. And besides, we can barely go a day without someone making a reference to you."

Kurt's heart fluttered. "To me? Like what?"

"Like… the other day, when Rachel said she wished you were here to duet with her," Tina chipped in helpfully.

Rachel flushed scarlet, but nodded. "What can I say? It was Wicked. You're always my duet partner for Wicked," she said as an excuse.

"And after Rachel said that," Sam said, "I brought up the time when Schuester was having us do duets, and you wanted me to sing with you. You ended up singing by yourself with one heck of a costume. I don't think that's easily forgettable." He didn't sound uneasy about it whatsoever, though the idea of he and Kurt singing together had gone downhill at the time.

Kurt smiled triumphantly. "I loved that costume."

"Knowing you, it's probably in a garment bag hanging in your closet," Mercedes quipped and jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her elbow.

"So what if it is?" He elbowed her back playfully.

"Then you should wear it again," Santana commented, raising one eyebrow.

Kurt saw this and his face went as red as Rachel's. "There is no way I'm wearing it unless I'm performing."

"Then perform again and wear it," Mercedes commanded, giggling. "It looked good on you, boy."

"Okay, enough about me and glittery past outfits," he said and raised his hands in the air. "What's happening at McKinley that I should know about? Another pregnancy? Another crazy scheme in which Ms. Sylvester is trying to ruin glee club?"

The latter made Mr. Schue snort and cover his mouth.

"Oddly enough, nothing much has been going on lately," Quinn chipped in in her feather-light voice. "Sylvester's toned it down on targeting us and no one else has gotten pregnant." She lifted a shoulder. "And since we didn't make it past Regionals"—Rachel set her jaw—"we don't have anything to work on. It's weird, nothing having a scandal or a music crisis in our hands."

"That is weird," Kurt murmured. "I would've thought something would've happened since I left. It's been months, for crying out loud. _Something _should've happened."

Everyone shook their heads in denial.

"Face it, Hummel. Things aren't as exciting without you. You gave everything that showbiz pizazz, or whatever," Puck stated dully.

"It's like a coloring book without the color in it," Brittany added.

Kurt pressed his lips together. He felt the backs of his eyes prickle and he looked down.

* * *

"This is why I never enjoy trips with you, Marissa. You always make a fool out of yourself, and then me," Adam muttered and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. He stood up in the confined space, nearly bumping his head against the low ceiling of the aircraft. He stepped out into the slightly bigger aisle to stretch his legs.

The flight from Westerville to Philadelphia had taken hours. It was time that Adam spent with his eyes shut and his earphones in. He absolutely despised flying. It gave him the sense of worry, like the plane was going to drop out of the sky all of a sudden, or the plane would head into a storm cloud and a bolt of lightning would hit it. He saw the worst sides of travel, from flying from one city to another to driving from home to the grocery store and back.

While Adam had spent his hours blasting music and praying that nothing catastrophic happened, Marissa glued her face to the window. She had called dibs on the window seat before they had even left the Dalton parking lot. The sight of puffy white clouds in random shapes held her attention for most of the flight, until she found that ringing the call button several times was an adequate source of pleasure. The stewardesses, however, stopped tending to her after she rung it the fifth time.

Simon, poor Simon, was stuck between them. He had to deal with Adam's loud music in one ear while the other listened to Marissa ramble on and on about the odd shapes of clouds, and then as she argued with the flight attendants. He kept a book in front of his face most of the time, attempting to read, but it was quickly shot down when he only got fifteen pages into the book in the first hour. Eventually, he had abandoned his book and stared at the back of the seat in front of him.

Now, they were all pleased when the plane touched down in Philadelphia and they were able to stand up. Adam, with his laptop case over his shoulder, was eager to get off the plane and onto flat land. Marissa was adamant about ringing that call button one more time, but Simon caught her wrist and all but dragged her into the aisle.

Adam swallowed over the lump in his throat and pushed past people in the aisle to get to the exit. He barely waited for his friend and his sister to catch up and waited for them out in the jet way.

"And now," Marissa said and clapped her hands together in delight, "we go get our luggage. Now, I'm really excited."

Simon stared at her, his emerald eyes shining with interest. "Do I want to know what you mean by that?"

"No, you don't," Adam answered for her and looped his arm through Simon's. "You'll see when we get there."

With that in mind, the trio continued down the jet way until they reached the boarding gate, where masses of people were waiting for their flights to come in. Marissa led the way through the airport, her backpack bumping against her shoulders, stopping often to gawk at the magazines and tee-shirts on display.

"Sometimes I think you're a five-year-old in a sixteen-year-old's body, Marissa," Adam complained. He pulled her away from one of the shops and tugged her along.

"Sometimes I think you're annoying," she retorted, but followed him.

The airport was crowded as they walked through to the baggage claim. Claustrophobia was setting in on Adam and he had to focus on deep breathing and not getting sick. He had no idea how he made it to the eight oval-shaped conveyor belts that rotated luggage without passing out.

Panels of smooth screens rose above the ovals and declared the flight numbers. Adam mumbled their specific flight number under his breath until he spotted it. Marissa must have seen it as well, because she took off abruptly. When she jumped onto the moving belt, Adam nearly had a heart attack.

"Is that what she was so excited about?" Simon asked him. They followed her to the luggage claim, one keeping an eye on her and the other watching for their luggage. "Getting on the belt and riding in a circle?"

"It's an oval, actually," Adam corrected breathlessly, "but yes, this is what she was so excited about. We never leave an airport without her getting the chance to do this."

Marissa rode the belt eight times like it was a roller coaster at theme park, which attracted the stare of probably every single person who was waiting with them, before Simon found their three suitcases. Adam sighed with relief when Marissa jumped off the belt and snagged her suitcase from him. Adam's face felt hot from the embarrassment and he felt they couldn't get out of the airport quick enough.

Caleb Dougray was set to pick them up in the loop outside the airport. Caleb was Simon's eldest brother, being twenty-four years old and out of college. He wasn't married and lived in a decent apartment on the Upper East Side in Manhattan. He was the spitting image of Simon, from the messy dark hair to the sharp emerald eyes to the creamy skin.

"Remind me, how many brothers do you have again?" Marissa questioned, following the two boys out the sliding doors and into the bright sunlight. She blinked and shielded her eyes with one hand.

"Three," Simon told her.

"And who's picking us up?"

"Caleb. He's the oldest out of all of us," he said. Adoration threaded through his tone, and he was clearly fond of his brother. "He gets on our nerves sometimes, but he's better than both Daniel and Luke by a long shot."

Marissa nodded and looked at Adam out of the corner of her eye. He paid no attention to her and kept his eyes straight ahead until they found the long, blue SUV with a dark-haired boy waiting for them in the front seat.

"Hello, little brother. It's good to see you again," Caleb sneered teasingly, getting out of the car and hugging him.

"Good to see you, too, Caleb," Simon said with an eye roll. He took his suitcase and Adam's to the back of the car to load them in the trunk.

Caleb's eyes wandered to Adam and he said, "It's good to see you again, Adam. You look well."

Adam nodded briefly. "So do you."

Then Caleb's eyes wandered to Marissa and he asked her, "Are you a girlfriend I should know about?"

"No way. I'm his sister," she laughed and jerked a thumb at Adam. "Don't you remember me? I'm sure we've met once or twice."

He squinted his eyes in thought. "I remember Adam pretty well, but not you."

"Oh, come on," she said and leaned somewhat casually against her suitcase. "I've met you dozens of times. That one time…" She trailed off.

"Her name is Marissa," Adam interrupted and adjusted the glasses on his nose, "and she is my very annoying twin sister."

Caleb snapped his fingers. "It rings a bell."

"See, I knew it would, Carter." She beamed.

"It's Caleb."

"That's totally what I meant."

He laughed, low and warm. "It's nice to see you again, both of you." He reached forward and took Marissa's suitcase for her to load in the trunk. Marissa in turn took her backpack with her to the backseat and buckled herself in. Adam sighed heavily and followed in suit.

As soon as the bags were secured in the trunk, they took off out of the loop and were on the main highway in minutes.

"So, how's Dalton?" Caleb asked as he changed lanes. "Fun? Exciting? Enjoying the excess of testosterone?"

The corner of Simon's mouth twitched. "You have no idea."

"Are you doing anything else besides singing?"

Adam sunk back into his seat as Simon continued his conversation with his brother and he stared out the window. Marisa was busy texting—from the wide smile on her face it was most likely to Thomas—and her fingers clicked loudly against the plastic keys. He wondered if it was at all possible to still feel alone in a car full of people.

Forty-five minutes of driving on the main road and fifteen of driving on a back road led them to where the Dougrays lived. The house was built with ruddy bricks and was three stories tall. Turrets rose from the roof and could have scraped the blue sky. The roof dropped and rose in random places, with slate gray shingles and chimneys on the east and west sides. Some of the many windows were stained glass, the colors glimmering when rays of sunshine hit them just right. A long driveway made of gravel led to the house. The car slowed to stop in front of an ornate gate, depicting two lions standing on their back legs and their claws bared, facing each other.

"What kind of gate has a lion on it?" Marissa demanded and leaned forward so that her face was almost in line with Caleb's, who was currently driving.

"Um, our gate," Caleb quipped and stretched his arm out of the rolled down window to punch in a passcode in the small box next to the gate.

She made a face at him, which he caught in the rearview mirror, and she sat back as the gates unfolded, emitting a terrible squealing noise. The four of them in the car winced at the sound. As soon as they drove past the gate and started up the drive, Marissa rolled down her window. She stuck her head through the opening and braced her hands against the door to keep balanced. With a deep gasp, she inhaled the sweet aroma of grass, smiling a little. Adam attempted to pull her back in by the back of her shirt, but didn't want to risk pushing her out at the same time. On second thought, the idea was sounding better by the second. Then he wouldn't have such an annoying sister to deal with anymore. Instead he tucked his hands in his lap and turned to look out his own window.

The house—mansion, as Adam dubbed it—stood on a spacious patch of land far from the highways and bustle of stores. Simon said it was only two acres, but Adam profusely debated that it was six at least. It was covered in the same type of tall grass from the edge of the main road to wherever the property ended.

The car puttered along the drive and slowed to a stop at the front of the house. Two flights of concrete back-to-back staircases led to the double doors that served as the main entrance. Marissa felt the car stop and she ducked back inside to sling her backpack over her shoulders. She bounded out of the vehicle and stretched her arms, nearly hitting Caleb square in the nose as he got out behind her.

"This is some fancy castle you've got here," she commented. She walked around the van to collect her suitcase from the trunk. "Where's the moat and the fearful, fire-breathing dragon?"

"Funny," Simon said flatly and joined her at the back of the car.

"No, I'm serious. Are you so rich that your toilets are made out of solid gold?"

Adam rubbed his temples and got out of the car. He came up to the pair, looking exhausted. "Marissa, be real here, for a second if you possibly can."

"I am being real here," she insisted and propped her hands on her hips as she waited for Caleb to unlock the trunk. "Rich people always have something extravagant in their houses, whether it's a handful of butlers or gold plated toilets. He looks like the kind of guy who would want to piss on gold. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Adam covered his face and wished he could disappear. Simon blinked as if he was contemplating her existence and was silent. Caleb, who stood behind, unlocked the trunk without a word. The three boys were too baffled for words. She shrugged when she didn't get an answer and yanked her suitcase from the open trunk. Caleb unloaded the remaining two suitcases and shut the trunk and locked the car.

"Right this way," he said regally and bowed low with his arms extended. Simon rolled his eyes and nudged his brother in the shoulder as he passed.

The double doors were made out of a thick, heavy wood, stained deep cherry. A metal knocker was on each door. The head was a lion, and Marissa snorted when she noticed. Caleb rapped his knuckles against the door and sat back on his heels waiting.

"You really have to knock? I mean, it's your house," Marissa pointed out.

"Can you maybe stop asking questions for the rest of this trip?" Adam asked sincerely. "I think that would help everyone out a lot."

She pursed her lips, but kept quiet.

One of the grand doors opened. The woman standing in the doorway was thin, wearing heels that were so tall, it was probably like walking on stilts. She wore a form-fitting dress of a floral pattern and her dark hair hung in tight curls around her shoulders. There was not a single blemish on her creamy skin and her emerald eyes seemed to glow.

"Hello, boys," she greeted pleasantly and held the door open wider for them to come in.

"Afternoon, Mom," Caleb said and passed her.

Simon, on the other hand, set his suitcase aside to give the woman a quick hug. "It's nice to see you again, Mom."

"It's been so long, hasn't it?" she agreed and hugged him to her.

"But you saw him, like, last month, didn't you?" Caleb wondered aloud.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I missed him any less," she said and let Simon grab his suitcase. She watched as Adam and Marissa passed her. "Hello, Adam. It's wonderful to see you again."

Adam nodded without word of recognition and stood close by Simon.

"I'm his sister, if you don't happen to remember," Marissa mentioned and gestured to Adam.

Mrs. Dougray squinted her pencil-lined eyes. "Actually, you're very memorable. You came here one summer with Adam, if I'm remembering exactly. Marissa, correct?"

Marissa smiled and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders.

"Well, boys, you know where the rooms are. Don't be shy, go get settled," Mrs. Dougray said, addressing them all and folding her thin hands together. "And wash up. Dinner will be ready in about an hour." She gave them all one last pearly white smile and disappeared under an arch, which was sure to be the kitchen.

"Your mom is really nice," Marissa said as soon as she was out of earshot. "She didn't even comment that I looked like a creepy emo."

Adam sighed and looked at Simon with a look that could only be identified as apologetic.

The four trekked up the grand, spiral staircase, lugging suitcases behind them. The portraits that lined the wall were all of people or scenery, painted with oil of elaborate colors. When they reached the landing, Marissa abandoned her suitcase to look over the edge of the railing, leaning forward enough to balance on her midsection. Adam just about shrieked, but her feet touched the ground again and she was smiling giddily.

"I love this place," she sighed and was oblivious to the matching eye rolls Caleb and Simon gave her.

They continue on down another hallway that branched off two ways. Straight ahead stood a wide media room. One wall was completely lined by windows that all let in light to make the room seem larger. Another wall was taken up by a flat screen television and two gaming consoles. Plastic video game cases were strewn across the floor in front of the TV. On the back wall there was what looked like a mini bar, complete with a small fridge and a cooler for wine. Their feet sunk in the plush carpet as they turned to the other branch.

The second branch was a room smaller in comparison to the media room, with a basic set of chairs and a table in the middle. Six doors stood shut in front of them, all the same. Caleb strode forward to the third one on his right and turned the knob.

"This is my room," he announced.

"Don't go in there," Simon added in a whisper when Caleb wasn't looking.

"That's Luke's room," Caleb said now and gestured to the next door. "And the last one is Daniel's."

"Don't go in either of those, too," Simon said to Adam.

With that, Caleb nodded to the boys and Marissa and disappeared behind his own door, the locking clicking faintly.

"Thank you for the tour, dearest brother," Simon mused almost to himself before going to one of the three untouched doors. "Marissa, this is where you'll be staying. It's the guest room. And the bathroom's the next door over."

She stopped. "_The _bathroom? Does that mean you only have one?"

"Yes. We all share one. Why?"

She made a face. "For someone with a huge-ass house, I thought you all would've had a bathroom to yourself." She sniffed and took her suitcase to the guest room.

"She seems mildly disappointed," Simon said, chuckling.

"Don't worry, she'll stick it out," Adam said and smiled a little. He joined Simon in front of the last door, following him inside.

There was nothing about Simon's room that Adam didn't remember. Everything from the canopy bed with the high posts at each corner to the curving bookcase on the wall was clear in his mind. The walls were painted maroon and the sheets on the bed were black. Everything about the room seemed dark. One of the expensive globes, made out of different kinds of granite and marble, was perched on the square desk in the corner by the window.

Adam propped his suitcase and duffle bag at the foot of the bed by the trunk that was there and couldn't help but look up at the high ceiling.

"I love your room," he said faintly and turned to the other boy. He knew he could've flubbed the words and said something completely different.

"Thank you. I like to think it suits me," Simon said and brought his things over to his bed.

Adam stared at him. He couldn't help but notice the way Simon's hair flipped up on the side, and he resisted the urge to smooth it down with his hands. He chewed on the inside of his cheek when a shout from downstairs told them dinner was prepared.

Dinner went slowly to Adam's displeasure. His sister's behavior embarrassed him highly, as she kept flicking food at Caleb and the other two dark-haired brothers, Luke and Daniel, with her spoon. Simon's parents were grave as they watched her. Adam spent most of the dinner with his head in his hands, Simon chewing on his meal slowly beside him. Finally, when everyone had finished eating and the table was cleared, they all retired to their rooms.

For the next thirty minutes, the five boys and Marissa fought over who would use the bathroom first. It was finally decided using a coin, calling heads or tails, and Marissa ultimately was set at the end of the line. Compared to her Adam was third and he felt smug. The line filed through and all the boys had a chance at the bathroom, and they all returned to their rooms.

Adam sat on the foot of Simon's bed, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with his shirt. He jammed them back on and looked up to see Simon digging in the walk-in closet.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

"Well, we both need a place to sleep, don't we? You can take the bed," Simon said when he appeared a moment later. Under his arm he carried what looked like a sleeping bag bundled up into a tight bind. He unwrapped it and spread it out across the floor in front of Adam and smoothed it out.

"What? Why do we need a sleeping bag in the first place?" he asked incredulously.

Simon watched him closely and he cleared his throat. "Wouldn't it be a little awkward sleeping in the same bed?"

Adam's jaw nearly dropped. "We've slept in the same bed every time I've come for years. I don't see why it's any different now—" He stopped. "It's because I'm—of who I am, isn't it?" He still couldn't say the word very easily.

"Don't take it offensive. I'm not trying to insult you, if that's what you're thinking. I just pulled this out because I thought it would make you feel better," Simon objected, gesturing to the sleeping bag.

"Feel better?" he started, clutching his fists at his sides. "How would a sleeping bag make me feel better?"

Simon rubbed his face in exhaustion. "Look, it was a thought. I imagined you would still be a little… embarrassed about the whole coming out ordeal, and would want to sleep separately from me."

Adam blinked. "I get it. You don't want to sleep in the same bed as me because I'm _gay. _I get it now, Simon. And I'll take the sleeping bag. You can have the bed." He stole the bag from the floor and folded it over his arm. When he stalked toward the door, Simon's voice caught him.

"What in the world are you doing?"

He whipped around. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room with my sister."

"Why are you doing that?" Simon probed.

"Because. Maybe it would make you _feel better_," he snapped, using the words Simon had used earlier. Adam stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and padded to the guest room. He knocked twice and she called for him to come in.

She didn't question him when he threw the sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of her bed and curled up.

* * *

"So you're dating."

"Yes, we are."

"Like, seriously dating?"

"I think we are."

"You think? You aren't very confident in your relationship, Blainey."

"Don't call me Blainey," he ordered and leaned his elbows against the kitchen table. "And I'm very confident in my relationship with him. What are you talking about?"

She shrugged and put her weight against the mop she was scrubbing the floor with. "From your answer, it sounded like things were already going downhill."

"We're not going downhill," Blaine said lowly.

"Sure. I'll believe that," Sadie scoffed.

"Mom! Sadie is being nosy, trying to pry into my love life!"

She glared at him. "Mom! Blaine is being a little tattle tale!"

The woman who stood at the sink with a pot in her hands switched off the faucet and glared at them. Her skin was smooth and the color of cocoa, her short hair hanging in a straight sheet of brown to her shoulders. She dug a dry rag out of the drawer.

"Both of you, stop it," she commanded. "I don't want you two fighting, especially before dinner. And Sadie, dear, please keep cleaning the floor. I don't want either of you to slip and break something."

"Yes, ma'am," the brother and sister replied. Blaine kept his mouth shut and Sadie went back to wiping the floor.

The kitchen floor had been covered with water when Blaine was on the phone with Kurt earlier. Sadie had knocked into their mom, resulting in the pot clattering to the floor and the water inside splashing everywhere. The pot had to be refilled and the floor had to be mopped. Sadie was in charge of cleaning up, since she had caused the spill, while Blaine looked on from the kitchen table.

"Now, this boy, Kurt," their mom said, running the faucet over the pot, "I've met him before, haven't I?"

Blaine nodded. "You met him at the Valentine's brunch, remember? Tall? Nice skin? Brown hair?"

"There are a lot of people that would fit that description," Sadie snickered to herself, but Blaine caught it and glared at her.

"Ah, yes, I remember now," their mom said and snapped her fingers in realization. "He seems like a nice young man."

"He is," Blaine answered happily.

"So, what did you have to do to get him to date you? Write him a sappy love letter? Declare your undying love for him in the middle of class, where everyone could see? Say cheesy pick-up lines until he agreed, but only to get you to stop saying them?" Sadie pondered and wrung the mop out on the side of the sink that wasn't being used, the other side.

"No," he said flatly. "It just… happened. I didn't do anything more than told him I liked him. We've been friends since we meet and it sort of changed over time. I'm pretty sure I fell in love with him when he first came down the main staircase before one our Warbler concerts. He was supposed to be spying on us for his school, but he wasn't a very good spy. He also wasn't very good at posing as a new student." His lips curved up.

Sadie sighed dreamily and leaned against the counter, clutching the mop between her hands. "Love at first sight. You even remembered where you first met, where you first made eye contact. You must be Nicholas Sparks in disguise."

"Your sister has a point," their mom murmured from the sink.

"About what? I'm definitely not Nicholas Sparks," Blaine said, at the same time his sister blurted, "I have a point?"

The woman lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Wasn't that last boy you dated the one you thought you were going to go through high school with, then marry? William, wasn't it? Sweet boy, he was."

Blaine locked eyes with his sister, who gagged heavily at the mention of Will. She didn't like the blonde one bit. From the start, she had thought that he was too haughty and too egoistic.

"What's your point, Mom?" Blaine asked to get away from talking about his ex-boyfriend.

She lifted the heavy pot from the sink and, making sure Sadie was out of her way, set it on the stove top and turned on the burner. She turned toward her son. "All I'm saying is, maybe you should not take things so fast with Kurt. He's probably just as antsy as you are about this whole thing and I would hate to see you break up after only a little while. Isn't that what happened with William?"

Throat tight, Blaine looked down at his hands. He wanted to shout that in fact, no, that wasn't what happened at all. It wasn't even close.

Instead, he said inwardly, "That's not what happened."

"What did you say?"

He raised his head. "Nothing. When will dinner be ready?"

* * *

The choir room was lifeless. The glee club had said their goodbyes nearly half an hour ago, leaving Kurt and Rachel. Mr. Schue had gone home as well. Apparently he trusted Rachel enough to lock up the choir room for the week and he left the keys with her.

Now, she twirled the keys around her finger and propped her other hand on her hip. She and Kurt had stacked the plastic chairs in two neat stacks against the walls and the main lights were turned down. The jazz ensemble and the piano accompaniment had left as well, and the piano was empty.

Kurt sat at the bench and plucked at random chords. A memory came back to him, one of sitting next to the dark-haired boy at a piano in the auditorium during the power outage, and another sitting beside him in the choir room. Kurt shook his head as if to erase the memories. He did not need to be thinking about him right now. He was on a vacation; he needed to focus on relaxing.

"How is Dalton? I never got enough time to ask the last time we saw each other," Rachel said and ceased the key twirling. She slid them into the pocket of her dress and clasped her hands behind her back.

"It's fine," Kurt said automatically and pressed down a C sharp key. "I mean, I'm doing well there. The classes aren't as easy as they are here, but I'm still passing." He left out the part about being tutored on a daily basis after school.

Rachel paced casually across the room. "What's it like? Rehearsing with the Warblers, I mean. Seeing as you beat us at Regionals, you must work in a pretty intense atmosphere," she said tautly.

"Intense? Yeah, right," he scoffed and pressed down the next key up, a D. "Our rehearsals are about as focused as Finn in Spanish class. We don't get much done."

"Then how could you have possibly beaten us? We practiced hours upon hours, during school and after!" she demanded and stopped pacing to glare murderously at him.

Kurt dropped his hand from the piano. "I'm not quite sure. It just… happened."

She huffed and tossed her brown hair over her shoulder. "Okay, enough about music. We're supposed to be on level terms over choir. I would hate to hate you over a thing like that."

"Agreed."

"So that means we move on to the next best thing." She smiled.

Kurt swallowed. "What's that?" he asked dreadfully.

"Walk with me, talk with me," she said airily and held out her arm for him to take it. She guided him out of the choir room and started down the empty hallway.

"What is it you were going to talk to me about?" Kurt wondered as they walked arm in arm.

"Mercedes told me about your boy troubles the last time you two talked," she started.

"I may have had boy troubles back when I told her about them," Kurt interrupted sharply, "but I don't have them anymore." His voice cracked on the lie at the end.

Rachel nearly stopped walking. Her voice was low. "Kurt, you know you can tell me anything. I'm not going to judge you on your choices."

He looked at her for a long moment. "So you know about James, I'm guessing," he said. His name tasted funny in his mouth, almost sour.

"From what Mercedes told me, he sounds like a terrible person."

"He's not a terrible person. He has a lot of issues," he said right away before he could stop himself. He was quieter when he spoke next. "He's also in love with me."

Rachel bit her tongue.

"And that's a really huge problem," he continued, "because I love Blaine."

She peeked up at him through her evenly cut bangs. She wrinkled her nose distastefully. "Didn't you tell this _James_ that you and Blaine are dating?"

Kurt nodded his head. "Of course I have. Several times, actually. It only goes straight over his head. It's like he doesn't hear me. He refuses to accept it and I don't know how much longer I can stand it. He really is an amazing person, once you look past the… scars, and everything, but sometimes, the way he acts is so different."

They turned down another hall lined with the same ugly, tan lockers. More classrooms were on either side, all dark and locked up for the break. The sounds of their shoes against the tile echoed.

"You said he cuts," she murmured sadly. Kurt nodded, barely. "I pray for him, Kurt. That is the worst thing you could do to yourself. Causing pain on purpose is beyond my comprehension. Why someone would do such a thing is…" She couldn't find the right word to end her sentence.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "It's terrible, what he does to himself, and I can't help but think he's doing it because of me. Because I don't reciprocate his feelings, because I chose Blaine over him."

Rachel patted his arm gently. "It's not your fault, I'm sure. There have to be other things that cause him to do this. Maybe it's for attention?"

Kurt shook his head. "He's got enough as it is."

"Maybe he has problems with his family. I've read studies where issues with family members lead to self-harm," she offered. "Do you know if he has a strained relationship with his parents?"

The question struck him. He couldn't recall much about James' parents, if any at all. James had confided in him with many things, but nothing much about his home life. He pursed his lips.

"Not really. He hasn't told me much," he reported gravely.

"The better question would be, what has he told you?" she asked.

"Most of the thing I know about him are from finding them on accident," Kurt said to her, and they turned another corner, getting closer to the gyms. "He played the piano for his Warbler audition, so that was how I found he loves to play. I saw the blade marks on his wrists, and that was how I found he cuts." He paused to take a much-needed breath and looked down at Rachel. "I don't know what to do with him, Rachel. I can't leave him alone because if I do, who knows what he'll do? He could throw himself out the second-story Chem lab the next day, or cut himself and bleed to death. And if I keep on paying attention to him like I am now, then he'll never get the message that I don't love him the way he loves me."

That ended the conversation for a good while until Rachel spoke again.

"I'm sorry you're having to go through this," she said sincerely. "I think you should treat him kindly. Don't ignore him by any means, okay? He seems like he is in a lot of... trouble right now, I suppose." She paused to look up at him and met his eyes meaningfully. "But push this behind you for one week, okay? You're here to relax and have fun. We're going shopping after this and I don't want your mood to make you pick out depressing clothing." She wore a wide smile to cheer him up.

The smile worked until he looked up. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him. He stopped where he was, stopping Rachel with him, and adrenaline flooded his veins and froze him solid.

"Hello, Lady. Haven't seen you around here in a while. Hope you're enjoying your bird school," Dave Karofsky sneered, but his tone was flat, indignant almost. He was clad in his bulky red letterman jacket and he held a plastic drink cup in one hand. Usually, the comment about the bird school didn't hit him hard, but when it came from Karofsky, Kurt felt his heart leap into his throat.

"What do you want, David?" Rachel barked when she saw that Kurt was too frightened for words.

"Stay out of this, hobbit. This doesn't concern you," one of the jocks ordered.

"This concerns me as much as it concerns Kurt," she snapped at them. "I think it would be wise if you left us alone."

This started a riot of laughter amongst the boys and Kurt squeezed Rachel's hand. His eyes kept darting between Karofsky to the slushie in his hand. He could almost feel the frozen drink sliding down his neck and into his shirt.

"What are you even doing here? Football season is long over," Rachel demanded of them. She wanted to stall for time.

"It's called hockey season, little lady," one of the boys jeered. "We practice at the rink down the block after school."

Rachel chose not to say anything more and she raised her chin. Although she put on a brave face, Kurt could feel her trembling.

Karofsky grinned and turned to the boys behind him. "Why don't we give Lady here a welcome back present that he and the hobbit can both get some use out of?" He rotated the plastic cup in his hands and took a step forward.

"You wouldn't dare, David," she hissed and took a step back, pulling Kurt with her. "We're on equal terms now."

This stopped him and his expression went blank.

"Just because I agreed to go with you to that stupid singing contest does not mean we're on equal terms," he growled. "That was a one-time deal. I didn't even want to do it in the first place. Beiste forced me to."

"Well, we should be on equal terms! You helped us to be able to compete in Regionals," she squeaked as the other boys surrounded them with the drink cups ready in their hands.

"News flash, hobbit: We didn't win!" Karofsky pointed out, stepping forward, and his eyes flashed to Kurt for a brief moment. "He did," he said softer.

Kurt's heart raced in his chest to the point where he thought it would explode. His pulse was rushing so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything. He clenched Rachel's hand tightly like a life preserver.

"Come on, Dave. Just get it over with and let's go. I don't want to have to spent more time at this school than I need to," one of the boys sighed.

Karofsky looked back over his shoulder at them, then looked at Kurt. He had advanced on Kurt and Rachel and a foot of space stood between them. He glanced down at the drink in his hand. Kurt bit his lip and shut his eyes.

"Go ahead," he said through gritted teeth. "Do it and go home."

Kurt straightened and took in a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking of his body. He heard the faintest whisper and it sounded like, "I'm sorry."

Then he felt the cold ice and sticky syrup slap his face and trickle down his next and down the front of his shirt.

* * *

The house was a small one-story at the end of the cul-de-sac. The bricks were a drab shade of gray and the flower beds out front were empty and colorless except from the thin layer of brown soil. The curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, like they always were. They were never moved or drawn back, not even on the nicest of days. The driveway was empty and the garage door was shut.

The house was one of many on the long street. All the residences were similar to each other in some way, whether it be the style of the house of the color of the brick. They all looked alike in some way that it was nearly impossible to pick out the right house in the dark. If you were exhausted enough, you could pull into the wrong driveway.

The neighborhood was not far from the Dalton Academy. Just stay on the main road for about twenty minutes, take an exit here, a right turn there, and voila. The dull neighborhood running down St. Peter's Street appeared almost instantly. It was hard to miss it. It was the only one without color.

James Montgomery slowed when he saw his small house at the end of the road. He turned into the driveway and came to a stop, switching off the engine and simply sitting there for a few minutes, listening to the chatter on the radio. The house looked as empty as it had been when he'd first moved in with his father months ago. His brother would've joined them, but he was off at college in California, studying the arts and forms of dark room photography.

Lucky him, James thought bitterly. He would do anything to be away from this nasty house and this nasty place. He didn't see why his father had to take the job offer in the first place. It wasn't like they were low on money: They had a better income than most families he knew of.

The thought of being home in California, where the sun was bright and warm overhead, where the beach was just past the fence of his backyard, plagued him to the point of frustration. It was a simple plane flight away. He had the money for a one way ticket. He could go home, see his mother, visit his brother on campus and see some of his artwork. But Westerville was where he stayed for Spring Break.

James crawled out of the driver's seat and stepped out. He shut the door behind him and unlocked the trunk to retrieve his suitcase. Pulling it out and setting it down, he slammed the trunk shut and faced the plain house. He dreaded taking a step inside that house, fearing what he would face. What would have changed already, if anything? He clicked the handle of his suitcase up and circled around the lawn to the end of the sidewalk.

Walking on hot coals was easier than walking up to his own house. He took his time walking down the sidewalk. He waited from the drop of his luggage when it ran over a crack between the slabs of cement, followed by the distinct sound of the wheels barely half a second later. It kept his mind occupied until he reached the steps. James picked his bag off the ground and carried it weakly up the steps and set it down at the door.

The front door was a tint of black. It could've also doubled as a shade of gray. At least, that was what he learned from his artist-of-a-brother. Aside from the color, a cursive, wrought iron _M _hung at about eye level. James stared at the ornament and dug his key out.

Inside, the front room was bare. There was no grand staircase off to the side, like the one he had gotten used to at Dalton. To his left was the compressed dining room. To his right, the coat closet. And before him was the minute living room.

His father liked neutral colors and that was exactly what coated the house. Blacks and whites and tans and the occasional pale blue. Black covered the loveseat and the leather chair and the coffee table was made of a white wood. The ceiling was high for such a small house, with a wide skylight. But instead of letting in light, it was covered with a layer of filmy glass.

James left his suitcase standing by the door. He drifted through the living room, letting his hands trail across the back of the couch. Where a television would have sat, there was a set of bookcases, filled with leather-bound books that had yellowed pages and plenty of decades on them.

The flick of paper caught him and he turned his head. The doorway to the kitchen was behind him. He found himself constantly comparing his own home to Dalton's dorms. Ordinarily, South's kitchen was alive at all hours of the day with the aromas of coffee and bread and microwave meals. This kitchen smelled like paper and antibacterial soap.

James poked his head through the doorway. The thin, wirey man that was his father sat in one of the four chairs. The day's newspaper was clutched in his hands and he hid his face with it. His hair peeked over the top of the paper and was jet back, though gray was starting to dust it. That was all James could see at the moment.

"I'm home," he announced timidly. His voice faltered as he said it and he resisted the urge to lean against the door frame.

Gradually the paper lowered. Victor Montgomery peered up at his son past a pair of flimsy reading glasses. He set the paper down on the table, which was made of the same wood as the coffee table in the other room, and he flattened it with his hands.

"I see. Make yourself comfortable," was all he said before he lifted the paper in front of his face again.

The words echoed in James' ears. He imagined nothing at all to be said to him. He wondered vaguely if his mother had called before his arrival, telling his father to be nice and at least say something. Whether or not he was under his mother's influence, James was thankful his father paid the smallest bit of attention to him.

Turning on his heels, James retreated from the kitchen and grabbed his suitcase from its place by the front door. He rolled it down the hall, past the kitchen where he caught another glimpse of his father. Two doors lined the hall. One was a bathroom and the other was a bedroom. James took in a breath, also inhaling the strong scent of cotton that wafted through the house, and pushed the bedroom door open.

The sheets on the bed were tucked tightly around the corners and the pillow at the headboard was fluffed. The carpet was vacuumed and without stains, and the papers that had been piled on the desk in the corner were in one stack. The curtains fell in two even sheets on either side of the window, the seat below it covered in a long, black cushion. The entire room was cleaned to the point where it looked like no one lived in it.

The suitcase trailed behind him into the room. He laid it gently on his bed and didn't bother unpacking it. He walked over to the window seat and sat down, putting his hands on his knees and looking around.

The piano was in full view at this angle. It sat in the corner, most likely coated with a good layer of dust by now. A pair of bulky headphones sat on the seat in front of it and a wire led from the side of it to an outlet in the keyboard. The headphones helped him when he played. He could plays as much as he wanted to, as often as he wanted to, and not disturb his father. It wasn't that his father disapproved of him playing: he merely didn't like what he played.

His father cared for classical compositions rather than the pop music James preferred. James found the classical pieces his father handed him too boring and too monotonous. If he couldn't sing to it, he refused to play it, and he most certainly couldn't sing to thirty-second notes for seven and a half pages, even if he wanted to.

He stood up from the window seat and moved across the room. As he expected, a thin layer of dust covered the bench and the keys. Swiping it away, he sat down and fitted the headphones over his ears. They blocked out everything and he had the desire to bring them back to Dalton with him when the break ended. It would help him deal with his wing and his friends. His lips turned up into a small smile when he pictured Will and Carson trying to talk to him with the earphones on.

Suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket and he slipped it out. A single voicemail showed up on the screen. It was from Will from sometime earlier, and James removed the headphones to listen. It was a simple message from the blonde, telling him to have a nice Spring Break, and that they would see each other in a week. The message was oddly short, as Will liked to ramble on and on, and James played it back two more times. He set the phone beside him on the bench and put the headphones back on.

Again, everything melted away. He switched on the piano and started to play.

* * *

"This is absolutely disgusting," Rachel whined as she viciously tore another paper towel from the holder and stuck it under the faucet.

"You're telling me," Kurt mumbled and wiped his face with a sodden towel. His face felt uncomfortably sticky from the syrup of the drink and his hair was soaked to his scalp. The slushie had drenched him and turned the collar of his shirt light purple. This was one thing he did not miss about McKinley: the daily slushie facials. There none of those at Dalton. For one, there were no gas stations within maybe a fifteen mile radius of the campus and two, Markus would go ballistic if he found anyone trying that.

"You know, you'd think I'd get used to these after a while, seeing as I've been dealing with them since the first day of last year," she said and sponged the dye off her face the best she could, "but no. Not at all. I still hate them." Her cheeks were pink, not from the slushie, but from the amount of pressure she put into cleaning it off. She set down the crumpled paper napkin and examined herself in the mirror of the girls' bathroom.

Kurt was silent. For the past ten minutes, he and Rachel had been holed up in the bathroom in an attempt to clean up. So far, they weren't getting very far. The stickiness of the syrup clung to their skin and both of them smelled faintly like artificial grapes. At this point, all he wanted to do was going home and stand under the shower for an hour, maybe longer. But even then, he would probably still feel like he had slushie all over him. Along with that, working to remove the stain from his shirt would be backbreaking work. Of all days to wear a white shirt and he chose this day.

But he was slightly less concerned about getting clean. The thoughts at the front of his mind were those of David Karofsky. Kurt had had these silly little ideas that since he didn't attend McKinley as a student, he would never have to see the jock again. He was obviously and sorely wrong on that. The image of the jock's flat face and weak voice played over in his mind. The "I'm sorry" stuck the most.

"Rachel," he said absently, "why did he go to Regionals with you guys? Because you needed an extra person, right?"

She nodded. "Lauren quit at the beginning of the week leading up to it and we spent the rest of the week trying to find someone to take her place. Finally Puck convinced Karofsky to join, if only for the one day. I didn't like it one bit, mind you, but it helped up qualify."

Kurt did not reply. He gently dabbed at his collar with a towel to get out the purple, but he had a feeling he would have to use a ton of bleach to start. And it was one of his favorite shirts, to make it worse.

Sorry for what?

He crumpled the towel in his hands and piled it with the others on the tile counter, reaching for another one and dampening it in the sink. The water ran cold over his hands and he shivered.

What had Karofsky been sorry for?

Running his fingers through his damp hair, he tilted his head, staring at his reflection. His skin looked bruised and blemished and his eyes were sunken, bleak. They were still that murky blue that Blaine once told him looked like the color of the sky in the early, early morning.

Sorry for the slushie to the face?

Rachel stretched on her tiptoes to squeeze soap into her hands and her shoes squeaked loudly against the tile floor. Kurt flinched at the sound.

Sorry… sorry for what happened in the past?

He froze where he was, then continued dabbing at his neck.

No, Karofsky would never apologize for such a thing. Everything he did he meant to do. He was under control of his actions. He was the one who threw Kurt into Dumpsters after school, right before some glee rehearsals, and tripped him in the hallways. He did those things because he chose to.

Rachel finished cleaning her face and carried her pile of paper towels to the garbage can in the corner. She hit a button on the air dryer and held her shirt tautly under it to get it to dry quicker.

But people go back on things. A lot of people go back on a lot of things. People apologize for what they did. The thoughts drove Kurt insane.

Suddenly a chipper ringtone cut through the thickness in the air and both of them jumped. It was Kurt's phone, he realized, and he answered it without looking once at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hey, kiddo," said a gruff voice.

Kurt relaxed when he recognized the voice and approached the sink again. "Hi, Dad."

"I was just wonderin' when you were comin' home. Finn here told me you were up at school, and when he came home without 'cha, I got a little worried," he admitted. The mechanical sounds of car lifts and engines purring came through the speaker; he was most likely in the garage.

"It's fine, Dad. I'm here at the school with Rachel," he explained and checked his face for any signs of slushie. "She and I decided to stay a little longer. To, you know, catch up on what I've missed at McKinley."

Burt made a grunt of understanding. "Well, come home soon. Carole wants to go out for dinner, Lord knows why, and she wants your input on where to go."

Kurt smoothed his fingers over one of his eyebrows. "Why does she want to go out?"

"I guess it's like one of those welcome-home dinners," he answered. "She wants to know how you've been since we saw you at that Valentine thing. Grades, and everything, too. That kind of stuff."

"Oh," Kurt said shortly. "That will be nice, then. Is Finn going with us?"

There was a pause, then a shout as someone dropped something and it clattered loudly to the floor. It was so loud that even Rachel heard it and she looked over at Kurt, concerned.

"Sorry about that, kiddo," Burt said, his attention obviously on another thing. "Um, yeah, I think he's comin'. If he's not, well, I'll make him come. No reason to miss a family dinner." He chuckled.

"Don't make him do what he doesn't want to, Dad," Kurt sighed. He turned to Rachel and saw that she was all cleaned up and was leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "Better yet, why not invite Rachel?"

The brunette perked at her name and her eyes widened a little. She looked panicked and shook her head fervently.

"Yeah, go ahead and ask her, if that will make him want to come with us," Burt allowed.

"Actually," Kurt said, seeing Rachel's alarmed reaction, "she's busy tonight. She can't come."

"That's too bad. Let her know she's welcome any other time."

"I'll do that," Kurt said. "Listen, I'll be home soon. Twenty minutes, tops. Okay?"

He and Burt said their goodbyes and hung up. Kurt returned his phone to his pocket and watched Rachel carefully.

"What was with the whole head shaking maneuver?" he asked suspiciously. "For a second you looked like one of those tacky sports bobble heads."

She bristled. "Finn and I are no longer dating at this point. We've broken up for… substantial reasons that I do not wish to discuss at this time."

"He left you for Quinn, didn't he?" Kurt guessed flatly. He felt his stomach churn.

The way she wilted and looked down at the floor let Kurt know he was correct. The movement caused her hair to fall in front of her eyes and it gave her the appearance of a kicked puppy.

"I'm sorry," he said, as if that would make things better. He passed her on the way to the door and cautiously pulled it open. He stuck his head out into the hall and looked both directions in search of anyone wandering the halls.

Rachel sniffed and tucked hair behind her ears. She followed him out into the hall when he found that the coast was clear. "It's not your fault. He just chose who made him happy, and that person was Quinn." The end of her sentence was garbled as she had broken into tears.

"It's not the end of the world," Kurt assured and folded his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "He doesn't know what he's missing."

She sniffed again and hurriedly wiped at her eyes, but still she was solemn.

"Rachel," he said, "please don't cry over this. You're Rachel Berry. You don't cry over guys: Guys cry over you."

The comment mad her smile just a little bit and it was enough to compose herself. They made it back to the choir room without catching hide nor hair of Karofsky or the other jocks.

"So, given what you told your dad on the phone," Rachel said nasally, picking up her purse from the floor beside the piano, "we're not going shopping today?"

Kurt mentally slapped his palm to his forehead. "Rachel, I am so sorry, I didn't even think of that."

She laughed feebly. "It's okay. We'll make up for it later this week. I have nothing else planned."

He smiled, relieved, and they locked up the choir room. Being out in the hall made Kurt's heart rate increase a bit. Though he hadn't set foot in the halls of McKinley since his transfer last year, the anticipation of being slammed into a locker loomed over him threateningly, and glanced over his shoulder to be safe. He quickly left the building with Rachel at his side. They promised to get together later in the week and both returned to their cars.

Kurt unlocked his car and started the engine. As the air conditioner gradually cranked to full blast he pulled out his phone and checked for any new messages. He half expected a single text with a few words in it, a signal that James had taken him up on his offer that he would be there to talk if needed. But there was none and Kurt let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He had half a mind to tap out a message to the dark-haired boy, asking him if he got home safely, or a mere hello, and his fingers hovered over the screen.

With a blank message open on the screen, he typed. Not to James, but to Blaine, telling him he was well in Lima. He immediately dropped the phone in the cup holder at his side and looked over his shoulder. His car was the only one in the parking lot. Rachel had already left. He turned back front in his seat and let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. He let out a frustrated sigh and listened to the engine hum for what seemed like hours.

He sat up and curled his fingers around the wheel. Deliberately he pulled out of the empty lot and started down the road toward his neighborhood.

On the horizon the sun was a ball of glowing orange. It painted the sky pink and yellow and dark orange. Kurt flipped down the visor over his eyes and squinted to keep the light out. As he drove, a nagging feeling tugged at his chest.

There was nothing for him to possibly worry about. He didn't have homework assigned to him over the break and he would have dinner with his family that evening and plans through the week with his friends. Blaine was always a phone call away. There was no doubting at least one call a day, along with scattered, thoughtful text messages. And James.

Kurt swallowed heavily and flipped on the radio.

James, he decided, was none of his business.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Kurt enjoys the rest of his break with his friends from the New Directions. Relationships are patched up and people are sent home; prayers are sent to those above. Pictures that sit on the mantle above the fireplace bring back awful, horrifying memories, and music becomes a part of life._


	21. L'esprit de l'escalier

_Hello, readers._

_First off, I would like to thank all of those who have add this story to their story alerts. It means the world to mean to know that my work is being read and appreciated. _

_In other news, I would like to wish all of you an early happy holidays and to wish you safe travels, if you are visiting relatives and such._

_Thank you, and please enjoy this next chapter. _

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the trademark characters.

* * *

**L'esprit de l'escalier**

* * *

**L'esprit de l'escalier (French): The feeling you get after leaving a conversation when you think of all the things you should have said.**

* * *

The choir room was empty.

Kurt sat, alone, at the piano, his fingers brushing faintly over the ivory keys. A chill ran through the air that made him shiver and he stared up at the window behind the piano. Instead of the sun casting golden rays, stormy clouds took over, a mask of smoggy gray. It looked the exact weather of rain and as the thought crossed his mind, drops splattered against the window, one by one, until it was a noisy downpour.

The rain continued on as he sat there. He removed his hand from the keys and rested both on his knees. The sky had grown darker, if that was possible, and the room was dark as well. Yet Kurt didn't get to his feet to switch on a lamp or the overhead lights. He simply sat there and looked down at the keys as if willing them to play without his actions.

He had always wanted to learn to play the piano. He had seen many, many people play before, and he'd thought it was spectacular. Just the way the performer's fingers glided across the keys fluidly to create stunning melodies and rhythms… It captivated him. Now, he had the rickety old piano to himself for once, but nothing could come to him. He dumbly plucked out notes one by one and their sounds resonated throughout the room.

Compared to the way he'd heard others play, he sounded childish and he dropped his hand again, almost feeling ashamed.

Then, a click sounded behind him.

"Kurt, what are you doing in here?"

Kurt whipped around on the bench, nearly toppling over in the process, his eyes. The figure at the door was slender, arms crossed over his chest, hair disheveled. The voice was familiar and it sent another chill running up Kurt's spine. His heart skipped a beat as he turned around to face the boy standing in the doorway, his face going bright red.

* * *

"That outfit is so tacky."

"It's not tacky, it's tasteful."

"Tasteful? You _must _be blind, Rachel. Just because she's wearing a plaid skirt does mean it looks good. It's not even the same color as her sweater."

"That is so the same color! They're both pink."

Kurt tapped his spoon against his lips. "The sweater is pink. The skirt is magenta. Obviously, they are not the same color."

"Fine. They're not the same shade of pink. But it doesn't have to be the same color to match."

"Yes, it does, Rach," the other girl interjected and leaned back in her chair.

"Okay, maybe you're right." Rachel flattened her lips and turned back around with a sigh, stirring her melting yogurt with a spoon. She stared down at it with a disgusted expression.

Spring break only stretched so far as seven days and as of now, it was going by too quickly for everyone, Kurt especially. It was a bit more than halfway through the week, landing on a Thursday. So far, he had gone out to dinner with his parents and Finn, went on a bowling marathon with Santana and Brittany, and spent a day shopping and people watching with Quinn Fabray. He had one more day to himself and was going to spend Saturday packing to go back to Dalton. His plans were to leave the next day, on Sunday, to make the long two hours back.

But at this point, he wanted to freeze time. The longing to stay with his friends was strong and he did not want to return to hours of homework every night. He had had enough of schoolwork and probably received enough in two weeks to last a month. Even worse, professors were going to start preparing for finals at the end of the semester, though they were at the end of May. Kurt understood their logic in getting a head start, but that didn't mean handing out weekly review packets that were probably made from entire trees.

Setting that thought aside, Kurt stirred his melting yogurt before pushing it in front of him. He had lost his appetite. He, Rachel, and Mercedes were at a frozen yogurt shop located in one of the only shopping centers in the county. It was where most people went to socialize, not eat, though Kurt found the yogurt enticing. But now, his stomach was in the process of doing flips and the promise was to get sick if he ate one more spoonful.

Rachel looked over her shoulder one more time at the girl who worked the register. Since they had walked through the door, she had been trying to convince Kurt that her outfit was perfectly acceptable when it obviously wasn't. The girl's sweater was plain pink, and her skirt was a magenta plaid pattern. Kurt could've cared less about the outfit, to be frank, and he turned his head to stare out the window.

"I agree with Kurt," Mercedes, who had been almost silent the entire time, piped up, "her outfit doesn't match. There, it's settled. Happy?" She glared irritably at Rachel.

The brunette bristled. "Not really. I would wear that. I mean, if I had a headband that matched the skirt, of course. To keep up continuity."

"Of course. To keep up the continuity," Kurt repeated under his breath somewhat mockingly. He leaned his elbow against the table and exhaled loudly.

The two girls shared a curious look.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" Mercedes asked him suspiciously. "You've been looking pretty glum all day and it's starting to bother us."

"Nothing," he said automatically and sat up straighter, lifting his elbow off the table and attempting to smile with teeth. "I'm fine. Why would you ask?"

"You've barely eaten any of your yogurt," Rachel started off in her trademark matter-of-fact tone and gestured to his bowl, "and you're unusually quiet. And your smile right now looks sort of like a sad clown."

"In other words, you look bad. No offense," Mercedes summed up. She ignored the look Rachel shot her. She scooted her chair closer to him. "What's going on, Kurt? You can tell us anything and we won't say a peep. Promise."

Kurt fidgeted in his seat. "I know I can trust you two. Don't get me wrong."

Rachel raised a manicured eyebrow. "Do you prefer not to tell us?"

"Maybe," he admitted. He shrugged and kept one hand occupied by stirring what was left in his bowl.

"School troubles?" she guessed and pushed her food aside to give him her full attention.

Kurt let out a sigh. "You could say that."

"Sometimes I wonder what's going on at the bird school of yours," Mercedes muttered, her eyes narrowed. "Everything exciting seems to go on there."

"It's nothing you girls would be interested in. Just final exams and studying," he assured them.

"I'm sure we would be very interested in your new school life. I think a field trip is in order," Rachel suddenly suggested and nodded sharply to Mercedes.

A smile spread across the other girl's face. "I think you're right on that, Ms. Berry."

"Oh, no," Kurt squeaked and he barely resisted jumping out of his seat, "you two can _not _come to Dalton. It isn't a good idea."

"Why not?" the brunette demanded. "We've always wanted to see the inside of your school and I'm absolutely sure Blaine and your other friends wouldn't mind us visiting for just a few minutes."

"That's not what I meant. I'm sure after months of solitude, the boys would be thrilled to know that females actually exist past the walls of our school," Kurt said flatly, "but I'm talking about the little things called _rules. _We've already had one girl break in, and we don't need any more." He briefly recalled Adam's twin sister sneaking in, right after being given orders to leave campus.

"Another girl? Who? Do we know her?" Mercedes questioned and tilted her head to the side, her hoop earrings jingling faintly with the motion.

Kurt shook his head. "Just a sister of one of the boys. The point is, you two can't come. It's against the rules to have girls on campus for the obvious reasons and if the Dean found out you knew me, it would reflect on me. And believe me, I miss you as much as you miss me, but please, I can't get into trouble now."

Rachel chewed daintily on one of her nails and looked between Kurt and Mercedes. "Well, if you insist—"

"Oh, I insist," he said firmly. "So no random visits. Understood?"

"Hold on a second," Mercedes interrupted and held up a finger. "If we promise to not come visit you, will you tell us what's bugging you so much right now?"

Kurt paused. "Nothing is bugging me," he answered a moment later.

"You said there was something bugging you, something we wouldn't be interested in. You said so yourself," Rachel objected.

He sat there. He flattened his lips and his eyes darted between the two. Finally he let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair.

"I knew it. I knew there was something wrong," she snapped and practically leaned across the table in anticipation. Then she fell back into her seat when she saw Kurt's solemn expression. "What's wrong? Is it Blaine?"

Eyes shut, he waved a hand at them blindly. He rubbed one temple soothingly. "No, it's not Blaine. He and I are doing very well, if that's what you mean," he explained, and his heart fluttered barely at the mention of the other boy. "It's more of a… glee club thing."

Mercedes' face was a mask of confusion. "What are you talking about? You're going to have to be a little clearer here."

"We're going to Nationals," he blurted and tried to avoid talking directly to Rachel, who now had her arms knit over her chest tightly and was staring madly out the window that overlooked the parking lot. "And our director assigned one of the three songs in our program as a solo. We have to audition for it if we want it."

"What's the big deal with that? It's just a solo. It's nothing you can't handle," she said.

"I know, I know, but I don't know whether to audition or not," he explained in a flurry of words so fast, even he didn't have time to understand most of them.

This caught Rachel and she instantly dropped her sour face. "Kurt Hummel? Backing down from an audition? And for a solo at a public competition! I can't believe you!" she exclaimed. Her voice rose to the point where a few of the shop's patrons, including the poorly-dressed cashier, turned their heads to look accusingly at her.

Kurt held up his hands to calm her. "Rachel, I know it's a solo, but this is me we're talking about."

"Not to be rude or anything, but what's wrong with you?" Mercedes demanded with a hint of remorse. "You're perfectly capable of singing a solo."

"Yes, I understand that," he said slowly, "but I'm more worried about the audition itself. Some of the best singers in the groups have their names down on the list."

"I don't care if they have the face of an angel and the voice of Sinatra," Rachel scoffed and tossed her shiny brown hair over her shoulder the way she did when she was annoyed. "If I was in your position, I would march up to my director and demand my name on that audition list. I'd run over the others who dared to sing against me, and—"

Mercedes laid a cautious hand on her shoulder. "Girl, stop talking. If you keep it up, that big mouth of yours is gonna get you in even bigger trouble one day." She looked back at Kurt. "How many are auditioning?"

"Three," he answered without missing a beat, and he could see the three boys' faces clearly in his mind.

"Only three?" Rachel said incredulously.

"The others either don't care or don't want to," Kurt said. "And the three who are auditioning are good. Well, one of them is very good. Spectacular, actually."

"And who might this spectacular boy be, exactly?" the other girl asked.

The corner of Kurt's lips twitched. "Blaine."

In unison, the two girls slumped in their seats. Rachel blinked several times as if unable to comprehend what she had just heard. Mercedes studied Kurt carefully with gleaming hazel eyes.

"Crush him!" was the first thing to burst from Rachel's mouth after a long moment of silence. "I don't care if you're madly in love with the boy! Crush him to pieces and show him you're just as capable of getting a solo as he is!"

"Rachel!" both Kurt and Mercedes proclaimed and kept her from jumping to her feet. By now, half the shop had their eyes on their small table by the window, and Kurt's face was as red as a tomato.

"Sit down," Kurt hissed and he braced his hands against the sticky pink tabletop.

"What?" asked a flustered Rachel. "If I was put in that kind of situation, I would bowl my competition over, even I was dating one of them. No ifs, ands, or doubts about it." She pushed her bangs back into place and folded her hands together.

"That's because you have no heart when it comes to singing," Mercedes mumbled and rolled her eyes. She turned back to Kurt. "Who else is auditioning besides Blaine?"

"A boy from one of the other wings," he answered, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "And Blaine's ex-boyfriend."

The girls stared at him as if he had grown another head, and Kurt launched into a brief explanation of how Blaine and William had dated the year before and were separate now. He walked through it quickly, wanting to get past the fact that Blaine and Will had _dated. _He almost cringed at the thought.

Mercedes closed her lips, which had popped open. "I told you all the exciting stuff happens at that bird school! When can I pack my things and move in with you?" she asked teasingly.

"Well," Rachel said tautly. "That's certainly… interesting." She took a moment to pucker her lips. "But still. Take my advice and go for it. Sweep them all with your flawless talent. I don't care if one of them is your boyfriend. Show him, and the others, what you've got. Besides, Blaine shouldn't be the only one getting the solos every time a performance pops up."

"Rachel," he said to her, "I'm not auditioning."

"Oh yes, you are," Mercedes told him. "You are going to go for that solo, or so help me. You are going to _Nationals, _for crying out loud—" she was oblivious to Rachel's crestfallen attitude—"so therefore, this is basically a once in a lifetime chance. You should want to be the star this time, and you get your own song and everything. Why wouldn't you want that?"

Kurt blinked. "I don't think I'm good enough, honestly. I wouldn't win against the others. Blaine is auditioning and you know how good he is. I would never pull through."

"Are you sure that's all who has signed up?" Rachel asked quietly, nearing a whisper. "Is James? Is he keeping you from auditioning?"

That struck him. Was James going for the solo as well? Kurt hadn't seen his name on the list when it was passed around during class. But that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't going to sing. He could've changed his mind and come in after class and decided to write his name down.

"Why would he keep me from auditioning?" Kurt questioned.

Rachel shook her head to dismiss the idea. "Simply wondering."

"He doesn't have that strong of an effect on me, if that's what you were thinking," he said quickly.

"No, that's not what I was thinking at all," she claimed hastily. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she her mouth and remained silent.

The table was absent of discussion for a good two minutes, but it felt like hours. Mercedes fiddled with one of the many rings on her hand and Rachel found entertainment in peering at her split ends. Both were trying not to get caught on Kurt's bad side, and he leaned both elbows on the table.

"I think you should audition," Mercedes finally murmured.

"Fine! I'll put my name on the list! Happy?" Kurt told them.

Rachel nodded her head and put on a cheerful smile. "Absolutely. You're going to get this solo, Kurt. I know it."

"Yeah, you're too good to not get it," Mercedes added as she stood up.

"I don't know. I _am _competing against Blaine for this," Kurt said over the lump that had formed in his throat. "And the other two who are wanting the solo are exceptionally good. I wouldn't be surprised if they got it over me."

"Please," Rachel sighed and stood up and pushed in her chair. "I would have to personally smack your director if that happened. You're fabulous, Kurt. Don't forget that."

Mercedes collected her empty bowl in her hands. "Right. Now, seeing as you still look upset, we're taking you out shopping."

"Shopping?" Kurt repeated questioningly, throwing his trash away. "Quinn already took me shopping this week."

"But _we _didn't!" Rachel chimed and promptly dragged him out the door.

* * *

The mantelpiece was filled with frames. Each frame held an image of a memory. Some were good, some were embarrassing. Some were sad, and others were better left pushed to the back.

The frame on the far left was of two small children in bathing suits, towels slung over their shoulders. Both were beaming with gap-toothed grins. They stood on a sunny beach somewhere on the coast.

Next was a wider frame, wider than it was tall. It depicted a woman of average height, her dark hair pulled into a pony tail at the nape of her neck. She wore a wide-brimmed hat on her head and held a rake in one hand. The scene was out in front of a house in the middle of a yard, leaves of gold and brown and auburn falling around her. A pile of them was neatly arranged by her side. Two heads poked out from the pile. The boy and the girl both had leaves tangled in their hair, but were too joyous to care.

The rest of the snapshots that followed were a collection of school captures. The first was of the first day of school for the boy and the girl. They were entering different grades when the picture was taken, the girl going into second grade and the boy into first. She wasn't much older than her brother, not more than a few months, but was born before the cutoff date that determined what grade she was in. Over her shoulders was a pink Barbie backpack and she wore a pair of matching pink shoes. The boy wore loose jeans and a polo, his curly hair sticking out in the back and grinning with two holes in his smile.

The next ones showed the siblings going through elementary school. Each of them grew significantly taller and more mature as the time passed. The girl's hair grew out long until she was able to sit on it. The boy's hair remained curly and out of place constantly. The little things changed.

Family traditions, however, did not change. There was still the family's trip to Disney World, all four of them wearing the standard Mickey Mouse ears. The two children chewed on Rice Krispy treats in the shape of the mouse's head. There were visits to grandparents and birthday parties every February and every August and working with their dad on cars in the middle of summer heat.

That was an often missed feeling, standing out in the sun with a rag over one shoulder and grease smeared over both hands. He missed the heavy weight of the metal tools that were placed in his grip, and the absence of it as he held it out to his father. Working on cars was something he wanted to do again.

Middle school started for them and it brought on a new set of pictures. Again, their first days before class started. The girl during her first orchestra concert in which she played the violin; the boy center stage in a choir show; both of them wearing their show attire, a black tux and a velvet dress. She quit the violin before ninth grade started, but he stayed in choir.

That was when they moved houses and drove to Westerville for their father's job transfer. The boy transferred to a boarding school, and his sister enrolled at an all girls' academy. The surroundings changed and their friends changed. There was no playground they could play at anymore and there was no local swimming pool to keep cool in during the summer months. The two kept in contact with their friends back home, but it didn't last for more than a month until they were wrapped up in settling in and their new schools.

Studies grew increasingly harder for the two and try as they might, neither could pull past a high B in a single class. Except for the brother. He pulled out a shiny A in his choir class, in which he was treated as a star for his voice. He never thought he could sing that well, in all honesty, but everyone else seemed to think so. He stayed in choir.

The pictures jumped a few months, to Thanksgiving of freshman year, until there was one of the brother standing with another boy, a boy with slick blonde and pretty eyes that looked green. Both of them were smiling at whoever was taking the picture, and they were holding hands, fingers threaded together longingly. To company who happened to visit the household, they would've thought the picture was odd or maybe that it was taken in elementary school. But he always had to correct them and tell them that it was taken a little over two years ago.

The reaction was blank and the subject was changed almost immediately.

He never had a problem with the picture. In fact, he missed the moment when he thought nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect in that instant. He had a boyfriend, he had loving parents and a somewhat loving sister, and attended a prestigious boarding school where he was respected and made good grades. It was as though nothing troubling could shatter what had pieced itself together.

That's where the pictures stopped on the mantelpiece. It stopped with the small snapshot of the brother and the blonde boy. No more were placed after. No one in the family felt like taking pictures after the siblings' freshman year. The camera was put away. Even if it was brought out again, there would be no more family photos.

There would always be three in a shot now, not four like there once was. The mother stood between the siblings now, not the father.

The pictures on the mantelpiece gathered dust.

* * *

There was never a time when Adam Harvey wanted to play soccer. Not even when every other boy in his first grade class was on the local team. Not even when he was threatened with the idea of feeling left out. Not even when his sister teased him about being a wimp every day. Now was no exception.

It was warm in Philadelphia. The sun was out and there was not a cloud in the blue sky. The vibrant grass was trimmed to perfection and shook slightly in the breeze that washed over the Dougray estate. The weather was ideal for being out and about, doing fun things—and Adam was sitting on the stoop with his nose in a book.

"Come on, Adam. Get off your butt and play with us," one of the brothers called out to him. He had his foot resting on the soccer ball and his hands were propped on his hips. For a moment, Adam almost mistook him for Simon, but instantly retracted on the thought. Simon was an inch shorter and his hair wasn't long enough to brush against his chin.

Adam lowered his book. "No, thanks, Luke. I think I'll finish my book and watch."

"Please? We have five and we need another to play a fair game, and your sister doesn't want to sit out to make it even," another of the brothers asked in a whiny voice. He was stocky and looked like he had no muscle to him whatsoever, but proved to be an excellent runner. This was Daniel.

"You wouldn't want to sit out either," Marissa shot at him defensively.

He ignored her and watched Adam. "So? What's the verdict? Playing or not?"

"Not. But thank you for the offer. I appreciate it," Adam replied and brought his book back up to his face. He thought he heard something along the lines of 'thanks a lot' but didn't let it faze him.

He had read a few lines down the page when he heard a familiar voice.

"Adam, come play. Really, we'd like another player, and it'll be fun. No face shots or anything."

The boy lifted his head and found Simon looking at him from across the yard. Though they were at least twenty yards apart, Adam felt his smoldering emerald gaze that matched the grass. Slowly he lowered the book again and dared to look at him.

The past week had been one Adam eagerly wanted to forget. To start off, he had to spend it with his sister, who got on his nerves and joked around with him constantly. She was as immature as a nine-year-old. Second, he had to spend it with Simon and his family. He didn't mind Simon's three older brothers or his parents, but it was Simon himself that Adam found to be uneasy around.

Since the first night, when they'd had their small dispute, Adam had slept in the same room with Marissa. He hadn't told her why he was doing what he did and she surprised him by not asking any further questions. Maybe it was the expression on his face or the crack in his voice when he told her he was sleeping in her room that held her back. He wasn't sure, but he was grateful.

Now, it was Thursday. Saturday, they would pack up and Caleb would drop he, Simon, and Marissa off at the airport for the flight back to Ohio. Though he dreaded air travel, part of him wanted Saturday to be here already.

"You're funny," he said in what he thought was a sarcastic manner. "And no, I'm not playing. I don't do sports."

"You don't do sports?" Caleb repeated from the ground. He was sprawled across the lawn with his hands under his head. He sat straight up to look at Adam in puzzlement.

"No, I don't," he answered and grew a tad sheepish.

"You _have _to do sports," Luke urged him. "It's, like, the code of manhood. 'Thou shalt not avoid physical sports.'"

Adam dog-eared the corner of the page he was on and shut the book to give the brothers his attention. "I'm pretty sure that is not part of the Ten Commandments, but good try," he said with a slight smile, looking past Simon at Luke.

Luke smiled back at him, and proceeded to slip the ball onto the top of his foot and kick it in the air. He darted under it and bounced against the top of his head twice before letting it fall to the ground. One swing of his leg and it shot across the yard to Marissa, who hadn't expected it and caught it squarely in the stomach.

"No hands!" Luke declared and pointed a finger in the air.

"It's called being the goalie! You're supposed to use hands!" she shouted back at him after she had caught her breath and hurled it at him.

Adam tuned out their fighting, just as he did when his sister fought with their parents or a friend. He popped open his book again and resumed reading where he'd left off, smoothing out the dog-eared corner. Then, as his eyes skimmed the last words on the page and he was turning to the next, a finger slipped in the binding. He raised his head, surprised.

"So you've never played a sport before," Simon drawled casually and propped both hands on his hips, as his brother had earlier. He donned a loose tee-shirt and a pair of shorts that hung on him, and Adam couldn't help but look over him.

Adam adjusted his glasses on his nose and brought his eyes back up to his face. "I've played a sport before."

"Name one," he said, tilting his head to the side.

This caught him and he hesitated. "Okay, so I've never played a sport before."

"For some reason, that's not hard to believe," Simon mused. Then he caught Adam's scrutinizing glare. "I mean, you should play with us. I can teach you. It's not that hard."

Adam flexed his fingers around his book. "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'd rather stay here and finish my book."

"How many pages have you got left?" he asked and sat down on the step beside him, craning his neck to see.

"Another fifty," Adam answered. When he breathed in, he caught the heavy scent of grass and sweat radiating off the other boy. He held his breath until Simon leaned back against the concrete step.

"You have the entire plane ride on Saturday to finish it, Adam. Surely you can take the time now to learn how to play one of America's favorite sports," Simon said in that voice that pressed him to relax, to not worry.

He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose again. "I'm not into sports. I think I'll pass."

Simon got to his feet and brushed himself off. He looked back down at his friend. When he spoke next, his voice was low. "Are you still mad at me, Adam? You haven't talked to me until today."

Adam kept his mouth shut and tried to look like was reading, but really stared blankly at the page. It was true. He hadn't said a word to him since their short argument. It had been quite a feat, considering he was sharing a house with him. Adam saw him every morning at the breakfast table, then hours later during lunch, as they passed each other on the way to the bathroom, and at dinner, when he tried not to stare at him from across the table.

"I'm not mad at you. I just haven't had much to say," Adam said stiffly.

Simon turned his head to the side and watched him with something unidentifiable in his eyes. "You always have something to say."

"What does that mean?" He stood up and clutched his book to his chest as if using it as a shield.

He took a step forward until there were inches between them. Adam resisted the urge to shut his eyes and look down at the ground. He stared straight into emerald and attempted to overlook the warm breath against his face.

"It means," Simon whispered, "you're going to play, no matter what you have to say." He pulled back and turned to his brothers and Marissa and shouted, "Hey, we've recruited a new player!"

The group of teens looked up when they were addressed. Marissa froze where she was, her arm wrapped snuggly around Luke's neck in a headlock. Luke looked distressed while his brothers stood beside him, not doing a single thing to assist him.

"No _way_," Marissa exclaimed and let go of Luke right away to rush over to his brother. Luke toppled to the ground with the soccer ball in his arms.

"Don't get used to it. I'm not going to play for long," Adam said to her as soon as she came up to him. His face felt warm and he knew he was going scarlet.

"But you're going to play! That is so awesome!" she squealed, then turned to Simon. "I can't believe you convinced him to play with us. What'd you do? Buy him a month's worth of books? Get him a new encyclopedia set? Become his book caddy for life?"

Adam blushed even further and he covered his face with his hands. "I think I may want to go inside now."

"Oh, things are just getting started," she crooned and threw her arm around her brother, who flinched at the contact.

"Incoming!" a voice declared from across the spacious lawn.

Simon and the Harveys turned their heads to where the voice had come from. Marissa let out a squeak and fell to the ground; Simon jumped to the side with his arms held up in front of his face.

Adam blinked and didn't know what hit him until it… well, hit him.

* * *

James Montgomery wanted nothing more than to go back to school, which was the opposite of what he should want. He should want to have the option to stay up until the early hours of the morning, and then sleep in until four in the afternoon the next day. He should want to blast music as loud as his stereo would go and mime playing an electric guitar while dancing on his bed in boxers and an undershirt. He should want to stuff himself with junk food until he puked.

But he didn't want any of that, not even a little bit.

All he wanted was to get through the week in one piece. He wanted to have contact with another human being besides his father, who barely paid any attention to him in the first place. The only words that went between the father and son were requests to pass the salt or to hand over the business section of the newspaper. There was nothing of importance. There were no questions asked about how James was doing at his new school, or questions about his classes, or questions about anything school related.

It was almost as if he was a burden.

Although he desired to talk, he knew the response would be a nod or a head shake. Taking with his father was the equivalent of talking to a rock. Simple and plain. James didn't ask how his mother was because he knew the answer would be the same: I haven't talked to her.

His parents hadn't made contact in any way whatsoever in the past four months. Neither preferred to stay in touch after the divorce, so they did not. There were no weekly telephone calls from California to see how things were going, and his father never phoned areas outside Westerville, with the exception of the occasional business call. It was equal with his brother: no calls were received from Christopher anymore, though he used to call at least twice a day after the move.

James' father might as well have been his only living relative.

The neighborhood was bland. No one his age lived on his street. They were all either elderly couples or the standard family, with two parents and young, obnoxious children. He couldn't exactly call around for someone to hang out with, unless he wanted to play hide-and-seek or contemplate life over lemonade and homemade cookies.

The only thing he could really do was listen to his music and play the piano. There was not much else. His professors hadn't assigned homework over the long break, which left him nothing to deal with. There was not a single soul he could call. He had the slightest idea of calling one of the blondes, but retracted, thinking both were probably making the most of their week off and would not want to be disturbed.

The last person who came to mind was Kurt Hummel.

Now, he bit his lip at the thought and perched on the window seat that overlooked his bleak neighborhood, swaddled in a pair of old sweatpants and a hoodie. He curled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his knees and watched the trees shake in the wind. He was going crazy if he thought Kurt would ever answer one of his calls. Kurt, like the blondes, was most likely hanging out with his friends from his old school. And of course, that damned soloist was on his mind the majority of the time. James wouldn't be surprised if they were on the phone constantly.

The idea made James' stomach churn uncomfortably and he breathed in deeply, deliberately. He crawled off the window seat and ventured from his room and into the hall. The entire house was kept at a solid sixty-five degrees, no hotter, no colder. He wrapped his arms around his torso and poked his head into the kitchen.

As expected, the two chairs at the table were empty. The chair where his father usually sat was pushed in. The counter was arranged neatly with the day's paper and a stack of bills. Those were the only things. Everything else was tucked inside a cabinet or stored in the fridge if needed. James opened the fridge and pulled out a brilliant red apple. It was washed under running water in the sink and he dried it with a clean rag before taking a bite. It crunched sharply between his teeth and he walked further into the blank room.

The house was his for the day, and the rest of the break. His father was off at work and had been since four that morning. He did not come home until about nine, which meant James was in charge of keeping tabs on the house. His father had absolutely nothing to worry about: he knew James had no intentions of doing anything to disturb the homeostasis of the house.

He took another bite of his apple, but was numb to its sweet flavor. His stomach agreed with his sense of taste and he ultimately tossed it in the trash. He had the feeling that if he ate anything more, he would be sick. Instead, he strolled into the living room and stared out the back door that overlooked the pristinely cut lawn. The silence that followed pounded against his eardrums and he let out a loud breath, just to add noise.

In fact, he did everything he could to add noise. He kicked his foot against the legs of the coffee table as he walked past, and organized the newspaper by section, and fluffed the pillows on the couch. Finally, when there was nothing left that he could possibly to straighten or clean, he withdrew to his room.

James didn't bother with cleaning his room. It was already in a state with which he could deal. The papers on his desk were left untouched, as did the clothes in his closet and the sheets on his bed. He plopped down on the piano bench and reached for his phone and turned it on. After a few seconds, the screen glowed with life and he waited a minute for any calls or messages. As he expected, there were none and he set the device down.

Again, the person on his mind was Kurt Hummel.

* * *

"Blaine? Sweetie, what are you doing?"

He whipped around, startled, and almost tumbled out of his chair. He gripped the sides before he could fall and looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Nothing, Mom," he said and put on a smile.

"Are you sure? You've been looking at those pictures for quite a while. I got a little worried," she said mildly, leaning against the doorframe. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I just like looking at them."

She watched her son and slowly paced into the room, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do you miss him?"

Blaine knew there were two people that could substitute for _him. _One of them he saw every day, and the other he hadn't seen in two years. One of them used to be a suitor and the other used to be a role model. Both of them had been the recipients of his love at one time. Now, neither was.

"Not really," Blaine told her and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Do you?"

A look crossed his mother's face that made him wish he hadn't asked that question. Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit as she studied one of the family photographs, the one with the man and his son slaving over a broken car engine in particular. She approached the mantel with attentiveness and had to stretch on her tiptoes to reach the frame, as she barely cleared five feet. She pulled it down and brushed the dust off the glass.

"In a way," she finally said and let the picture drop to her side. She looked back at his son with dull hazel eyes. "We met in high school, you know."

"Mom, please," he said and covered his face, "I don't to hear the story of how it was love at first sight, you knew he was the One, blah, blah, blah. I know how it ends. You get married, you have sex"—he didn't register her shock—"you have me and Sadie, things go bad, you divorce. It's the same story every time."

His mother tensed and her fingers tightened around the edge of the frame. "Well, thank you for ruining my perfect story."

"I'm sorry. It's nothing against you, but I've heard it enough that I could recite it by heart," he said earnestly, resting his elbows on his knees. He paused. "And it hurts me every time you tell it. How something so nice could go… that bad. It doesn't make sense to me." The backs of his eyes prickled and he turned his head down.

"Sweetie, I know," she sighed and placed the frame back on the mantelpiece, but pushed it to the back this time and pulled another in front of it. "He was a good man, but he was too stubborn to accept that love comes in all forms. He thought it was sick, and twisted." She ran one hand through her short hair.

Blaine snorted. "He thought _I _was sick and twisted. He thought you had cheated on him with Satan and gave birth to a devil," he mumbled. He found her glaring at him. "His words, not mine."

His mother's lips twitched in what looked to be a smile, but it dropped before it could turn up completely. "I know. I'm sorry he treated you so poorly. None of it was your fault. I hope you know that." She crossed her arms sternly over her chest.

"I do, I do," he assured and picked at a loose thread on his shirt. "Some people aren't very tolerant of other people's beliefs."

She nodded in agreement. "Let's put it behind us now, okay? He's not here anymore. We're not bound to him, and he can't hurt you. We're able to function as a family without him."

"But awhile ago, we almost weren't able to," Blaine snapped and looked up at her. "We almost weren't, and you know it. I almost lost my sister."

The last words froze the woman where she stood. Her eyes welled as if she was going to cry, but she turned her head and looked away.

"Let's just be glad you didn't," she said shortly. "Dinner will be ready soon, Blaine."

And she strolled out of the room.

After she left and was heard banging around in the kitchen, Blaine slowly stood up and came up to the mantel. He brushed aside the picture that had been placed in front of the car snapshot and took one look at it. He turned it around so it faced the wall and he arranged the other photographs to hide it. The last picture he moved was of he and the blonde boy.

He kept that one facing forward and used his sleeve to clear away the dust.

* * *

"Aw, man, I am _so _sorry," Daniel said for the hundredth time in the past five minutes, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to, you know, hit you in the face. If I meant to hit anyone, it was Simon." He nudged his brother halfheartedly.

"It's fine. It didn't hit me that hard," Adam said tiredly and waved a hand.

"There was some of your freaking blood on that ball," Marissa hissed as she paced the length of the kitchen. "It had your DNA on it. Oh, god, your blood was on that ball."

"I think it hit you a little too hard," Simon mumbled. He held an antiseptic wipe in one hand and was gently dabbing at the wounded, puckered skin above Adam's right eye.

Adam rolled his eyes, but winced when he did. "I told you, I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt. I can't feel it right now."

"That's kind of funny," Luke mentioned from the sink, where he was cleaning the soccer ball. "It hit you so hard that you are numb to everything. You don't even realize that you're bleeding and that your glasses snapped in half."

This made Adam stiffen. "What? My glasses broke?" he squeaked and started to get to his feet, but Simon pressed his hand to his shoulder to keep him seated.

Caleb guiltily held up a handful of wire and glass. They had snapped on the nose piece and one of the lenses had shattered into small bits. The arms were bent at all angles.

"We can pay for a new pair, if you want us to," Luke promised and dried off the ball. "Something better than that old pair. They looked pretty bad to start with. Look, I can—"

"I don't want you to waste your money on me. They're just glasses. A little bit of duct tape is all it takes to fix them," Adam said over him and tried to get up out of his chair again, but Simon pushed him down this time.

Marissa let out a crazed chuckle. "I don't think duct tape will fix a shattered lens, Adam. Don't be silly. We'll get you a new pair."

Adam stared at her oddly. He sucked in air through his teeth when the wipe hit a tender spot above his eye and he leaned back.

"Watch it," he said lowly, and glared up at Simon, who set his jaw and dropped his hand.

"Look," he replied, "do you want to get the blood off your face, or not?"

"I'm perfectly capable of doing things for myself, thank you very much," Adam said sharply and stood up from his chair. This time, he was surprised Simon didn't make him sit back down.

Simon wadded the wipe into a ball and tossed it onto the counter. "I was just trying to help. You can't blame me for doing that much."

Suddenly, the sharp tune of a phone cut through the discussion and Marissa hurried to pull it from her pocket. She hurried flipped it open and glanced around the room apologetically. As soon as she answered the call, she left.

"Actually, I can. You're always babying me, and I'm sick of it," he said, his eyes still fixed on his sister's retreating form. He looked back at Simon. His voice shook and he snapped his head down to stare at the intricate tile floor. The back of his neck felt hot as well as his ears and he took in an even breath.

"Since when have I babied you?" Simon shot back at him. He lowered his voice when he found it getting too loud.

In the moment Adam scrambled for words, he noticed the entire kitchen was silent. He scoured the room for the dark haired brothers, yet they were nowhere to be found. He figured they had gone back outside, where Marissa was. Distracted by the silence, he looked back at Simon and remembered he was waiting for a reply.

"J-just… forget it. Let me handle it," he stuttered finally and retreated to grab the white plastic box that sat atop the island. He flipped it open with shaking hands and burrowed through various medical supplies for a simple bandage.

"What? Forget it?" Simon sputtered. "Do you hear what you're saying? You're not making sense."

Adam clenched his teeth and focused on reading the labels of the miscellaneous creams and boxes in the kit until he found what he needed. When he tried to separate the filmy cover from the bandage, his fingers were too jittery to do so much as hold it.

Simon flattened his lips into a line and came to stand by him. He cautiously slipped the bandage from the other boy's fingers and pulled the cover off easily. It was shocking when Adam let him apply the bandage over the wound above his eye.

"I'm sorry for everything I've done this past week," he said in a near whisper. "I didn't know what I was thinking when I pulled out that sleeping bag in the first place. I was out of line, and I apologize."

Adam kept himself still as Simon's fingers lingered over his forehead. "You were never in the wrong. It was my fault."

"Why must you think everything is your fault, when rarely it is?" he laughed softly and pulled his hands away to close the first aid kit.

"It seems like it is," Adam replied in all honestly. "I mean, most everything that happens can be traced back to me. I'm the one who overreacted to this, and I'm the reason so-and-so did that, and… I'm the one to blame."

Simon took a moment to stare at him, his face a mask of amazement. "You have really got to stop doing that. It's probably bad for your health."

A small smile found its way onto Adam's face and he scooped the remains of his glasses into his hands, being careful of the broken glass. He fingered the bent arms and uselessly worked at bending them back into place, which proved unsuccessful. Finally he gave up and leaned back against the counter.

"I suppose I accept your apology," he said with a hint of teasing in his voice. "But only as long as you accept mine."

Simon tucked the first aid kit back in its place under the kitchen sink and shut the cabinet door. "You have no reason to be sorry, but if it makes you feel better, then I guess I'll comply. I accept."

"Good." Adam held up the remains of his glasses with a disconcerted expression. "Now, where do you keep your duct tape?"

* * *

Only two hours had passed. Those two hours were well spent, divided between plucking out notes of the keyboard in the corner of the room and trying to sleep with a pillow over his face. James rolled onto his back and stared up at the blank ceiling, listening to the fan click with every rotation it made. He clutched the pillow to his chest and bit the inside of his cheek.

With his fingers slightly sore from playing, he didn't have the heart to get up and play for any longer. He needed something to occupy himself, and playing until his hands were raw or staring up at the ceiling surely weren't it. It was pathetic, really, not having a single thing to do, and he buried his face in his pillow once more.

Finally he sat up lethargically and studied his square room, from the pin-straight desk in the opposite corner to his nearly empty closet and the suitcase parked in front of it. He still hadn't unpacked and he hadn't a reason to. Spring break was coming to an end and it would be a waste of time to hang up an armful of clothes, only to pack them up again.

But it was all he could think to do, and he slid off the bed, digging his toes into the thin layer of carpet. He plopped down in front of his suitcase and unzipped it and started to pull out his clothes. He pulled out shirts and pants one by one and arranged them on wooden hangers. Unpacking occupied his hands for up to five minutes until he decided it was an idiotic idea. He shut the flap of the luggage and fell back on the floor, where his eyes met the ceiling fan.

James curled his arms under his head and blew a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. Unable to find comfort on the floor, he relocated to the window seat. From there, the view of the entire neighborhood was good. He watched as the wind rustled and separated a pile of leaves in his front lawn. A small thump suddenly attracted his attention and he turned his head to find that his phone had fallen from the pocket of his sweatpants. He picked it off the floor and tossed it between his hands.

Then, without thinking about it, he flipped it open and dialed the number he was ashamed to know by heart.

Of course, the boy on the other end of unavailable. Not hearing the first few dial tones, going straight to voicemail, set him on edge. He waited patiently as the voicemail recording played itself out and he clutched the device to his ear. When the beep eventually came, the words were unable to come to him. Fluidly, at least.

"Um, hi, Kurt," he started off. He was surprised to hear a gravelly voice speaking, and he cleared his throat. "It's James. I was wondering how your break was going and, um, if you were well. Just wanted to talk to someone, since Will won't answer." That wasn't precisely a lie; he'd tried the blonde's number two times before and received no answer each time. But that was because he'd stayed on line for two seconds before abruptly ending the call in fear of not knowing what to say if he _did _pick up. Both times. "Call me back, if you want. Enjoy the rest of your week, and I'll see you on Monday."

With that, he clapped the phone shut and tossed it across the room, where it landed safely on his bed. He tucked his head in his arms and was torn between hoping his call would be answered, and hoping it wouldn't be returned.

* * *

The microwave made its beeping sound, and Wes rose from the couch to tend to it. He moved from the living room to the kitchen and clicked a button on the appliance that made the door swing open. He reached in cautiously and pulled out the glass bowl with his hands, setting it down quickly on a rag on the counter so as to not burn his hands. The pasta inside smelled somewhat cooked and he peeled back the lid.

"Wes!" came a voice from the other room. "Can we eat now?"

He sighed and shut the microwave door. "Not yet, Gabe. It'll be a few more minutes, okay?"

The younger boy replied with a chipper, "Okay!" and went back to watching whatever was playing on television.

At least he wasn't complaining, like others would. Wes' younger brother, Gabriel, was an incredibly patient boy. He didn't whine like his friends did and didn't make a fuss when he didn't get what he wanted. He was used to the feeling already, and it had become second nature. Gabe was almost the spitting image of his older brother, with shortly cut black hair and glowing dark eyes and creamy cocoa colored skin. He was small and thin, which the other boys at school teased him for, but he didn't let that get to him.

Wes turned back to the pasta and peeled off the lid. Hot steam rose from the bowl. He moved to the fridge and removed the cheddar cheese from the drawer at the bottom and the milk carton from the top shelf. Cutting up the cheese into small blocks, he stirred it in with the pasta. After he poured a small bit of milk, and stuck the bowl back in the microwave and set the timer.

As lunch rotated, Wes leaned against the counter for a short breather. The clock on the wall said nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Every time he looked at a clock, he found himself counting down the seconds to when his mom was supposed to come home, which was eleven tonight. She had found another part time job since Spring break started, and it was working as a receptionist at the hospital fifteen minutes away. The hospital job had a great salary, but she still kept her job at the shopping district. They needed all the money they were capable of earning.

He couldn't help but think of how things had changed between a few weeks ago and now. A few weeks ago, his mother had a secure teaching job. Now, she was out of her teaching job and searching for another way to earn money. And with two boys who needed food and to get through school and a house to live in, she needed money fast.

Getting food was not a problem. They had more than enough to buy food. Paying the house bills, however, beginning to be a problem. Electric bills were high every month, as were the water bills.

Wes didn't even want to think about it and instead, he checked the microwave again. There were ten seconds left. He waited for the countdown to finish, then pulled the bowl out and set it on the counter. He stirred it until the cheese was creamy and he pulled down two bowls.

"Gabe!" he called over his shoulder into the living room, "lunch is ready! Do you want to get yourself something to drink?"

Immediately, the young boy hopped up off the floor and scurried into the kitchen. He came up beside Wes and reached for one of the upper cabinets, stretching onto his tiptoes. Wes had to open the cabinet and retrieve a plastic cup for him, and the little boy filled with water from the fridge dispenser.

"What are we eating?" he asked and took a gulp of water.

"Your favorite," Wes told him happily. "Mac 'n cheese."

"Awesome!" he cheered and scampered over to the small kitchen. He pulled out a chair and plopped down, anxious to eat.

Grabbing two bowls, Wes spooned part of the meal into each, covering what was left with Saran wrap and putting it in the fridge. He brought the bowls, with forks, over to the table and sat down, sliding one of the bowls in front of his brother.

"Dig in," he said and stirred around his food. He blew on it softly to cool it down, whereas his brother blew so hard, he nearly blew noodles off his fork. "Whoa, slow down, tiger. Let it cool first. Otherwise, your lunch will be all over the table, and you'll have to clean it up yourself."

Gabe sported a pout, but nodded and set his fork down. He clasped his hands in his lap and ducked his head. His lips moved, barely, and he lifted his head back up to find his brother watching him curiously.

Looking up at Wes, he asked, "Did you pray first?"

Wes all but dropped his fork. "You're absolutely right. I didn't."

"Shame on you," Gabe told him and pointed a finger at him with a goofy smile.

The corner of Wes' lips turned up and he brought his hands together in his lap. For as long as he could remember, he always prayed before meals. It was a strict thing their mother enforced on the entire family. It was a way they could say what was bothering them or on their mind without actually having to say it. Whenever someone dug straight into their meal without praying, their mother would scold them with the standard, "Shame" or "Shame on you."

But for some reason, he'd forgotten. It was weird to forget and he did not know why he did. It was so part of his routine.

So he did now.

He prayed for his mother, who was most likely at the shopping district. Her hospital job didn't start until five.

He prayed for his brother to have strength and patience and knowledge and to stick it out until things went back to normal.

He prayed for his friends at Dalton, though they didn't need to be prayed for.

And finally, his father was the last one he prayed for. His father was up there, looking over them, and Wes told himself in a loop that as long as he was out there, he and his brother would be under a good watch.

* * *

"I thought you said shopping would cure him."

"That wasn't a promise, it was wishful thinking," the brunette said, carefully slinging a purple silk empire dress over her arm.

"Well, it was stupid wishful thinking. He doesn't look much better," the second girl mumbled while rummaging through the clearance racks at the back of the store.

Kurt huffed and examined a hideous yellow cocktail dress on display near him. "That's because we're looking for dresses. For you two," he explained dully.

"You're welcome to try on a dress, too, boy," Mercedes told him with a smile and picked a pretty white gown off the rack. She took one glance at the price tag and decided against it, placing it back where she found it.

Kurt smiled back falsely and turned his back to the yellow dress. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass on that."

The afternoon had crept along. The trio had left the frozen yogurt shop hours ago and were now parked in one of the local malls, specifically a specialty dress shop that housed everything from ball gowns to slinky cocktail dresses, all in every color imaginable. When Rachel had mentioned shopping, Kurt thought she meant at the Banana Republic or Bluefly, not _dress _shopping. Obviously it was a plus for the girls, not him.

As they weaved in and out of the clearance racks at the back of the shop, Kurt couldn't help but let his mind wander. Thoughts of his upcoming audition haunted him and he imagined all the possible outcomes, ranging from opening his mouth and nothing coming out to forgetting every single word of the song. There was another scenario in which Blaine was furious at him for trying out for the solo, and another where the boys obtained rotten vegetables and launched them at the stage before he even began his audition. Nothing he came up with had a good ending.

"Thinking about the solo again?" Rachel asked as she examined the tag of another dress in her hands. So far, she had four slung over her arm.

Kurt jumped. "What makes you think that?"

"Your facial expression. You look like you've just plunged headfirst into a tub of ice water," she said easily. "You look scared."

He blinked, surprised she'd paid attention that closely. "I'm fine, Rachel."

"Sure. And I'm a horrible singer," she quipped and turned to face him. They were chest-to-chest now, as he had been following her through the maze of rack, and she turned her head up to stare at him. "You do not need to let this go to your head. Blaine will understand and he will not be angry with you. You do not sound like a dying cat and you will remember all the lyrics to whatever you choose to sing. You've just got to have a little faith in yourself. If you don't, all your horrific scenarios will come true."

"I don't think my director will have rotten vegetables on hand, though," he mused.

Rachel was caught in a stupor. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." He waved his hand at her. "Go try these on. I want to see if green is really your color."

She let out a short sigh but did as he suggested. They found Mercedes, who had picked up another two dresses, and located the dressing rooms. Kurt waited patiently outside the room and checked his watch every few minutes.

"Why are you looking for dresses again?" he called and leaned back in the chair he was sitting in.

"Prom is coming up soon," Mercedes answered over the bustle of plastic hangers.

He perked. "You have dates for the prom already?"

There was a pregnant pause before Rachel answered shyly, "Well, no. If we do end up getting dates, however, then we'll have our dresses already and we'll be set. But if we don't, we plan on going together as friends. We're going stag, you could say." She giggled.

"Rachel, you do know that means you are a guy going somewhere public without a girl," Mercedes told her. "It's some animal reference."

Kurt nodded. "It refers to a male deer that has been castrated after the maturation of its reproductive organs—"

"Okay, no need to say anything more! Spare the details!" Rachel cried and it was obvious she was embarrassed.

Smiling, Kurt leaned back in his chair. Then the happiness faded. "I'm glad to see some people are going to have fun this spring," he mumbled and knitted his arms across his chest.

"Why do you say that? Doesn't Dalton do something fun, too?" Mercedes questioned and stepped out of her dressing room. She donned a silky red strapless gown that flattered her figure and fell in a straight sheet to the floor. Roses of the same fabric made up the neckline.

Kurt shrugged. "Not that I know of. And if it was, it would probably be a boring mixer. I like the neckline on that one," he added.

She smiled widely and gave a twirl which made the dress shimmer in the light. "Thanks. And oh, come on. You guys have got to do something fun. Is your director planning any concerts for you guys or anything?"

"With all that coordinating for Nationals," Rachel piped up hotly, coming out of her dressing room, "I doubt they'd have any time whatsoever to plan something as big as a concert." A glittery dress hung on her small frame. It was the color of a rotten tangerine and had two thin straps holding it up. The expression on her face reflected Kurt's taste in the dress: disgust.

"Girl," Mercedes said, "change. Right now. I think we all know that burnt orange is not your color."

Rachel whipped around and peered into one of the three-paneled mirrors. She stared at her reflection for the longest time until she pulled away and uttered a quick, "I never liked orange in the first place," before slamming herself in her dressing room.

Mercedes snickered into her hand and went to change into another dress. Kurt let himself smile and waited for both girls.

"As I was saying," Rachel snapped and flung the door open, "you must not have too much time to plan any other extracurricular events with Nationals down the road." Now she wore a cream colored dress with an empire waist. It looked better on her than the orange one did, but her expression did not.

Kurt straightened. "So what if we don't have any extra time? At least we get to go to New York at all," he said, and couldn't help but want to retract his words as soon he saw her sour mood take a nosedive into something worse.

"Just be quiet and tell me if this looks halfway decent," she grumbled and her face turned a bright shade of pink. She looked more embarrassed than irritated at the moment.

"You look better than halfway decent in anything, Rachel," Kurt told her kindly in hopes of cheering her up. "I'm pretty sure you could go to prom wearing a black trash bag and still look better than most of the kids there."

Rachel spun around to face him and flashed him a sparkling smile, one that was brighter than the glitter coating her dress. She curtseyed and giggled when she did so.

"Seeing that, I don't think I'm much competition," Mercedes said and peeked out from her room. She came out nervously wearing a flowing pink gown that caught the light in the right places. She folded her arms behind her back and waited as Kurt and Rachel looked her over.

"I love the color. Pink looks good on you," Rachel commented and put her hands on her hips critically.

"I second that," Kurt added and raised his hand, grinning. "You look fabulous, Mercedes. I'm almost tempted to take you to prom myself."

She smiled in relief and pinched a section of fabric between her thumb and her forefinger. "I don't think Blaine would like that very much, you know. He would have it out for me then."

"Oh, Blaine can deal with it. You can have me for prom, and he can have me for the rest of the year," Kurt compromised and got to his feet. He took Mercedes' hand and led her in a spin that made her laugh. They fell into a short dance that had them smiling outrageously.

Rachel stood on the side, shifting her weight from foot to foot in anxiousness. Her lips formed a flat line and she disappeared to change into her next dress.

Ending their small dance, Kurt dipped Mercedes and neither could keep a straight face. Kurt nearly let go of her hands in the dip, almost resulting in her falling, but she caught herself before she could and regained her footing. She covered her face with her hands and Kurt plopped back down in his seat.

"Hope there's no such thing as death by laughter, or you two would be pushing daisies right about now," Rachel muttered bitterly, coming out of her dressing room and padding in front of the mirror to examine herself. Now, she had on a gorgeous powder blue dress that reached just above her ankles. The color seemed to soften the angry look on her face.

"Oh, relax a little for once, Rach," Mercedes said, still giggling a little. "You're just ticked about the Nationals thing."

She whipped around. "Yes, I am. Thank you for acknowledging that."

Kurt dropped the smile he was wearing. "Rachel, please don't be angry with me for this. I didn't personally choose to go to Nationals. Yes, I was hoping we would—"

"And you did," she added quietly.

"—but that doesn't mean you should be so angry. There's always next year for the New Directions," he finished and got up from his chair. He came up behind her and placed his hand lightly on her bare shoulder. They locked eyes in the mirror and she nodded minutely.

She took in a deep breath. "You're right. We have a good chance next year. I hear Vocal Adrenaline's director might quit if they don't make the top ten in Nationals this year. And boy, I hope they don't, because they wouldn't be anything more than a rag-tag bunch of highschoolers with—"

Kurt's breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. "Wait, Vocal Adrenaline is going to Nationals?"

"Of course," Mercedes said and went into her dressing room to change.

"Since when?" he nearly shrieked. His voice went up almost an octave.

"Since they changed regions," Rachel answered and fluffed her shiny brown hair. "That's why they didn't compete against us during Regionals. That's why you won. No offense, but they would've crushed you if they had been there," she added.

Kurt blinked and was unable to comprehend this. But of course they would be going to New York with he and the Warblers. Vocal Adrenaline was _good, _and to not see them there would be a complete shock. He shouldn't have expected them to not compete just because they weren't at the same Regionals competition.

He clapped his hands to his face. "Then we're dead. We're absolutely dead. We're not going to win."

"Oh, don't say that," Rachel said with a facetious air. "You'll do perfectly well. You'll knock their socks off. You won't be sitting ducks, and I'm not making another bird joke, that's the actual saying—"

"Can it with the sarcasm, Rach. Can't you see he's actually worried?" Mercedes snapped once and stalked out of her dressing room, wearing a lemon yellow gown with flowers in the fabric.

"I'm not worried," he said. "I'm _freaking out. _It's Defcon One here. What are we going to do? If Vocal Adrenaline is there, and Jesse St. James, and the rest of his auto tuned robots, there is no telling how horribly they'll beat us. They'll crush us like ants."

"See, if the New Directions were going, this wouldn't be a problem," Rachel said hastily.

Kurt glared hotly at her. "Look, I get it that you're still ticked about not going on, but you need to put that behind you. It's over and done with for this year, and you'll have another chance to gloat next year. But this is the present, and I'm going into freak out mode all I want. The least you could do is offer some sympathy, not complain what you and everyone else would do instead."

The exclamation shocked the brunette into absolute silence. She stiffened and dropped her hands to her side, blinking her eyes as if debating whether Kurt really almost shouted at her like that. She turned slowly back to the mirror like a child who had been disciplined in front of the entire class.

"I'm sorry," Kurt sighed a moment later and ran one hand through his hair, not caring about it being out of place for once. "I'm overreacting. I shouldn't have shouted like that at you."

She held up her hands in defense. "By all means, shout. If it makes you feel better, then go right ahead."

"I'm not going to yell at you," he said calmly as he smoothed his hair back into place.

"All I'm saying is, if you want to, go ahead. Don't feel bad about it. I know I always have to take out my anger and frustration by punching a pillow or screaming or writing them all down in some hate email to the person I'm cross with, then never sending it," she told him and folded her arms behind her back expectantly. "But sometimes I do accidentally send it and then things get even worse, and then I'm in trouble."

Kurt covered his face with his hands and took even breaths until his heart had stopped thumping wildly in his chest.

"Maybe it's time we should think about going home…" Mercedes trailed off uncertainly.

"No, no," he interrupted and sat back down, looking up at both of them, "I'm perfectly fine. You two continue your dress shopping. I'll be right here."

The girls shared a look and both went to change once more. Each tried on another dress, both of which were put on the reject pile. After forty-five minutes of indecision and then later the shoe shopping, Rachel decided upon the powder blue dress and a pair of heels. Mercedes chose the pink one that the three of them liked and bought white heels to go with it. After they paid for their outfits, they walked out of the store and into the steady stream of the mall.

"We could go to the food court and get something to split," Rachel suggested after a few minutes of walking in silence. She nodded to the various pizzerias and fast food joints to their left. "Or at least get something to drink."

"I'm not really up to eating. We just had yogurt, anyway," Kurt told her and kept his eyes forward. Though the tantalizing aromas of pizza and hot bread made his mouth water slightly, his stomach did uneasy backflips.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Mercedes questioned. "Anywhere you like this time."

Kurt shook his head.

"Are you sure? You're only in Lima for another two days. You might as well make the most of it," Rachel mentioned as they kept walking, moving away from the buzzing food court and passing a variety of clothing stores. "And for goodness sakes, we're in a mall, Kurt. Don't you want to go shopping and buy something?"

"I think I'd rather go home," Kurt said honestly. "My dad's probably on pins and needles waiting for me to get home, and the last thing I need is for him to collapse from another heart attack." He paused. "And I'd like to call Blaine. To see how he's doing and catch up on things."

Mercedes sighed dramatically. "I swear, you need to stop being so cute, or I'll have an overload."

"What's so cute about calling in for a checkup?" he asked and furrowed his brows together.

"She's right. It is pretty cute," Rachel added. "It's how much you two care about each other that gets to us. You two have this overwhelming bond that even Finn and I would never have." Kurt thought he heard her voice crack around the end of her sentence.

He gave a nod and decided to not talk anymore until they reached the exit. They wove through the maze of the parking lot until reaching Kurt's bright truck and loaded up.

The ride home was filled with girlish plans for prom: make up, hair styles, and accessories. Though Kurt would have usually jumped right in with them to give them tips, he stayed quiet and focused on driving down the highway. The drive only took about half an hour and he dropped each girl off at her house. They thanked him for driving them home and gave him hugs until he couldn't breathe.

It was only after he'd dropped Rachel off at her small house that he switched on the radio and allowed himself to relax. He quickly called Burt to let him know he was on his way home before getting on the road again.

The short twenty minutes from Rachel's house to his gave him time to reflect. Vocal Adrenaline was competing in Nationals against them, not to mention all the other groups that were going to be there as well. There were probably better choirs out there that were gods compared to the Warblers, ones who could sing better in tune and do more than sway back and forth. He could only imagine who else was going to be there and he flexed his fingers around the steering wheel.

* * *

Soccer was out of the question for Adam for the rest of the day after Simon's mom came home from work to and found out about his injury. She wouldn't allow him to play, though he hadn't been in the first place, and required that he keep an ice pack over his eye to prevent possible swelling. He complied and stretched out on the stoop with the remains of his glasses in a plastic bag at his side and his book open in his lap, the ice bag in his hand. He occasionally looked up to watch the four brothers and his sister kick the ball back and forth, and once he forgot his book was there at all.

The time had gone by in a snap, and before any of them knew it, dinner was minutes away from being served. The boys retreated from the lawn covered in grass stains and dirt patches. Adam closed his book and waited for Simon to catch up with him. But when he caught a glimpse of Marissa over Simon's shoulder, he stopped. The blank look on her face was what made him stop, and he let the others go in and wash up. Simon noticed her unusually quiet nature, but didn't object and followed his brothers inside to clean up.

"Are you okay? You don't look well," Adam said as soon as the front door shut and he was sure they were going unheard.

She puckered her lips instead of making a typical snappy remarked and leaned back on her heels. Her giddiness was replaced with a grim air. She wore a pair of cut off shorts instead of skinny jeans, which showed her thin legs. She had a smudge of dirt across one cheek and some under her nails. A grass stain ran down the side of her shirt.

"So, Mom called," she finally announced after keeping quiet for almost a minute.

Adam's eyes widened and it felt weird to not have his glasses shift on his face. "_Mom_?"

She nodded and fingered a lock of dyed hair, which was pulled back into a tight pony tail. "She called when Simon was fixing you up. That was why I left. I went outside and I'm kind of glad I did. We started yelling at each other and it wasn't very pretty."

"Why did you start yelling? And why didn't I hear it? What did she tell you?" he gasped and clutched his book and his ice pack to his chest, the ice making his hand gradually grow numb.

"She wants me home, Adam," Marissa said almost inaudibly. "She says I've spent too much time away from school for regulation rules, and that I have a lot of catching up to do. Apparently, I'm failing all my classes because I haven't been there to do my work." She shrugged lifelessly as if to say _no big deal. _"I'll just do another course of summer school to get into the next grade and I'll be fine."

He clenched his teeth. "See? This is why you shouldn't have come down in the first place! You were only going to miss a month's worth of work just to see me!"

"I had to see if you were alright!" she fired back him, her voice rising. "You are my brother. Don't act like I don't care about you."

"But you didn't. Once upon a time, you didn't care about me at all."

She shook her head blindly. "That was forever ago. Focus on what's going on now, in the present. I came down here to see if you had killed yourself yet. That incident back at school with Adrian made me think. It made me realize that you might've been under the same pressure. I couldn't go another day without seeing you."

Adam set his jaw and was thankful he didn't have his glasses for once. Everything was fuzzy and he couldn't see his sister's expression, distorted by anger.

"When does she want you back?" he whispered.

"By the time Spring break ends," she replied shortly. "I'll take the plane ride home with you and Simon, but I'm taking my car and driving back home. And I have a feeling Dad'll cut a hole in a least one of my tires the moment I get home to prevent me from taking another out-of-state joyride." She barely smiled.

"So that's it?" Adam said in disbelief.

"That's it," she concluded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make a phone call." She started to pass him when he caught her wrist.

"Who are you calling?" he asked.

"Thomas. He deserves to know that we won't be seeing each other anymore," Marissa stuttered, facing away from him, and for half a second, she sounded teary.

Adam let go of her wrist and she hurried inside.

* * *

Dinner with Burt, Carole, and Finn was pleasant. Of course, Finn bringing his current girlfriend along was to be expected, and they had to pull up another chair to the dining table for her. Quinn was hospitable about the whole thing and repeatedly thanked Carole for welcoming her into their home and complimented her on the meal. Kurt sent her looks across the table that said she was overdoing it, but she half smiled and took a sip of her water, careful to not smudge lipstick on the glass.

The dinner passed slowly, but finally, the food was cleared from everyone's plate, except Kurt. He was still pushing green beans around his plate when Carole started to clear the table.

"Not hungry, sweetie?" she asked and raised an eyebrow tentatively.

"Not really," he said and sat back in his chair. He looked up at her and smiled. "Trust me, Carole, your cooking is fabulous. But I'm full from today. Mercedes and Rachel treated me to frozen yogurt and the food court at the mall today." The last part was a lie, but he said it fluidly enough that hopefully she wouldn't notice.

"Well, alright," she allowed and he handed her his plate, which she scraped over the sink.

Kurt moved from the kitchen to the hallway, where he took his first step up the stairs when Burt called, "Hey, kiddo, you gonna stay for the game? It's the Rangers and the Angels tonight. Should be pretty good."

"Um, no thank you, Dad," he apologized and peered into the living room. The television flashed with the images of the baseball field in Texas. The couch was occupied by Quinn and Finn, who had their hands clasped. Quinn looked just as bored as Kurt had been during dress shopping. Kurt's eyes moved to the recliner. "I wanted to make a few calls before it got too late. I'll be down soon, though."

Burt grunted in understanding and Kurt flew up the stairs and closed himself in his room before anyone else could call after him. He dug his phone from his pocket and fell back against his plush bed. The feeling of his cool pillow beneath his head almost lulled him to sleep, but he turned on his phone and the brightness of the screen made him alert.

He checked his inbox once for new emails, mostly junk mail, and was about to dial Blaine when a popup appeared on the screen and made him stop. He had a new voicemail, left earlier that afternoon. If someone had called while he was shopping with the girls, shouldn't he have heard it ring?

Nevertheless, he opened it and held the phone to his ear without checking the name. As soon as the person on the other end began to speak, however, he bolted up into a sitting position.

James Montgomery had left him the voicemail.

Though it would have been nice if the other boy hadn't spoken softly the entirety of the call. Kurt had to listen closely to what he was saying and ended up having to repeat the message four times to catch everything. With each time he repeated the message, Kurt wrapped his hands tighter around his phone, like he was squeezing the words out of the device.

He could imagine James speaking these words in person, the short movements he did with his hands and the way his eyes never stayed in one place for long. Was it bad that Kurt could do this?

As the end of the message came again, Kurt closed out of the screen and let his phone rest in his hands for a minute. He took a deep breath, pushed past it, and opened up his contacts book to call Blaine. But as he held the phone up to his ear, he couldn't help but hear James' voice whispering the words in the back of his head.

_"Hello?"_

Kurt nearly jumped when he answered. "Hi, Blaine."

"_Hey, Kurt_," he said and the smile was evident by the bright tone of his voice. _"How is everything?"_

"It's good," Kurt murmured into the receiver.

"_Well, how has your week been so far?_" he prompted.

Kurt picked at his nails. "It's been fine. Mercedes and Rachel took me out for girl time today. You know, food, gossip, and clothes shopping," he told him, smiling a little.

Blaine laughed warmly on the other end. _"That sounds good. I'm glad you're having fun. Did you see the rest of the New Directions?"_

Kurt leaned back against the wall and crossed his legs at his ankles. "Of course, and you will never _believe _what they did for me…"

And so Kurt rambled on to him about the surprise concert he received on his first day back in Lima. After he finished, he made the suggestion that the Warblers should do Grease as well, and Blaine made a noise of indifference, though Kurt knew he was really shaking his head.

_"Oh, I don't know. Grease might not be the best for us,_" he admitted.

"I bet we can get Lovett to get us leather jackets instead of these old blazers," Kurt tempted him. "Actually, the whole nine yards: the jackets and ripped jeans and white t-shirts. I bet we can pull it off."

Blaine hummed to himself. "_That does sound more comfortable than the uniforms. Just one condition, though."_

"What's that?"

_"As long as I get to see you all dressed up."_

Kurt felt his face grow warm. "What's the big deal about seeing me in a leather jacket?"

"_Leather is sexy,_" Blaine explained simply. "_And besides, I never get to see you out of uniform. In your regular clothes, I mean,_" he corrected hastily at the end.

By regular clothes, he meant Kurt's outrageously insane fashion that consisted of skin-tight jeans and tops of all colors and styles that looked like they belonged on a Milan runway, not in the middle of Ohio.

"Oh," Kurt squeaked in response. That was about all he could emit without stammering out his words. Then he bit the inside of his cheek. "How is your sister?"

That question started a completely different conversation and Blaine started off again, giving Kurt time to calm his fluttering heart and cool his burning face. Kurt listened as the other boy talked on and on about his mother and his sister, who never ceased at annoying the hell out of him.

"What about your dad?" he asked when there was a gap between talking.

There was no answer right away. From the commotion on the other end, it seemed like Blaine had dropped something or run into a wall. He came back on a moment later, sounding breathless.

"_He's on a business trip. Won't be back until later next week,_" he said shortly.

"That's too bad he's not here to spend the break with you," Kurt said, trying to ignore the wince he thought he heard.

"_Yeah, too bad_," Blaine mumbled.

Again, another pregnant pause.

Then, "_Look, I've got to go, Kurt. I'll talk to you later, okay? And I'll definitely see you on Monday_."

Kurt nodded and sat up, curling his knees to his chest. "That's fine. I'll see you then. I love you, Blaine."

"_I love you, too, Kurt_," Blaine said longingly before he hung up.

The line went dead and Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear. He sat leaning against the wall for a minute without doing a thing except staring at the device. The screen went dark and he checked the clock. Nearly seven-thirty.

Kurt folded his hands together and rested his chin on the tops of his knees. The silence of his room was so deafening, it pounded against his ears. Finally, unable to stand it, he snatched his phone up off the bed and tapped in a number.

The boy did not pick up, as Kurt had expected. Instead he waited out the automaton that talked in a monotone. Then, he started his clipped message.

"Hi, James. I got your message," he said softly. "I hope you're doing well. It'd be nice to talk to you a little, so when you get this, call me back, please." Unable to think of anything else to say that wouldn't sound utterly stupid, he said his goodbyes and ended the message.

Kurt placed his phone quietly on the night table and got off the bed. He left his room and joined his family in the living room, just in time to watch the beginning of the third inning of the Texas - Los Angeles game.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The boys return to Dalton after a somewhat refreshing week off, only to face far more difficulties than they started with._


	22. Bad Waters

_Hello, readers._

_I hope this chapter finds all of you well. It doesn't find me well, as I am doing late-night editing and more writing. I've spent most of my holiday break writing more chapters for this story._

_Anyway, __I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday and will have a fantastic New Year. It's amazing how this year is almost gone already. It seemed like only yesterday when we were ringing in the New Year for 2011. Now, we're doing the same but for 2012. _

_Expect a Klaine New Year oneshot by tomorrow night._

_And to those who have had the nerve to stick with this story until now, I thank you greatly. It means a lot to know that people are reading it. For those that are wondering, there are about fourteen more chapters left in this story, making it around 36, if I stop randomly putting in chapters here and there._

_As for a sequel? We'll see. If I have the time and the creativity, we'll see._

_Please enjoy this next chapter and reviews are lovely._

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything Glee.

**Chapter 22: Bad Waters**

* * *

**If you're gone, maybe it's time to come home. There's an awful lot of breathing room, but I can hardly move. And if you're gone, baby, you need to come home, 'cause there's a little bit of something me in everything in you. – If You're Gone, Matchbox Twenty**

* * *

Out of all the months in the year, March had the most gorgeous weather by far.

The sky was as blue as the ocean, stretching endlessly with no clouds to cover it. At one in the afternoon, the sun beamed down brightly and cast golden rays over the spacious school campus. The buildings stood tall and the flags that stood at the front flapped in the light breeze. The aroma of freshly mowed grass and planted flowers wafted through the air.

But of course, the only thing that could absolutely ruin a day such as this was coming back to classes.

Spring break had come and gone in a flash. It meant classes were back in session, something everyone groaned and whined about. Back to ninety minute classes and hour-long study sessions that ended up lasting until early hours of the morning; back to crowded hallways and unpleasant professors who assigned unreasonable amounts of homework.

But also, back to seeing friends and joking around and only having to walk three minutes from the dorms to the next building over for class.

As Kurt pulled his truck into the parking lot, he surveyed the campus. Half the lot was already filled with the cars of the boys who had decided to come back a day early. He finally found an open space after circling the lot twice and pulled the keys from the ignition. From where he parked, he had a decent view of the little exit that branched off from the main highway. He was able to see all the cars that took the exit to the school.

One car in particular made his heart jump. Kurt squinted through his windshield, dotted with dirt and water spots, at the vehicle. Then he hastily scrambled out of the truck and leaned against it to see Blaine's small car puttering up the road. He smiled when he saw the other boy behind the wheel and watched him as he drove up.

Kurt went around to the back of his own car to start unloading his luggage and waited for Blaine to come around the lot. The small car passed and for half a second, Kurt thought Blaine hadn't seen him.

But he must have, because he slammed on the breaks abruptly to wave. Kurt waved back cheerfully with a grin on his face. Blaine dropped his hand to switch the gears and to hit another button, and the window on the passenger side rolled down.

"Hey," Kurt said, approaching the window and bracing his hands against it.

"Hey," Blaine replied with a grin. "Long time, no see."

"Agreed." Kurt felt a riot of giggles surfacing in his throat and he silenced it by swallowing thickly. After a week of not seeing the other boy, all he wanted to do was smile and laugh until he sounded like a school girl.

Blaine jerked the old car's gear back into drive. "I'm going to find a place to park," he said. "I'll see you in a second."

Kurt nodded mutely and stepped away from the car, letting the window roll up. The car rolled around the bend as Blaine searched for an open spot and Kurt turned back to his car, feeling as though he was walking on clouds.

He went back to his truck to grab his things, the smile never leaving his face.

Yes, he had missed seeing his friends at McKinley and his parents, but he was ashamed to admit he missed Blaine a smidge more. He thought it would have been the other way around, squealing over having the week to be with them.

Once the lid was popped open, he stuffed his keys in his pocket to have both hands free. He stretched on the tips of his toes to reach inside and his fingers brushed the handle of his duffle.

His fingers were just about to close around it when a pair of arms latched around his waist, making him squeak and fall back.

Blaine was there to keep him from falling to the ground, arms protectively looped around his waist. "You have no idea how much I missed you," he murmured, looking down at him.

Kurt let out a long breath and he felt his face turn red. He relaxed and locked his arms around Blaine's neck for support. "Hello to you, too," he told him and pulled himself to his feet. "I missed you."

Suddenly Blaine wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace and buried his face in his neck. "I'm deciding to be a bit mushy right now and I'll say that seven days without you is far too long," he said, amused, and his breath tickled Kurt's neck. "Actually, any amount of time without you is far too long."

"Then you must have positively died," Kurt chuckled and let his hands settle on Blaine's shoulders, clasping at the nape of his neck, playing with the curls that hung down there.

"Absolutely. And I never want it to happen again," he replied. He pulled back and lifted one hand to Kurt's face, delicately smoothing his thumb over the skin under his eye. He leaned his head forward to peck his lips, then once more, deeper.

Kurt hummed against his lips and twirled a lock of thick, dark hair between his fingers. His heart thrummed wildly in his chest.

"That would work well for me. Very well," he said when they'd broken apart.

Laughing, Blaine turned away and smiled. He pried his arms from Kurt and leaned forward to reach for the luggage in the back of the truck.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked him, still slightly captured by the warmth of the kiss. The silly smile graced his lips.

"Getting my boyfriend's stuff for him," Blaine explained simply as he set the bag embroidered with the Dalton crest on the ground and clicked the handle up. He reached for the matching duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Kurt covered his face with his hands. "And why are you doing that?" he asked playfully.

"Because I can." He shut the trunk with the flick of his wrist and started across the lot.

Raising his head, his eyes widened a little and he rushed after him. Kurt caught up with him and worked the duffle bag off Blaine's shoulder to shrug it over his own.

"You don't need to carry _all _of my stuff, you know," Kurt mumbled, but smiled at him.

Blaine nodded his head in agreement. "You're right. I could be carrying you across the lot right now. That would be quite a sight, wouldn't it?"

Two bright spots of pink appeared on Kurt's cheeks. "You wouldn't do that. Not with all my stuff in your hands already."

"It's called multitasking. And I'm one-hundred percent sure I can roll a suitcase, carry a matching bag, and lug you around, all at the same time," Blaine said happily as they approached his own car. He wriggled a pair of keys from his jeans pocket and clicked open the trunk to retrieve his bags.

"Correction: you _can't _do that," Kurt said and took his suitcase back. "You're strong, but not that strong."

Blaine turned back to him with what looked like genuine pain, his hand placed over his heart. "Ouch. That was a major hit to my self-esteem."

Kurt sighed and leaned his head back. "You know I'm kidding. Now, instead of discussing you and your fabulous self-esteem, why don't you tell me how your week off went?"

He offered a shrug. "Nothing big happened, if that's what you want to know," he said and unearthed his suitcase from the back of his car. He set it on the ground and locked the vehicle. "Just stayed home all week with my mom and Sadie. It was actually pretty boring."

"I'm sure it wasn't that boring," Kurt said and they started walking in the direction of the dorms.

"Trust me, it was the equivalent of state testing day," he described blandly. "There wasn't much to do. Sadie was always out with her friends and my mom did chores and went to work. And what did I do? Nothing."

Kurt scowled. "Oh, come on. You must've done _something. _Did you play video games or something?"

"Nope. We don't have a console," he answered shortly.

"Did you call Wes or David?"

Blaine chuckled under his breath. "I tried, but they were both too busy to stay on the line for at least sixty seconds. Family plans, obviously."

Kurt puckered his lips. "Well, wasn't your dad home?"

The question made Blaine hesitate the slightest bit. Kurt noticed the way his jaw set, the way his eyes sharpened minutely.

"No. Business trip. Out of state this time," he finally answered flatly. His voice brightened when he asked, "Speaking of, how's your dad? I know he had health problems and everything…"

Kurt let the change of topic slide without asking.

On the way to the dorms, they ran into other boys who had also arrived early. Cody was one of them and the luggage he was carrying almost buried him. He also looked particularly red in the face.

As it turned out, spending hours and hours at the batting cages and out in his backyard gave him a good sunburn that stung when touched. His week off was equally uneventful, and by the end, he was exhausted from practicing for the school's baseball tryouts.

Blaine sucked in air through his teeth. "After working that much, you basically have to make the teams now. It's a given."

"I know, I know," Cody said hurriedly and covered his face. "Don't jinx me, Anderson. If I end up not making either of them, I know it'll be your fault."

"Superstitious, are we?" Kurt teased, and bumped his shoulder.

"Hey, watch it. Baseball is my thing. If I don't make it this year, I have nothing else to fall back on and my entire month of preparation will be all for nothing," he shot back.

Blaine narrowed his eyes and held the door open to the North dorms. "What about the Warblers?"

"And your cooking?" Kurt added, passing through the door.

Cody froze and pressed his lips together, sheepish. "Okay, so maybe I have a few things to fall back on…"

"Nevertheless," Blaine chimed in with a smile, "you'll make it. And if you don't and you feel that it's my fault, you have my permission to bash my head in with your bat."

The idea brought the corner of his lips up.

Kurt wrinkled his brows questioningly. "Wait. Earlier, you said teams. As in plural. As in more than one team. I'm confused."

"The school has two teams," Cody answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "One is for the school team, the one that goes out and plays against other schools, and the other is for the wing itself. I'm hoping to make both of them this year."

"As if making both of them last year wasn't a precedent for this year," Blaine said over him.

"Shush!" the small boy demanded. "If you make one more crack about how I'm going to make both teams, and then I end up _not, _you are going down! Hear me? _Down!_"

Kurt placed a calming hand on his shoulder and also held him back from reaching to smack Blaine. "Calm down, little one. You're going to do fine."

"And you've already threatened me once today," Blaine added. "_And _I've already allowed you to hit me over the head with your bat if you don't make it. What else do you want?"

Cody curled his lip distastefully and fell silent as they entered the dorms.

The main hallway was just as it had been the day school was released, except much cleaner. The air was filled with the overpowering scent of wood varnish and the floors shined from a thorough scrubbing. Floral wallpaper dominated the walls and the paintings were straightened. Chaise lounges and tables were pushed against the walls and the ceilings were high and seemed to extend forever. A few boys milled around in groups and it looked like about half the wing had returned.

After greeting a few of them, the three boys went down to their rooms to unpack and settle in.

Kurt left the two to unpack in his room. He plugged in his laptop at his desk and made sure everything was in order. After emptying his two bags and hanging up his clothes, he came back out into the hall.

A short ways away, Cody stood in front of a familiar redhead, who was slumping with his arms over his chest. His hair was down in his face and he didn't look up to pay attention to what Cody had to say.

"Listen to me!" Cody snapped and batted his shoulder, startling the boy. "Just because she's going home doesn't mean you're never going to see each other again. There's always the summer break, and… and the banquet at the end of the year. She has to come back for the banquet."

Thomas Reid huffed and rolled his eyes, which were unusually dull at the moment. "Why would she come back for the banquet, of all things? Adam's not a Warbler, as far as I know," he said gravely.

"Well, he might as well be. He spends as much time around the choir room as we do. It'd be a miracle if he could actually sing. Anyway, that's not the point," Cody sighed. "The point is, you'll see her again. And you have each other's numbers so you can talk, right?"

"Right," Thomas agreed halfheartedly.

"And you both have internet, so that means Skype," Cody went on. "Skype is one step down from seeing each other in person."

Kurt narrowed his eyes curiously and came up to them. "What are you guys talking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," Thomas answered immediately at the same time Cody said, "Just girls."

"It's either nothing or girls. Pick on," Kurt told them and looked from one to the other.

Thomas brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his temples soothingly. He looked troubled. Typically he was bouncing off the walls with energy and cracking jokes like it was his job. Now, though, he appeared wiped out and was eager to keep his mouth shut.

"It's nothing you need to be worried about, Kurt," he assured and covered his face with his hands.

"He's having trouble with the girl he likes. You know, Adam's weird sister. Marissa," Cody chipped in and he ignored the hot glare Thomas shot him through splayed fingers.

Kurt nodded in recollection. The girl who came to mind was about their age, thin, and average height; she donned colored skinny jeans and shiny blonde hair that fell in a straight sheet down her back. Beaded bracelets covered her arms from wrist to elbow and her shoes looked almost too big and too clunky for her feet.

"What's the trouble with her?" he asked. "Did she turn you down?"

Thomas shook his head. "Worse than that."

Kurt looked down at Cody, concerned. "What could possibly be worse than that?"

The redhead snorted feebly. "Clearly you've never been in a relationship where everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. It's a Murphy's law situation."

"No, I haven't, and I would like to not be in one anytime soon, either," he said tautly. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to think of all the things that could turn sour in his relationship with Blaine.

"Anyway," Cody interjected, seeing the discomfort Kurt wore on his face, "Thomas here is in a state of denial. Apparently, Marissa has to go back to wherever she's from—"

"North Dakota," Thomas corrected sadly.

"Right, North Dakota, because her parents want her back home. Apparently she's been gone too long for their tastes. And he didn't want her to leave."

Kurt puckered his lips and placed a gentle hand on his friend's arn. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I don't want to be a wet blanket in any way, but maybe it just wasn't meant to work out."

Thomas glared at him again. "I refuse to believe that. She's the only girl who's ever paid a smidgen of attention to me, and who's ever actually liked me. I don't want to lose her. What if I never get to see her again? She's already on her way back to the airport to go home. That may as well have been the last time I get to see her. I don't think I can stand that, Kurt. You don't have any idea," he finished breathlessly.

"Actually," he said calmly, "I do. When I was still going to McKinley and Blaine and I had become friends, we would text back and forth and those texts made me want to be with him all the time. That was before we started dating, and before I transferred, obviously, but—"

"That's not the same. You and Blaine were only two hours away," Thomas told him and shook off his hand. His voice had gained a dark edge to it. "I'm an entire day from her. I can't just get in my car and drive for hours, or go buy a plane ticket to see her whenever I want to. It doesn't work that way."

By then, Kurt had his hands tight by his sides. "Okay, so maybe it's not the same. But know exactly how you feel. My mom died years ago, back when I was eight and in the second grade. I was so young then and I didn't know what was going on, and then… all of a sudden, she wasn't there anymore.

"She wasn't there to wake me up in the mornings or to pick me up after school. She wasn't there to tuck me into bed and wish me goodnight. I don't have her anymore. I can't see her anymore, except in the few pictures and memories I have." He paused to swallow over the lump in his throat. Cody was unsettlingly silent at his side. "So I know exactly what you're feeling right now."

Not saying a word, Thomas dropped his eyes to the floor. He turned sharply on his heel and stalked to the room he shared with Cody, shutting himself inside and slamming the door so harshly, the frame shook the slightest bit.

It felt as though five minutes had passed between the slam of the door and when Cody dared to speak.

"Well, that didn't go as well as I thought it would," he commented and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Kurt raised one eyebrow. "Obviously. I've never seen him so upset before."

"_You've _never seen him so upset before?" Cody repeated and turned to him. "I've been his best friend for years. _I'm _the one who has never seen him so upset before. He's always so happy and everything, and this is the first time in history he's been upset over something. It's like someone ran over his cat with an eighteen-wheeler."

Kurt stared at him oddly. "He has a cat?"

"No, but I'm giving you the idea."

"It helped more than I'd liked it to. Please never use that imagery ever again," he said and winced.

One side of Cody's mouth turned up in a smile.

A door behind them opened and Blaine strode into the hallway. Once they were past the initial reunion, Kurt was able to notice the way the gray jeans Blaine wore hung on his hips, and the way the matching cardigan fit nicely around his torso. A small cough from Cody was enough to make Kurt snap to attention, and his face felt warm.

"I'm all unpacked," Blaine announced and propped his hands on his hips. "And I also heard very strong discussion out here. Who was shouting?"

"Thomas," Cody drawled. "He's upset because Adam's sister left. She left for the airport about twenty minutes ago."

"She's the girl he likes, right?" he clarified in a whisper to Kurt.

"No, she's the girl he _doesn't _like," Cody said, exasperated. "Of course he likes her. He wouldn't be making such a big deal out of it if he didn't."

Blaine narrowed his eyes. "Who peed in your coffee this morning?"

Cody shook his head. "No one. Just… go enjoy your last day left of the break. I'm going to see if Thomas is too unwilling to open the door for me. I left my phone in our room." He proceeded to stand in front of his door, knocking lightly and asking to come in, only to receive mumbling in return.

Kurt looped his arm through Blaine's. "Don't be offended. He's just nervous for Thomas' wellbeing. And baseball tryouts. They start next week for him and he wants to do well, you know."

"Really," Blaine said with a hint of sarcasm as he allowed Kurt to lead him down the hall. "I had no idea."

* * *

For ten minutes, with the car off but the radio humming some bubbly top forties song, James sat in his car in the parking lot.

He didn't want to move, to start the school week already. He didn't want to run into his friends and to be asked how his break went. There would be nothing to report, or he would make something up a story to get them off his tail for a little while.

He wasn't up to admitting that he sat in his room for six day and played the same pieces over and over again on that stupid electric keyboard. He most certainly wasn't about to tell all who would hear that he cut his wrists the night before he left.

The thought made him peek down at his hands in his lap. His skin was ghostly white and his fingers felt too numb to curl together. But he pulled them together and turned them palm up. Uncurling them made him scowl.

The single scar that struck his left palm stung with the slightest movement. Driving with both hands wrapped around the wheel had been quite a feat and he'd dropped his that hand to his lap every time he stopped at a red light or any time he wasn't moving.

The line was crimson, almost dark enough to be black. It reminded him of a faded marker line. Once, Kurt had believed his scars were only marker lines. The idea was silly in a sense and James chuckled lifelessly. He reclined a little in his seat and picked at the end of the scab that ran from the heel of his hand to the tip of his index finger. He nicked it and it began to bleed inconsiderably.

A bandage would have been a good idea. But then they would attract attention and people would be asking him left and right what happened to him. Then he would have to make up another story, which was the last thing he wanted to do at this point.

Wiping his hand on his jeans, thankful the ones he was wearing were dark enough to not show stains, he pulled back the sleeve of his thick sweater.

The red lines started again at his wrist and raked their way up his arm. Just examining them caused him to swallow roughly. It had been so painful at the time, so painful that he'd thought they would never heal physically. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he would simply bleed and bleed until there was nothing left to him.

That had not been the case, of course, but the lines were proof.

Looking at them on one arm was enough that he didn't have to pull up the other sleeve. They overlapped each other and looped over his skin like the small black roads on a state map. Veiny and twisting and never ending. Every move he made, even as simple as reaching up to brush hair from his eyes, made them protest.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at his window, and James quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Carson White stood outside his car, peering through the tinted window with the usual smirk on his face. He stepped back to allow James to open the car door and shakily get out.

"Hey," he greeted easily, his voice carrying the familiar wave of hauteur.

"Hi," James said in reply. The thickness of his sweater made him warm in the sun and he knew he should've worn something lighter. But it covered the lines and he would rather roast than have someone, especially Carson of all people, see.

"So, how was your break?" Carson asked and rocked back and forth on his feet.

For a brief moment, James was ready to talk. He was ready to confess everything that had happened. His hands twitched in his pockets, but he curled them tightly.

"It was fine," he said airily instead and went around to the back of his car to gather his suitcase. "How was yours?"

Carson shrugged one shoulder and followed him. "Eh, it was fine. All I really did was hang out with Will. We live in the same neighborhood, you know."

"What did you two do? Guy stuff, I'm sure," James questioned as he carefully made sure his arms from the wrist up were concealed as he clicked the trunk open.

"Watch movies, play video games," he said. "Oh, and we ate our weight in junk food." He grinned, white teeth flashing.

James looked him over out of the corner of his eye. "And you're still as thin as a twig," he said, smiling.

"Of course. We guys have amazing metabolisms. You would know, obviously," Carson said and rolled his bright blue eyes.

"Speaking of him, where's Will?" he asked as he fumbled with his keys.

Carson turned his head to glance at the lot behind them. "I think he's here. I saw him pull into the lot a while ago." He turned back to see James with his head stuck under the lid of the trunk and stepped forward. "Here, I'll get your bag."

James froze where he was. "No, I'm fine, I can get it," he assured him hastily, though his voice was muffled by the trunk.

"What's the big deal? It's just a—" Carson had leaned forward, wrapping his hand around the other boy's wrist to prevent him from grabbing the bag, and he noticed him flinch. Puzzled, Carson released his wrist like it had burned him and stood up straight.

"What?" James stuttered and pulled his head out of the trunk, grabbing his bag and setting it on the pavement in the process.

Carson shook his head and all traces of his superior air had vanished. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You know what I'm talking about," he said, his voice dropping, almost to a hiss.

James stared at him tensely. "But you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Yes, I do," Carson muttered, eyes smoldering. "Don't think I don't remember what you do to yourself, James. I know just as well as you do, and just as well as Will does. Please tell me it's nothing, that you didn't really—" He broke off, not wanting to say the word _cut. _

"It's not. I didn't do anything," he said, attempting to sound nonchalant. It wasn't working too well.

"Let me see your hands," Carson demanded quietly. His voice sounded pained all of a sudden, like he had just received news of a family member passing. When James didn't comply at first, he repeated deliberately, "James, let me see your hands."

The dark haired boy cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around his torso protectively. "I didn't do a thing, I promise."

"Then show me you didn't do anything. That's the only way I'll believe you."

Cautiously, James let out a sigh and pulled his arms away from his sides. Carson's scrutinizing gaze watched his moves and he felt a little self-conscious. He tugged up his left sleeve to show the smallest portion of his wrist and shamefully held it out.

"Why?" was all that came from Carson's mouth after a minute, two minutes, of silence passed. He sounded as deflated as a balloon whose air was being let out in a rush.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" he started and pulled his hand back to cover his mouth.

Carson took a step closer to him. "I want to know why. I know I'm not as prying as Will is, but I just want to know. What happened to you that I don't know about?"

"It's nothing," he said, words muffled by his hand. Shaking his head back and forth made the world spin.

Warily Carson pulled James' hand from his mouth and held it firmly between his own. His touch was delicate for such a strong person. His fingers brushed over the spidery lines that began at his wrist and his shoulders dropped every time James inhaled sharply.

"This doesn't look like nothing," Carson said softly. "What happened to you?"

"I told you, nothing happened!" His voice rose a volume level, and he was thankful the only other people in the other lot didn't hear him.

Carson's jaw set. "You can tell me, James. I won't tell a single soul, and you know that."

"You won't tell anyone?" James stopped shaking his head and chewed his lip in reluctance. He went on when Carson nodded keenly. "I may have a few problems with my father, and… with Kurt. But it's nothing of importance."

Carson held up his hand. "If it's nothing important, then why do you do it?"

"If I can bring a new sense of pain into my life, then I forget the old one," he recited, eyes shut tightly. "It helps me focus on something else, something other than the problems I already have."

The blonde was silent. "Okay, if it's as bad as I think it is, I have to tell Will. But he's the only one I'm going to tell," he said after a long pause and loosened his grip on his friend's hands.

"You _can't _tell him," he persisted sharply and pulled his hands back, gripping his wrists despite the pain from the scars. "Please, don't tell him. I don't want him to be any more worried over me than he already is. He's putting me on his own personal suicide watch, or whatever. Please, don't tell him."

A moment of hesitation crossed the blonde. "I have to tell him. I can't be your secret keeper forever, James."

James opened his mouth to contradict him when he saw, over his shoulder, a lean, blonde figure striding toward them, dressed in fine slacks and a loose polo shirt. His heart kick-started and he focused back in on Carson. "Please, don't say a word to him about this. I'm begging you, Carson."

"You're practically killing yourself!" Carson hissed and he threw his hands up. "I can't just not tell him about it! I mean, look at yourself. This has gone on since, what? February? January? Even earlier than that?"

"A little earlier," he whispered thickly.

Carson widened his eyes. "Earlier? You have to stop doing this to yourself. You have to tell Will; he has to know. I can't sit around and keep this to myself. You're one of the closest friends I've ever had and I'm not going to let you do this."

"Yes, you can. It's called being a good friend and understanding that there are some things I don't want Will to know!" James told him forcefully and his eyes darted back and forth between the blonde pacing toward them and the blonde right in front of him. "Please. Don't say a word to him."

Carson ground his teeth. "Fine! But just this once. Next time you're on your own."

"Just this once what?" came a smooth voice behind them. William Fitzroy joined them, his cat eyes panning the two boys inquisitively. When the sun hit them, the colors panned into several shades, like a kaleidoscope.

James blinked and pulled a smile to his face. The motions felt awkward and unfamiliar. "Nothing. How was your break, Will?"

And as he said this, he saw Carson blow hair out of his eyes and turn his head.

* * *

After the dispute over Thomas, Blaine and Kurt had walked through the wing, greeting others they hadn't seen since before the break.

Diego looked to be in a crummy mood, and no one dared to ask why. He was better left to fume until he simmered down. Ronnie was bouncing off the walls with his camera slung around his neck like usual. There was no change there. Wes and David were battling it out in the commons over Call of Duty, shouting and bumping the controllers out of the other's hands. They hadn't changed, either, though Wes seemed a little more tired than he had been.

"What do you suppose we do now?" Blaine asked as he and Kurt strolled into the hallway.

"I don't know. There's not much to do," he admitted and took Blaine's hand without a second thought. Then it came to him. "Oh, actually, I want to see if Lovett is here yet. There is something I want to talk to her about."

They pushed forward to the glass doors that led outside. A cool breeze greeted them and the weather was gradually starting to change from cold to mild.

"What is it, if you don't mind me asking?" Blaine wondered.

Kurt pursed his lips. "I want to sign—"

But his sentence was cut short, as something had caught his eye.

Past Blaine, three figures moved across the lawn, dragging luggage behind them and talking cheerfully. Two had blonde hair that glimmered in the bright sunlight. The one in the middle had unmistakably dark hair. Kurt nearly stopped walking at the sight of James.

As he walked, he looked like he fragile enough to snap apart. His face looked sunken, but his eyes were still that gleaming sapphire, even from a distance. The blue orbs drifted from one of the blondes—Kurt couldn't tell which one from this far—and landed on him. A chill ran up Kurt's spine.

"You want to what?" Blaine prompted. Then he followed Kurt's line of sight to the three boys and his jaw set. He turned away and back to Kurt.

"Oh," Kurt said and looked back at him. "I want to sign up for the Nationals solo."

* * *

"These things are so… so…"

"Trippy?" Simon grinned like a Cheshire cat and kept himself from laughing.

Adam smiled a little as well and removed the new pair of glasses from his face. They weren't as wide as his old ones, which had been too big for his face. They had thick black frames that suited him, shaped like Ray-Bans though with little tweaks that made them different.

"Yeah, you could say they're a little trippy. It's like I'm not even looking through anything, really, it's so clear," he said.

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Simon nodded. "That's good. Then they're not that bad, I'm guessing?"

"Bad? For a pair of crappy drugstore cheaters, they're much better than my old ones were!" he declared happily and pulled his bags from the back of Simon's car.

Adam was in a far better mood than he had been. For one, he didn't have to deal with his sister on the flight back. Well, it was as if he didn't have to, anyway.

Marissa had spent the entire flight back from Philadelphia curled against the window with her head buried in her sweatshirt, wishing they were already on the ground. She hadn't even looked up when the stewardess offered them drinks and snacks. Both boys had been surprised by her mellow attitude. No ringing the call buttons at random times, no playing with the air pressure knobs on the ceiling panel, no playing with the drop-down oxygen masks, claiming she was a Ghostbuster. Nothing.

Marissa had pulled out of the Dalton parking lot thirty minutes ago. It would have been fifteen minutes, but she just absolutely had to scour the entire dorm building, all four wings, to find Thomas and explain everything in person: why she was leaving, and hopefully they could stay in touch.

As Adam waited patiently for her, he watched the two, and never realized how much she depended on him, in a sense, and he on her. Never before had he seen Thomas show any sort of emotion over something like this. He'd always been the guy to make up stupid pickup lines and use them on girls he knew he would never get. But now that there was a girl who fell for him without the pickup lines or the cheesy jokes, he was in all seriousness.

In turn, she was never the one to get teary eyed over a relationship with any guy. She'd had her share of relationships that lasted for three weeks at most before she moved on to someone new, like she didn't care. Though at this point, Thomas meant the world to her. Adam had no clue how they'd gotten close enough to depend on one another. To him, it was a Romeo and Juliet storyline, with the exception of everyone physically living at the end.

She was most likely halfway to the airport by now.

Adam was snapped out of his reverie when Simon waved a hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Adam," he droned jokingly. "Do you want to go unpack, or just stand there looking off into space?"

He shook his head and he started across the lot. "Unpack, please. I'd like to make sure nothing happened to my room."

"Why would something happen to your room? Everyone's been away the entire week," Simon pointed out and the wheels on his suitcase made clicking noises when they ran over breaks in the concrete.

Adam bit his lip. "I don't know. Dex and Leo could have done things to it. I have a feeling they might've stolen something, or messed with my stuff, or something awful."

"What awful things could they have possibly done?" Simon questioned in a sarcastic tone of voice and he nudged his friend jokingly.

"If they know how to break into my room without setting off the alarm system, I think they could've done just about anything."

They talked the entire way to the dorms. Adam stopped at the East wing, since it was on the way to South, and his room underwent a close inspection to assure everything was in its rightful place.

When he came to the conclusion that nothing was moved, he followed Simon to South. Stepping into his friend's wing, he normally gained the sense of outcast, like he didn't belong whatsoever.

But this time, however, outcast was the last thing he felt.

Utter astonishment replaced it instead.

The floors of the South wing were drenched in a thin layer of water. It came up to the height of the baseboards and soaked whatever was made with fabric, which included the plush carpet in the common room. The water pushed and pulled with the movements of the few surprised other boys that were there, and it lapped against the walls like the ocean's tides against the shoreline.

"Oh, goddammit," Simon stated plainly. He splashed through the water to place his luggage on a nearby table and headed for the kitchen. Adam had no choice to follow him, tiptoeing through the water.

"What is all this? Did a pipe burst?" Adam asked him timidly. He took off his new glasses and rubbed them against his shirt and put them back on, just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

"Or something," Simon muttered angrily and he pushed through the kitchen doors. He groaned and put his head in his hands.

The kitchen sink was overflowing. Both handles were turned on and water spewed from the faucet. It ran over the granite counters and down the cabinets and all across the floor to form a spacious pond.

Simon stalked through the water and wrenched the water off, getting water on himself in the process. He yanked up his shirt sleeve and stuck his hand in the basin and pulled a sopping floral dish towel out of the drain, which he tossed on the counter furiously.

"I know we're in a war, or whatever, but this is absurd. Surely there must be some boundaries to not cross, some rules about what you can and can't do that you have to follow," he mused almost to himself and moved past Adam out into the hallway.

When he stepped out of the kitchen, he spotted William, Carson and James at the door, their faces masks of bewilderment, holding their bags above their heads. Most of the water had been let out when they'd opened the doors.

"Don't ask me what happened or who did it because for once, I have no clue," he said to answer the many questions they probably had. He grabbed his luggage off the table where he'd left it and disappeared down the hallway toward the dorm rooms.

Adam idled at the entryway to the kitchen and he folded his hands together. He didn't know what to say to the other boys, or if he should say anything at all.

"This has been quite a day," Will summed up finally and he stepped through the water.

"Quite a day indeed," Adam agreed with a nod and left the wing.

* * *

The only thing that bothered Kurt was how silent Blaine was in the choir room.

He was seated in one of the long couches as Kurt talked with the director, his arms stretched behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. He hadn't said a single word since Kurt mentioned his plans to sign up for the Nationals solo.

"I'm glad you decided to sign up, Kurt," Ms. Lovett said appreciatively as she slid the clipboard and a pen across the desk to him. "What made you come to this?"

Kurt licked his dry lips and reached for the pen to sign his name. As he touched the tip to the paper, he noticed that there were four names instead of three. Blaine's was the first one, as he remembered, then William's name, and finally Simon's. Another name joined them and he tilted his head. James was listed as well, his name written in strict cursive.

"Oh, peer pressure," Kurt answered when he realized she was waiting for an answer. He speedily wrote down his name and pushed the clipboard back across the desk to her. "I told my friends at my old school about it, and they all but threw me out a window telling me to go for it."

She widened her eyes. "Those are some friends. Were they in the glee club with you?"

He nodded. "They're the best friends I could ask for. Besides the friends I've made here, of course," he added, feeling Blaine's stare boring a hole through the back of his head.

"I see," she hummed and looked over the names on the clipboard. "Anyway, I'm happy to know you want to try out. The auditions will take place after school one day in the auditorium. I'll give out further information tomorrow during class." She scribbled down something on the clipboard beside their names.

Kurt nodded again and was released from the choir room with an eerily quiet Blaine following close in step. They paced the empty halls without speaking for the longest time until the silence pounded against Kurt's head.

"Is something wrong?" he blurted finally.

Blaine shrugged one shoulder and kept staring forward. "No, not at all. Everything's fine."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Blaine, I know you almost better than you do. When you act like a mime, something is obviously wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," he said steadfastly. Almost to confirm this, he reached down to wrap his hand around Kurt's, twining their fingers together, giving it a long squeeze.

"Is it about me choosing to audition for the solo? That we're competing against each other?" Kurt asked, hardly audible. He peeked up at the other boy.

A different look crossed Blaine's face and for a moment Kurt wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. Then, "No. Why would that bug me? I was the one who wanted you to tryout in the first place, remember? I can't imagine why I'd be upset."

"Because if you really are upset, I can go back and ask to not be on the list—" he started and motioned to turn back when Blaine caught him by the shoulders.

He chuckled almost to himself and held Kurt in place.

"Look at me, Kurt," he said, wrapping his fingers around the other's chin and pulling his face down. "I'm not angry with you for wanting to tryout. I want you to go for everything that Lovett throws out there. I want you to want all the solos and the lead vocals. There's not a thing wrong with that," he said, and his lips turned up in a gleeful smile.

"I want you to be confident here," he went on. "I know Dalton is different from McKinley in all aspects and I want nothing more than for you to feel comfortable. So by all means, audition for the solo. I don't mind." He laughed warmly.

Kurt smiled back at him, pleased that his choice to tryout wasn't the reason he was indifferent.

"Thank you. But what are you so upset over?" he asked after a minute of silence. He pulled Blaine's hand away from his face and held them between his own.

Blaine blanched. "I'm not upset over anything. I thought we covered that already," he replied smoothly and started walking once more, tugging Kurt with him. He pushed the door open and they stepped outside into the cool spring breeze.

Kurt puckered his lips. "Yes, you are. I can simply tell." He waited for a response and when he didn't get one right away, he asked, "Is everything at home okay? With family?"

"Yeah," he said tonelessly.

The single word made Kurt turn his head to look at him. His lips parted to say something when the doors to the dorm building suddenly popped open. Wes and David stuck their heads out, their expressions composed of half delight, half horror, like they couldn't decide which to feel.

"Hey, guys!" Wes called out to them. "You'll never believe this!"

"What?" Kurt called back. He gave Blaine's hand a soft squeeze that told him their conversation was not over in the least.

"South was flooded!" David told them. "And it wasn't us this time, I swear!"

Rubbing his face, Blaine sighed, "Oh, good grief."

* * *

_In the next chapter: Classes start back up and the professors unload homework on the boys by the bucketful; more information is revealed on Nationals, and Kurt gets the shock of a lifetime when the annual Spring Show is introduced... with a horrifying twist. _


	23. Get Back

_Hello, readers._

_I apologize for the late update. As of today, I've figured out that the rest of my high school career for the next year will get significantly more stressful, starting with the last day of this school year. I hope to be able to keep up with this story (and also hopefully the sequel to this). _

_From this point in the story, things will be complicated. Confusion will ensue and people will come out of character just a tad. _

_So there. That's all I really have to say, except to please enjoy this chapter. Reviews would be lovely._

_Oh, and I wish 'Michael' would hurry up and get here. I'm freaking out about Smooth Criminal and Ben._

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. But I do own the plot of this story and all my OCs.

* * *

**Get Back**

* * *

**If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner. – Nelson Mandela**

* * *

"Kurt?"

He glanced up from the book in his hands at the sound of his name. James Montgomery idled by his table, half leaning against the bookshelf nearest him. He offered somewhat of a kind smile.

Kurt sat up straighter and, making sure he had a place marker in the book in his hands, he shut it. "Hi, James. How was your break?"

"It was so-so," the dark haired boy reported and wrapped his arms around his torso as if he had nothing else to do with them. He eyed the empty chair beside Kurt before sitting down cautiously. "And yours?"

"The same," Kurt said flatly.

After he stopped talking, the silence took over.

The library was the last place anyone wanted to be on the morning classes started back up again after a week off. Not even the librarian was at her desk; she was most likely dozing in the office at the back of the room with the door shut.

As a result, the tables were clear and vacant and Kurt had had plenty to choose from when he'd arrived half an hour earlier. He had been hoping to get a few chapters of the book he was reading for his Literature class, but ended up drifting off to another stack of books that were propped on the new arrivals shelf.

That was where he had been for the last half hour, sitting snuggly at the back of the room, his back pressed against the window with a book in his hands.

Now, with the other boy seated across the table from him, it felt as though ice was forming in the air. Kurt evened his breathing and absently folded the corner of the soft paperback's cover under his thumb.

"Did you ever get my call?" Kurt asked, his eyes trained on his hands. His voice seemed loud.

James nodded pettily and tucked a lock of hair neatly behind one ear. "I did. It was nice to hear from you, Kurt."

He nodded. "That's good."

"Did you ever get _my _call?" he retaliated.

Kurt raised his eyes. "It's a little more than obvious that I did."

James turned his head to the side to hide the quick flash of a grin. "I was only checking."

Smiling barely, Kurt crossed his ankles. "To be honest, when I got your call, I was worried."

"Why was that?" he questioned. He stared past Kurt through the windows at the full parking lot and the untrimmed grass that grew around the school. It was the color of emeralds and shone in the sunlight.

He shrugged one shoulder and suddenly felt jittery. "The last time you contacted me was when you, William, and Carson got locked out of the school after spying on that private school before Regionals," he said and peered up at James through his lashes. "It made me think that you needed help."

"Help?" James' voice cracked on the word and he swallowed, hard. "Why would I need help?"

"I don't know. It was a thought," Kurt defended hastily. He pushed his book away from him to give the boy his attention; he lowered his voice. "I know you know this already, but I'm worried about you, and what you're doing to yourself."

James blinked his bright blue eyes. They were the only things that hadn't physically changed over the break; they stayed their vibrant sapphire. It seemed that the seven days away from school had faded his skin, in a way, and made it a pale hue. His face looked more angular, his jawline even more prominent. Dark bruises were painted under his eyes.

How they hadn't changed at all when everything else did, Kurt couldn't comprehend.

"I'm flattered that you care about me enough to worry about my well-being"—he didn't seem to notice as Kurt's face flared pink—"but I'm getting better. Things have been getting better for me, and I've stopped causing myself pain. Physically, I mean."

Kurt held back a laugh. "I'm not believing a word you're saying to me, James. I know what happened while we were all gone," he said, his voice shaking.

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brows, though there was a hint of fear across his features.

"Carson told me. Last night," Kurt said shortly and leaned back in his chair, knitting his arms over his chest. "He snuck out last night to North and told me what happened. He told me what he saw on your arms, James. Everything."

Now it was James' turn to turn scarlet. "I d-don't know what you're talking about. I don't know how he could've snuck out without getting caught. And the doors between the wings are locked during the night—hell, all the doors are—and—" He stopped. "Did he come in through the window?"

"Yes, he did, but that's not the point," Kurt remarked, remembering the late-night visitor. "The point is that you know exactly what I'm talking about. I heard it straight from the horse's mouth."

"He was lying to you," he explained, and he drummed his fingers against the surface of the table.

He slid out of the chair and collected his book and his knapsack, pulling it over his shoulder. "Carson _told _me, James. He is one of the most truthful people I've met in my life, and I believe him more than I believe a lot of people. Which is odd to say, considering he's high on my list of people I don't like."

"None of it is true," James said easily and stood up, pushing his chair in. He took a few steps in his direction. "I haven't touched anything sharp in the past seven days. Why don't you believe me?"

Kurt whirled on him, clutching the book to his chest, and it made the boy pull back. "Because you've hidden things from me before. You've hidden the fact that you _cut, _and that you _love_ me"—he choked on these words—"and this time is no exception."

James let out a long breath and rubbed his temples. "Maybe I have hidden a few things in the past. I still love you, Kurt. Nothing will ever change that," he said and met Kurt's eyes. "And I do—did—cut, in the past. But I haven't touched a blade in weeks. I swear this to you."

"Then show me," he demanded, thankful that the library was empty and the librarian wasn't in earshot and that they were in the back of the room. "Show me you didn't nearly bleed to death while we were gone. Show me that there aren't any scars."

Hesitation flashed across his face and there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye.

"I knew it. I knew you were lying to me," Kurt grumbled and stalked down the aisle, keeping his bag close to his side.

James followed him closely. "Kurt, I'm sorry—"

"No, you're not. I don't want to hear you say that anymore," he said with his head down. "After you say it a lot, it loses its meaning and it's worthless."

He quickened his pace and cut Kurt off with desperate eyes, making him halt. "Please, Kurt. I don't want you to hate me. Not for this."

Kurt snapped his head up and took a step back. Extending his hand behind him, he felt around for the bookshelf and his fingers brushed against it. With the little space between them, he sucked in a breath. His muscles locked and he forced himself to take a step backward. The bookshelf gently prodded him in the back.

"I don't know where you got such an idea," he said, surprised his voice came out shaky and uneven.

"It was only a guess." James braced his hands against the shelf, right on either side of Kurt's head. "Is it a good guess?"

Kurt dropped his head so that his chin was touching his chest. "It's a horrible guess. I don't hate you, James. I don't think I could never hate you."

"That's good to know," he chuckled and his breath washed over Kurt's face, cool and smelling of mint chewing gum.

"I'm just a bit annoyed with you, that's all." Kurt avoided breathing in and his lungs protested in result. "At least tell me the truth. If you really did hurt yourself while we were gone."

"You already know the answer." James set his jaw, taut like an arrow. He brought a hand up to his face to brush away hair. "Carson already told you. Why do you have to ask me?"

"I want an explanation behind it. What happened that I don't know?" Kurt caught his wrist as he moved to place his hand back on the shelf, pulling it down and pushing back the cuff of his blazer delicately. He had trouble ignoring the wince the other boy gave.

James' skin was cold and nearly snow white. The red lines that raked across the underside of his wrist contrasted strongly with the skin tone and half of them looked close to healed. The other half, though, appeared in a fragile state; Kurt had the brief thought that if he did so much as brushed his fingers against them, it would bleed all over again.

James swallowed over the lump in his throat. He did not protest when Kurt pulled him closer, pushing up the blazer sleeve to see that the lines went up further.

"You can tell me if I'm hurting you," Kurt mumbled and his fingers panned the scars.

"It's all so numb that I don't feel a thing," he said almost inaudibly.

Kurt bit his tongue and turned his hand over, seeing a slash stretching from his index finger to the heel of his hand. "Please tell me you're taking medication for this… this depression," he stuttered. "You have to be seeing a doctor, or taking something to help you."

"I'm taking nothing." James shook his head slowly.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice harsher than he had intended. Instantly he wanted to withdraw his words. Quieter, he said, "Why haven't you done anything?"

James pursed his lips, which looked chapped and on the verge of bleeding; he licked them. "I didn't realize I needed to. I didn't know it was that bad."

Kurt clasped his hand around his wrist and held it up between their faces. "This is serious, what you're doing. If you're not careful, you could kill yourself. Are you aware of this?" he asked thickly. He couldn't believe he was speaking these words. When he received no reply, he asked again, "Do you know that, James?"

"I'm aware," he replied distantly.

"Then what's keeping you from asking for help?"

Something flashed over his eyes and they sharpened.

"I've been asking for help since the day we met, Kurt. As soon as I saw you the day of my audition, I knew I was head over heels. I've been asking for help, hoping you would be the one to help me," he said and his voice drifted as the words went on. "It's been months, and you haven't done anything but push me aside."

Kurt dropped his hand as if it had scalded him. "James," he said firmly, "what exactly do you want me to do for you? Because it's clear that I don't have a clue. You're not making sense to me."

"All I wanted was for you to realize that I love you." The words were meant to sound sharp, direct, but they came out weak and soft, mumbling. "I wanted you to know that I cared for you, and I hoped you would return those feelings. That's all I wanted from you, nothing more."

Kurt had the urge to step back in retaliation, but the shelf was there and he moved his bag in the space between them. He lowered his head, shaking it repeatedly. "James, this is some sort of deliria speaking, not you. This isn't you at all. You're tired—"

"I'm not _tired_," he said lowly. "I'm only saying what I wanted to say since day one, and I'll say it again: I'm in love with you, Kurt, and there is nothing anyone can do to change that."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm dating Blaine. I sort of happen to like him a lot. There's nothing you can do to change that, either," Kurt said steadfastly and his words blurred together.

Suddenly James brought down a section of books with the flick of his wrist, and they crashed to the floor in muffled thumps. Kurt darted in the opposite way, ducking under James' other arm and taking in a gasp of air. His heart thrummed wildly against his rib cage and threatened to break out.

James scratched the back of his neck, seeming embarrassed. His expression was soft, not piercing like it had been.

"I think I've gone a little too far, haven't I?" he asked timidly. He turned his eyes away from the stack of fallen books and met Kurt's.

Muscles locked in place, Kurt couldn't do more than curl and uncurl his fingers around the strap of his bag.

"You've gone much farther than you need to," he said hoarsely. "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you."

Before the dark haired boy could say anything more, Kurt turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared within the maze of bookshelves.

* * *

Throughout first and second periods, Kurt found it hard to concentrate on his work.

The only thought on his mind was of James pushing the books to the floor, a pained expression breaking the smoothness of his face, the vibrant sapphire of his eyes, the slump in his posture.

He desperately wanted to help the boy, but kept retreating on his intentions. He wanted to help, really he did, though he was sure that any more contact with him would stimulate the wrong message. That was the opposite of what he wanted.

The thoughts tainted his mind after second period ended, and he walked his routine path down the stairs and to the lunch room.

When he sat down at his usual table, no one was speaking. Blaine had this dazed look on his face that said he was daydreaming as he nibbled a granola bar, and Cody was chewing his nails off over something. Thomas wasn't eating, and instead was studying intently out of the textbook in front of him. Wes and David were stuffing their faces like a starving man would, trying to have a conversation past their mouthfuls.

The only people actually talking were Adam and Simon, the former squeaking out a command for his glasses. Simon had stolen them and was trying them on, making faces and blinking and saying things like, "Man, you're so blind!"

Kurt sighed softly and set his tray down, ready to endure the long lunch.

The thirty minutes crept by and he was grateful when the bell rang to dismiss them. He was ready to wait for Blaine, but the other excused himself to the bathroom. Kurt bit his lip, nodding, and left the lunch room. He paced down the familiar hall to the choir room behind Wes and David, Cody and Thomas and his textbook trailing behind him.

In the choir room, Lovett sat behind her desk with a flurry of papers across her desk. The break seemed to have treated her well because she looked rested and not exhausted as usual. The air conditioning vent on the ceiling sent a gust of air blowing across her desk and it picked up a pile of papers, scattering them on the floor. She sighed and stooped to pick them up.

Kurt silently walked into the room, bombarded with the conversations of the boys behind him. David and Wes passed him and flopped down in their seats on the sofa by the windows, talking over something that sounded like schoolwork.

Cody sat down beside them and pulled out his music folio, spreading it across his lap and it he looked like he was looking over it, but there was a small cookbook covering it. Thomas placed a pillow in his lap and his eyes occasionally drifted down to see what page Cody was on. Blaine had not returned yet.

Kurt slid his bag off his shoulder and sat down on the other side of Cody. He unearthed his folio from his bag and slid the bag under the coffee table with the others. He had just opened the folder when he felt a pair of eyes on him, and he lifted his head.

As expected, James was watching him from across the room, his chin propped in his hand. He was watching Kurt carefully in place of listening to William as he talked on about something. Whatever it was, it wasn't interesting enough for him.

_I'm sorry, _he mouthed precisely. _For this morning. I shouldn't have done that._

Kurt struggled to follow the movements of his mouth and narrowed his eyes. He was never any good at deciphering mouthed words, nor was he good at mouthing them; he always made the words deformed and odd, so he tore off a corner of a loose piece of notebook paper.

With a pen from his bag he scribbled down the words: _Just don't do it again._

The paper was folded into a neat square and tossed it shortly over the table. With everyone doing their own thing, talking and sneaking out their phones, the paper was simply a trick of the light, not even there.

Kurt received a reply soon after and the square of paper landed in his lap.

_I promise. And if I also promise to seek out professional help, like a loony-bin therapist or a doctor or something, will you talk to me again?_

Wrinkling his brows, he wrote out another response and sent it across the room: _What do you mean? I'm talking to you now._

James fumbled with the paper when he caught it and it nearly slipped through his long fingers. He unfolded it with shaking hands and wrote quickly. Instead of folding it, he crumpled it into a ball and launched it across the room into Kurt's waiting hands.

_Yes, you are, but I miss how we used to talk. About normal things. Like the weather and our families, not your concern over my mental issues. Could we possibly go back to something like that? The way it used to be in the beginning?_

For a few seconds, Kurt froze. He couldn't will his hand to move, to write another reply. The space on the paper was running out from both of their handwriting being too large and the ink in his was running dry.

The slight sink in the couch made him whip his head up, and Blaine had plopped down beside him, giving Kurt a warm smile. Kurt couldn't help but smile back and he hid the scrap of paper in his folio. When Blaine dug through his bag for his own folio, Kurt directed a single nod across the room.

_Yes. _

Overhead, the bell rang. Ms. Lovett popped up behind the desk, as she had been on the floor collecting the papers that had flown everywhere.

"Ah, good afternoon, boys," she said while she scooped a handful into a somewhat neat stack and placed them on her desk. "It's a pleasure to see you all back from the break. I hope you had a good time on your week off. But I do trust that you're happy to be back?"

No response and there might as well have been crickets.

She wrinkled her nose disapprovingly and collected the remainder of the fallen papers. She settled in her chair.

"Ah, well. I tried. Anyway, I would like to start the class off with updated news on Nationals. As you know, it is coming up at the end of May. It seems like a long ways away right now, but with everything going on, including homework and sports, it will be here before you know it. We're scheduled already with plane tickets and reservations. We take off the weekend of the twenty-seventh, and then we'll spend—Yes, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine lowered his hand and when he did, Kurt caught a faint trace of a smile on his face. "The twenty-seventh, ma'am?"

"This is what I said," she confirmed and gave him a funny look.

He turned to Kurt and the smile grew larger. "That's the weekend of your birthday, isn't it?"

Immediately the blood spilled, hot, onto Kurt's cheeks. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is," Blaine said, nodding. "You turn seventeen on the twenty-eighth."

Kurt shook his head furiously and found everyone staring at him curiously. Even James was watching him with interest.

"Yes, it's my birthday," he said in a long breath. As soon as he had heard the competition date, he knew he was in for it, and he had been waiting for Cody or Wes to speak up, but Blaine had beaten them to the punch. "But there's certainly no need to bring that up right now, Blaine. You just interrupted Ms. Lovett and I'm sure we all wanted to hear what she had to say," he stammered out.

"Oh, no, it's perfectly fine." Ms. Lovett waved a hand at him and looked brighter than she had been a few minutes ago. "We always treat birthdays in the Warblers like holidays. I'll be sure to remember that when we're up there, Mr. Hummel." She made a note of it on a scrap piece of paper lying on her desk. "Moving on. I hope all of you will be pleased to hear that I've decided on the first song, or the opener, of our program."

While the boys let out a few cheers, Kurt made sure he had furious eye contact with Blaine. Blaine merely smiled his charming smile and leaned back.

"This is a rough outline, but I would like to sing something a little last decade," she told them and reached for a folder on her desk that looked like it had seen better days.

She thumbed through it until she found what she was searching for, and pulled out a packet of papers. She picked three sheets off the top and handed them to Blaine, who looked them over curiously. Kurt looked over his shoulder at them until he got his own copy.

"Who is Gary Go?" Wes asked. Though he wasn't allowed to go to Nationals, he held a copy of the music in his hands and seemed genuinely interested. He sat on the edge of his seat.

Ms. Lovett was hesitant. "To be honest, I have no earthly idea. I've never heard his other works before, but when I heard this one on the radio, I instantly thought, 'We should sing this song.' The lyrics are meaningful, it's short so we have more time for the other two pieces, and it's very energetic. It fits this group quite nicely."

Half the boys were uneasy about the song and the other half didn't know quite what to think of it, but all of them gave it a once-over and slipped the music into their folios.

"Do you have the other songs planned?" James asked to everyone's surprise. He hardly spoke out during class.

Even Lovett was taken aback by his question. She blinked once.

"Um, no. I don't. The closer will be determined later on down the line, and whoever has the solo will pick what they wish," she said. She clapped her hands together. "Speaking of, the ones who will be auditioning for the solo for Nationals should make arrangements to meet two weeks from today in the auditorium, right after the final bell rings."

She made sure to look each of the five boys in the eye, and Kurt felt it similar to staring down Medusa.

"Now, to move onto a different and hopefully more exciting topic. Those of you who attended Dalton two years ago will know what I'm talking about when I say we're bringing back the Spring Show," she announced.

The news caused the majority to let out cheers and hollers in excitement. Kurt sat there, in a daze, unsure of what was happening. He had no idea what the Spring Show was or why they were bringing it back or why everyone was cheering. He was positive James felt the same, considering he had just transferred in the end of January, not even two months ago.

"What is the Spring Show?" Kurt asked Cody in a whisper.

"You'll find out. Listen," he said, his voice threaded with giddiness, and quieted down.

"For those of you who don't know," Lovett continued on and leaned against the desk, "the Spring Show is an annual show we put on every spring. We put one on two years back and were denied the chance of doing it again the next year because of… certain reasons. But this year, with enough begging and pleading, the Dean has agreed to let us go through with it.

"Typically, as many of you remember it, this is a chance to get out there and sing out your little hearts with whatever tune you choose. There were quite a few interesting ballads the first time, if I remember correctly." She directed her stare at Wes and David, who calmly stared at her right back. "But I'm deciding to switch it up this year, do something different. Instead of singing solos, you all will pair up and sing duets!" She raised her hands above her head excitedly.

The word 'duet' resonated and everyone stared with blank faces.

She dropped her hands, disappointed. "Look, I know it's different than what we usually do, but this will give you all a chance to improve your social and teamwork skills. Solos give you an excuse to lock yourselves in your rooms and avoid everyone. Duets are designed to pull two people together and help them get along, so to speak. Long story short, it'll strengthen the bond between everyone, since I've noticed recently the abundance of separation."

Kurt licked his lips. He liked the idea of singing a duet with someone. That way, he wouldn't have to slave over preparing his audition for the National solo and a song for the show all on his own. He would have someone else to sing with and he already had a good idea.

Leaning over, he nudged Blaine and asked in a whisper, "Be my duet partner?"

Blaine broke into a wide smile. "It would be my honor."

Lovett moved around her desk and pulled out a deep drawer. She dug through it for something. "Now, before you all go choosing partners whilly nilly, I've added another twist." From the drawer, she unearthed a tall silk top hat and set it brim up on the desk. "You're choosing your partners out of this hat."

"Never mind," Kurt whispered dully and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Isn't that a little cliché?" Ronnie asked disdainfully and eyed the hat like he was expecting it to sprout wings and fly out the window.

"Yes, it may be a little cliché, but that's the way it is, Mr. Starr. Take it or leave it," Lovett quipped.

"Can I leave it?"

"Funny. When I say take it or leave it, you actually have to take it." She parted her lips in a smile. "Since you were the first one to speak up about it, why don't you come be our guinea pig and choose first?"

Ronnie stayed seated, but leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. "Can I opt out?"

"Be thankful you're drawing a piece of paper out of here and not a rabbit," she said monotone. "Now get up here."

Sputtering, Ronnie got to his feet and approached the hat. He stuck his hand in and dug around. Suddenly he dipped his hand in to the shoulder and shrieked. The director jumped and placed a hand over her heart, and the boys jolted to attention. He grinned after everyone registered shock.

"Just kidding," he said and pulled out a slip of paper. He flattened it out and cleared his throat importantly, presenting a crazy British accent. "Mr. Simon Dougray. You are cordially invited to be my duet partner for the Spring Show. Do you accept, or do you decline?"

Simon narrowed his eyes at him, not sure what to make of the accent. "I'll say yes, but only because I basically have no choice in the matter."

"Good decision!" He placed the strip of paper on the desk, face down, and returned to his seat. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, winked, and shot Simon two finger guns. Simon rolled his eyes in response.

"Mr. Blackwood. Come draw, please," Lovett beckoned after she finished writing down Simon's and Ronnie's names.

Diego sighed and went up the desk to draw. Instead of making the process dramatic, he simply plucked one out and read, "Thomas." He placed the paper on the table next to the first one and sat back down. That was that.

When Ms. Lovett called Matt up to draw, he brought Jon with him, arms hooked together. She stared at them pointedly and they explained, "We come in a package. Deal or no deal." Instead of letting them draw, she placed them with Nick as a trio without a moment's indecision.

Next, Carson approached the desk and drew a name. "James. You're my partner," he read and set down his paper.

Kurt sighed in relief. At least he was out of the running to sing with James. Not that he didn't _want _to sing with him, but he would prefer to have another partner. Someone he felt comfortable with. Not that he didn't feel comfortable with him, but—

He shook his head, inwardly frustrated. He wanted to run his hands through his hair to the point of pulling locks out, but instead sat on his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Blaine visibly relax as well. He had nothing to worry about, either.

One by one, the rest of the group went up to draw names. When Blaine was called to the front, he cast a hopeful look in Kurt's direction. He stirred the papers around and pulled one at random. He had an optimistic expression across his face, but it faded when he read, "Cody."

Kurt's heart dropped into his stomach and he swallowed, hard. Cody seemed alright with having to sing with someone he knew. Kurt was more concerned with whom _he_ would sing.

When Blaine sat back down, obviously disappointed in the draw, Kurt stood up. His legs felt like jelly as he moved and the papers were light under his fingertips. He grabbed what seemed like the last one left in the hat and he knew what name was on the paper before he even pulled it out.

He removed his hand from the hat and flattened the slip. The name was set on his tongue but he choked.

"William," he said stiffly and looked over the top of the paper at the blonde. It was clear he was not expecting it, either, by the intrigued look on his face.

At that precise moment, the bell rang and dismissed the class. Over the sounds of paper and murmuring, Ms. Lovett called shrilly, "Don't forget to practice your new music!"

Kurt paced numbly back to his seat to grab his bag. He turned around and found Blaine waiting patiently for him. The look on his face told Kurt he wasn't completely okay with the results of the draw. He was about to say something when Kurt stopped him.

"Before we leave, I want to talk with Will. Is that okay?" he asked. There was a moment's hesitation before Blaine gave a nod and went to wait outside the room for him.

Will was packing his bag when Kurt approached him. Carson and James were waiting for their friend, and they didn't look too pleased, either. Whether it was the draw that put them in a sour mood or something else, Kurt wasn't sure. If it was the draw, he didn't see what was so bad about it for them. At least they happened to be friends.

"Will, if we're going to be partners for this Spring Show, I think we should get a head start and rehearse today after school," he recited, trying not to trip over words, and waited on pins and needles. Will raised his eyes and Kurt felt his cool composure break down and he nervously added, "To d-decide on a song."

The blonde raised his chin a fraction. "I think you're absolutely right. Meet me in the South commons at four this afternoon and we'll get started."

"And if I get caught?" he blurted.

"Caught?" Humor brightly colored his tone. It was obvious he was fighting back laughter. "Why would you get caught?"

Kurt kept his jaw from dropping open. "I-I'm not from South, and if anyone sees me they'll know I'm from North, and then they'll report me for sneaking around, and they'll think I've been the one sabotaging your wing—"

"I think you'll be fine," Will assured him coolly. "If someone does end up turning you in, it'll be to Simon, and he'll understand."

"And on the off chance he doesn't?" Kurt tried to keep his voice from raising anxiously. "I mean, I'm not doubting him, or anything, but—"

Will flattened his lips. "Then I guess I'll have to convince him otherwise."

"Can you even _do_ that? He's South's major authority, not you. You can't just influence him to do things for you."

This was hysterical to the blonde, and he licked his lips. "Is that all you do? Ask questions?" he asked.

Kurt felt his face grow warm, and also noted Carson's scrutinizing gaze locked on him. James, on the other hand, looked as humored as Will. Kurt opened his lips to speak and found nothing coming out.

"It's alright, Kurt," Will said smoothly. "If anyone has a problem with us rehearsing for a choir show, then they'll answer to me." Slowly his eyes slid from Kurt's to the boys behind him; Carson and the dark haired boy shrugged defensively.

"Okay. That's fine," Kurt agreed, finding his voice, astounded that Will was so open with this. He expected Will to have a serious issue with singing with his ex's current significant other. If he did, he wasn't saying a word.

He thought he was going crazy when Will flashed him a brilliant smile as he left the choir room with James and Carson on his heels. Kurt sighed and went out into the busy hallway, Blaine waiting at the doors for him.

"You're not okay with this, are you?" were the first words out of Kurt's mouth.

Blaine pursed his lips. "I'm not particularly happy, but I wouldn't say I'm not okay with it. Will is very… picky when it comes to singing, just to let you know. One song may please and another may tick him off, or he'll want to change the lyrics in the chorus even though it's a widely-known song, or whatever. In our freshman year for Sectionals, he wanted to change the lyrics to 'Bohemian Rhapsody.'"

"Really? How did Lovett take that?"

"Not well. She hit him over the head with a newspaper to shut him up," he answered shortly. "Anyway, as long as both of you come out of this whole thing unscathed, then I'm going to keep my mouth shut and not interfere." He tried for a smile, but it looked more like a scowl.

"Okay. That's good. I think," Kurt said. "At least you don't feel like pummeling him. When I drew his name, you looked like you wanted to strangle the life out of him on the spot."

Blaine stopped in the hallway in front of one of the many doors that lined the walls. "As long as he doesn't hurt you, emotionally or, God forbid, physically, I'll keep my hands to myself. You have my word."

"Physically? He would actually hit me?" Kurt stammered, concerned.

He waved his hands, shaking his head. "Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating on that part."

"But he would hurt me?" Kurt felt like doubling up at the words.

"Trust me," Blaine said sadly and placed his hand on the door knob, "if he tore me down, he certainly won't have any trouble—or a guilty conscious—tearing you down."

* * *

The South wing was the worst wing out of the four, Kurt decided as he paced down its halls in search of the common room. The interior looked identical to that of the North wing, but there was something distinctly different. It was either the abundance of sports equipment laying around or the deep thud of a bass coming from somewhere within its walls.

The faces he passed were all too unfamiliar. One or two he recognized from a class, but that was it.

Some he walked by were dressed in stiff, white fencing gear and twirled sabres and looked ready to duel at a moment's notice. Others wore shorts and tennis shoes and were gulping water down by the bottle after a run.

Kurt tucked his bag closer to his body and kept his eyes forward, his heart skipping beats in his chest.

Maybe setting up a rehearsal with Will after school wasn't the best idea in the world. He did have a mountain of homework weighing him down at the moment and there was surely going to be time later on to discuss song selections. The thought of abandoning the entire ordeal looked better in his mind with each step, and he almost turned back around and headed back to North.

"Kurt," came a smooth voice from behind that stopped him where he stood. "I'm glad to see you went through with your word."

Kurt turned on his heel. Will leaned against the wall with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his blazer slung over one arm. He watched Kurt with wondering eyes.

"Of course I came. I was the one who asked for this rehearsal in the first place," Kurt said and straightened his posture. He quickly walked to where Will was standing to avoid being smacked in the face by the lacrosse sticks that two boys were lugging down the hall.

"I know. But you could've ditched at the last second if you felt like it." He pushed away from the wall and adjusted his tie. He started down the hall.

Kurt kept in step with him. "That wouldn't have been right of me," he stammered out.

Will looked back at him. Awe washed over his face and smoothed out his features. "You're a piece of work. Do you know that?"

"I don't know whether to take that as an insult or as a compliment," he replied without missing a beat.

"It's a compliment, trust me," Will chuckled and made a turn into a wide room Kurt assumed to be the commons.

Like the hallways, athletics was the main theme. Pairs of roller blades were arranged in a line on one wall and a basket with footballs and basketballs stood in the opposite corner. Instead of smelling like a locker room, the air smelled faintly like something sweet with hints of wood varnish mixed it.

It was also dimly lit in the room, the curtains on the back windows pulled tightly together. Two lamps in the room provided light.

At the back table, there was one boy doing homework. When Will pulled out two chairs, one for himself and one for Kurt, the boy looked up from the papers in front of him.

"I see you didn't get lost," James teased kindly. He set his pencil down and folded his arms on the table.

"Almost did, if that makes you feel better," Kurt replied tartly and sat down, placing his bag by his feet on the floor.

"I should probably leave then, since you two are working on this…" He collected his things in his arms and stuffed them into his bag. "I'll see you at dinner, William." He nodded at the blonde, then left the two alone in the common room.

Will clasped his hands together. "Talk music to me, Hummel," he said after taking a long breath. "What did you have in mind?"

His outright openness to let Kurt choose the song was bewildering. From what Blaine had said earlier, Kurt had the expectation that he wouldn't have any say in picking the number. He had been planning for it and now, he didn't know where to start.

"I haven't had much time to think about it," he admitted. "We were only assigned the duet today, after all."

"Of course," Will sighed. He leaned forward in his chair, enough that Kurt noticed but not enough for him to be uncomfortable. "But if you did have a good idea, what would it be?"

Kurt chewed on his lip. "The Beatles, maybe?" he suggested. "It's just a guess, though. I haven't heard you sing alone before, so I wouldn't know what song would best fit you, what you would sound best with." He caught himself rambling on and shut his mouth.

Will leaned forward again, an inch closer. "Then I guess we should find out, shouldn't we?" He pulled out of Kurt's personal air bubble and got to his feet.

"How are—what are you doing?" Kurt stuttered and gripped the armrests.

Will cleared his throat. "I'm going to sing. What better way to hear what I sound like other than to hear me? Go ahead, get out your tape recorders and video cameras…" He chuckled as a blush crept across Kurt's face. The doors to the common room were wide open and he peered into the hallway, checking for someone, something. "…because this is one of the last times I'm doing this."

Kurt had no idea what he meant by 'one of the last times' and was about to ask when the blonde boy started to sing, low and fluid.

_My head is saying "no", but my heart keeps giving in,_

_So hard to let it go, when it's there, under my skin,_

_Well, if this is the face of a sinner,_

_And if heaven is only for winners,_

_Well, I don't care, 'cause I won't know,_

_Anybody there_

At first, Kurt was taken aback by the way his flowed musically in and out of notes, words coming easily from his lips. He was good, Kurt realized, swallowing thickly.

_Thought that I'd let it slide, but it's me that's slipping in,_

_Thought that I'd go for a ride, before this crash I'm dying in,_

_Well, if I'm judged on the life I've been living,_

_And if heaven is not so forgiving,_

_Well, I don't care, 'cause I won't know,_

_Anybody there,_

_I don't care, 'cause I won't know,_

_Anybody there_

Out of the corner of his eye, Will thought he saw a flash of navy and red pass and linger outside the doors. He blinked in surprise and nearly dropped the melody to look, but pushed through, trying to remember where he was in the song.

If he was going to have an audience, he proposed inwardly, he would have to perform first, then throttle whoever was watching.

_My head is saying "no", but my heart keeps giving in,_

_So hard to let it go, when it's there, under my skin,_

_Well, if I'm judged on the life I've been living,_

_And if heaven is not so forgiving,_

_Well I don't care, 'cause I won't know,_

_Anybody there,_

_I don't care, 'cause I won't know,_

_Anybody there_

As much as he tried not to, Kurt tore his attention away from Will to study the visitors at the doors. He found a small clump of South students hanging around the open doors. Most of them he didn't recognize, save maybe one or two from rehearsal.

Simon was there, leaning against the frame with his arms over his chest and an intrigued expression over his face. Carson stood beside him, his pink lips curving in a pleased smile. Kurt's heart skipped a beat when he saw James standing there with the Precursor. He was looking over Will with what looked like either bemusement or determined interest.

_Is anybody there?_

_Is anybody there?_

_Is anybody there?_

The moment Will stopped singing, he pursed his lips.

"Like being a little eavesdropper, don't you, Dougray?" he said without turning his head to look.

Instantly, the majority of the boys outside the doors scrammed, leaving Carson and James and Simon. James was hesitant, as he looked like he wanted to hide as well, but stood his ground. He came into the room and leaned his arms on the back of the chair Kurt was sitting in.

Simon pushed away from the frame casually. "Oh, come now, William." He clapped a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "I think you did well for the first time in a while. Am I right?" He glanced over his shoulder to seek confirmation from the other boys, but they were not there. James nodded heartedly instead.

Will gave half of a half-smile and bristled under the other boy's touch. "I suppose so."

"Really, Will, that was good," Carson commented happily. "It's nice to see you up and singing again."

Then Will clenched his teeth and stared at the three of them impatiently. His sights never crossed Kurt, like he wasn't even there. "Just because I was singing now doesn't mean I'm going to start asking for solos and calling attention to myself in class."

"We didn't mean that we wanted you to," Simon pointed out. "We're just glad that you at least sung something. It's been forever."

"Forever is longer than two years," Will said, voice sharp.

"Whatever," Carson drawled and rolled his light blue eyes. "You know, I kind of forgot what your singing voice sounded like."

"Shut up, Carson."

Simon watched him. "Now that I've heard you, I'm glad you signed up for the Nationals solo."

"I didn't sign up voluntarily. It was on a whim. James' whim, to be more exact," Will grumbled despondently. He stared pointedly at the dark haired boy leaning against Kurt's chair.

"Me?" he squeaked. "I merely encouraged you."

"Encouraged me? You nearly stabbed me with a pen trying to get me to sign that goddamn audition list. I told you, I didn't want to do it." Will ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth.

"And now are you glad you get to audition?" Simon cheered and threw his arm around Will's shoulder. He looked down to see the blonde with the sourest of facial expressions. "Oh, come on. What's the worst that could happen?"

Will shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands, slipping out from under Simon's arm. "I could pitch headfirst into the pit and be impaled by the wires and electronic equipment. I wouldn't die from the amount of wires choking me, but from sheer embarrassment. Now would you three leave us alone? We're trying to have a rehearsal here." He looked at Kurt through splayed fingers.

James stepped away from the chair like it had burned him. "Oh, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to intrude on anything. We just heard you singing, and…" He didn't finish the thought, seeing Will's glare.

"You're not intruding," Kurt piped up finally after minutes of staying silent. He addressed Will. "I liked it. I think it was great."

"Why don't you sing this for your audition? You're into that slow stuff," Carson questioned. He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember something. "Who was the guy you always listened to? The one with the guitar?"

Will let out a long, exasperated sigh. "John Mayer."

"Right!" His face lit up in realization. "But you never could play the guitar to save your life."

Simon grinned cheesily. "I remember when Blaine tried to teach you how to play, and—"

"Can everyone stop talking for one second?" Will said loudly and his glare swept over everyone, passing right over Kurt, like he didn't mean the countertenor any harm. Silence filled the room. Simon shut his mouth finally.

"Thank you. I'm not singing this for the auditions. I'm not going to start pitching in for solos. I'm going to say thank you for the compliments. And I want you all out of here. Don't you have homework, or music to practice, or something that involves you being somewhere else other than here?"

Carson stared at him. "If you want us out of here so bad, you should've just said something."

He pointed blindly at the doors. _"Go."_

The single word was all it took for the three boys to raise their hands defensively and leave the room. Will shut the doors as soon as they left and leaned against them.

"I am so sorry about that," he apologized in a long breath. "My friends are… they're a handful. Too much of a handful. You don't know how much I wish I could shoot them all in the face."

"I know. I've got enough to worry about as it is with mine." Kurt folded his hands in his lap. "And with James always…" He stopped.

Will watched him with narrowed eyes and cautiously sat back down in the chair next to him. "James always… what? What were you going to say?"

"You know he does to himself, don't you? Please tell me you know," Kurt blurted before he could catch himself again and looked up.

"You're talking about the cutting, right?" Will clarified with such ease that it made Kurt almost wince. "Yeah, I know. I've known since… gosh, since February?"

Kurt blanched and thought he was going to fall from his chair. "'I know'? Is that all you can say about that?"

"Hey, I also said how long I've known about it," he snapped.

"You know what I mean!" Kurt clutched the armrests.

Will bristled. "Well, what do you want me to say about it? Oh, I'm sorry that my best friend is trying to kill himself slowly over the course of the semester? That he's in love with you and you won't do so much as look at him?" he shot back. "What do you want me to say?"

"I do more for him than you do." The words tumbled out of his lips. "I was his friend before you were."

Will sat up in his chair. "Oh, so now we're playing the 'I got there first' game? I'm sorry, are we ten?"

Kurt pushed his teeth together with such force he imagined them shattering. He didn't know what else to say and as a result, he stayed silent.

He stared furiously at the other boy. "You do not do anything for him, Kurt. I do everything for him, including trying to keep him happy. You don't do squat for him."

"Why are you trying to make me look like the bad guy?" Kurt eventually stammered out.

"Why did you bring this up in the first place?"

Kurt leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He shook his head and cleared his throat once, feeling speech almost impossible. "I want to make sure he's not doing anything that could kill him. To make sure he's okay."

"He's fine," Will snapped at him. "James is just fine. He's my best friend. Shouldn't I know if my own best friend is going into a downward state of depression, or something awful like that?" He gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white.

"People hide things like this, William, and James is no exception," Kurt said evenly.

This struck him and his taut features fell flat. "He would never hide things from me."

"He trusts me more than you, and he hid his cutting from me for a while. I think he would." He licked his lips and placed his hands on the table.

The clock on the far wall read nearly four-thirty already and he knew Blaine would be waiting for him to get back. He could imagine the other boy spread across his bed with his hands over his eyes, waiting anxiously to see if he would come back alive or not.

Will took a calm breath and let it out. "I assure you, he's not trying to kill himself. There are too many people that care about him, and he should know that. He wouldn't do that to everyone."

"If he ends up dead tomorrow morning, at least I'll know who to blame," Kurt murmured without a second thought.

"What did you say to me?" he said, astounded, and rose from his chair. The chair was almost knocked to the floor from the force with which he stood up.

Kurt glanced up, startled. "I-It was nothing. All I said was that maybe you should keep a little closer eye on him from now on."

"And you think I'm not doing that already?" Will questioned. "I've been doing that since I saw the freaking scars on his wrists. I've been doing everything I can."

"Did you know he's trying to starve himself now?" he blurted, switching topics. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought from his head.

Will froze. His body visibly locked and his brows knitted together. "What?"

"He's trying to starve himself. Apparently, he's convinced himself that he's too portly for his tastes," Kurt repeated blandly and rested his elbows on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair and at this point, he didn't care how bad it looked.

"Why in the world is he doing that? He looks fine to me. He's perfect." Will paused to nibble on his lower lip. "I don't know why he needs to do that to himself."

Kurt shrugged. "Punishment, maybe?"

"Punishment? For what?" Will asked. From his tone, it was clear he was not happy.

"I don't know. I don't know what's going on in his head." Kurt paused and looked up at the other boy. "Though I wish I knew. I'm worried about him, Will. I don't want anything to happen to him on my—our—account."

Will stayed silent for a long while. He reached down to set his chair up, and then sat down, wrapping his hands around the armrests.

"Did you know he cut over the break?" The words came out breathy and almost panicked. He knew he got Will's attention when the blonde's hands clutched the armrests. "Carson told me about it, and I saw it. The scars. They're awful, Will."

Will covered his face with one hand. "I can't believe he would hide this from me. Of all things to hide, he chooses _this_. Doesn't he know that he can kill himself doing that?"

"Of course he knows; I've said it to him over and over. In fact, I said it to him this morning," Kurt snapped defensively. "I don't know what else to do about it."

"Look, I don't want to spend forever talking about him, okay? I know you may think he's a wonderful topic"—he didn't notice Kurt's face flaring red—"but you wanted this rehearsal, so let's let it be a rehearsal and nothing else." Will threaded his fingers together and ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth.

"Right," Kurt answered and flexed his fingers, shaking his head. "So, the Beatles?"

In ten minutes, they had picked out a Beatles song and had scheduled a few more rehearsals later on in the next week or so. Kurt tucked his phone in his pocket and collected his bag.

"Thank you for meeting with me today, Will," he said gratefully with his head down, staring at his shoes.

Will shrugged and got his feet and pushed in the two chairs. "Well, we got a head start on it. It's better than waiting until the last minute. So, this time next week?"

Kurt nodded his head and made eye contact for the span of three seconds before he had to glance away. He kept his bag close to his side and made his way toward the door.

Will gripped the handle and pushed it open, where it smacked against something hard that gave a, "Shit! Watch where you're swinging that door, dude!"

On the other side, Carson, Simon, and James had their ears pressed to the door. They were rubbing their faces, annoyed, standing a distance away.

"Were you all waiting out here?" Kurt asked incredulously, taking a step back.

"Watch where you put your faces, idiots," Will muttered bitterly.

"Excuse us for wanting to listen in," Simon said rigidly. His emerald eyes were bright as they scanned over Will.

Will curled his lip. "You're not excused."

"And you shouldn't have been listening in," Kurt told him. Everyone turned to stare at him and he went on. "I mean, it's a little rude to eavesdrop on a private rehearsal, isn't it?"

"Ooh, a lecture from Hummel," Carson drawled. "Goody. Must be our lucky day."

"I don't consider it a very lucky day when you get a door to the face," James added and ran his fingers over his cheek where the door must have hit him, hard. It was starting to turn pink.

Will smirked. "Serves you right. Had I known you were out here, I would have opened the door a little harder." He turned to Kurt. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your wing? You know, to check in and prove to the others I didn't kill you?" He chuckled.

And to Kurt, that was another way of saying, _Thanks for coming to be the center of attention. Please run back to your goody-two-shoes friends and your Ken doll boyfriend before things get out of hand._

Kurt nodded briskly and said his goodbyes to the boys, pacing down the hall as fast as he could without it looking hasty.

* * *

"Where have you been? I've been waiting for you for twenty minutes. It's almost five," Adam said, practically hanging over the back of his chair. "And what on earth happened to your face?"

"Oh, thanks," Simon drawled and hurriedly sat down in the chair next to him. He threw his bag on the table in a rush and stopped to even out his breaths. "And I got hit with a door."

Adam whipped around, knocking his glasses askew on his face, and squinted at him. "How on earth did you get hit in the face with a door?" he asked incredulously.

"I got caught eavesdropping on Will and Kurt's rehearsal," he answered and pulled out a textbook from his bag. "Nothing big, though."

"Nothing big?" he repeated, but decided not to evaluate on that aspect. He raised his eyebrows. "What are we working on today, pupil Simon?"

Simon stared at him with gleaming eyes. "We're working on you not calling me that, that's for sure," he said blandly. He found Adam's unamused stare. "And History. We can start on History."

The library was almost vacant at this time in the afternoon, nearing five o'clock. Most everyone was preparing for dinner in half an hour instead of hanging out in the book room. Simon, though, had made earlier arrangements with the East Precursor to run over a chapter in History before a major test later that week.

"I still can't believe you have a History test the week we get back from the break," Adam muttered bitterly and he pulled the heavy textbook into his lap. "That's the worst thing the professors can do to a student."

Simon leaned his elbow against the table and rested his head in his hand, watching his friend. "Yeah. Our entire class argued with him, and then he added an essay with it. So I've got to prepare for a one-hundred-question test _and _an essay. Joy."

"Such a joy," he agreed and flipped a page.

"And it's all timed!" he protested sadly.

Adam sighed. "That's depressing," he murmured.

"Thanks for doing this with me, Adam," he said sincerely.

He looked over the top of the book at him. "It's not a problem. I'm still tutoring Kurt in Physics, you know, and he seems to understand it now. He's getting better grades," he said.

"You sound pleased." The corner of his lips went up.

"Of course I'm pleased," Adam said, skimming the words on the page in front of him. "All these weeks of tutoring would be a waste. And I swear, if he doesn't ace the final exam, I don't know what I'll do."

Simon merely chuckled.

"So what are Kurt and Will rehearsing for? And why are they rehearsing together? I thought it would be a battlefield between them," Adam went on.

"Between _them_? No. Think if Blaine and Will had been paired. That would've been much, much worse. World War Three, to give you an image," Simon scoffed, tracing circles in the wood pattern of the table.

"What exactly are they paired for in the first place?"

He chewed on the corner of his lip. "The Spring Show is coming up. It was Lovett's bright idea to make us draw for partners. We're singing duets." He made a face.

Adam let out a short, high-pitched laugh that made him flush pink and cover his mouth. "She's making you pair up? That's awful. And that explains why Will and Kurt are together. It wouldn't make any sense if Kurt had willingly chose Will over Blaine, or any of the others," he mused.

"Yeah. It's pretty bad," he said dully.

"Who's the lucky soul that's your partner?" Adam licked his thumb and flipped to another page.

Simon pulled his head from his hand and buried it in his arms. "Ronnie Starr," he muttered.

"Ronnie?" He nearly dropped the book. "Ronnie is your partner? Oh, good luck with that. I've heard he's insane."

He brought his head back up, his eyes wide in agreement. "He is. Lord, he's the craziest person I've ever talked to in my entire life. He carries that damn camera around with him all the time and insists on taking pictures of everything," he sighed, exhausted. "I am so glad he's not in South. If he was, I think I would have to commit some horrible act to get Markus to move me."

"Can you do that? Intentionally do something bad to get moved, I mean," Adam said and skipped a handful of pages.

"Of course you can. I remember in our freshman year, my first roommate flooded the bathroom in the D hall to get moved to West," he said, hardly able to remember the boy. "He said he couldn't take the idea of living in a sports-dominated wing. Too much athletic equipment to trip over, and not near enough conversations about music and clothes."

Adam raised an eyebrow curiously. "Was he…?"

"No, he wasn't." Simon shook his head dismissively. "He was a drama nerd. That's why he wanted to be moved to West."

"If he flooded a bathroom, how did he get into West and not into another wing?"

"West is the miscellaneous wing," Simon explained. "It's where everyone who doesn't have a place gets put. It's why their wing is significantly larger than all the other wings."

Adam nodded slowly in understanding.

"In fact, I often wonder why I'm still in South," he mused under his breath. "I'm not athletic. I can hardly throw a football to save my life and I almost pass out after running half a mile."

"You were put in there for one reason or another," Adam mumbled. "If you feel so strongly about it, you can always move into East."

Simon perked. "East? Why would I move there?" He caught the pointed glare. "I mean, besides you being there and everything."

"You're smart, Simon," he said carefully and leaned his arms against the table. "I bet you could survive there. You'd enjoy it, I know. We have academic decathlons every winter, and every year at the start of each term we clean the solar system models, and we always get first dibs on the new arrivals that come into the library every two months."

Simon laughed at Adam's particularly pleased expression. "I don't know. It seems a little too high society for me. I'm afraid I wouldn't know enough to get by," he said.

"You'd get by fine enough. If you ever feel like changing wings, let me know. I'll pull out the spare bed in my room and move a few of my computers, but we can make it work." Adam looked down at the book, smiling.

Suddenly a thought came to Simon and he leaned forward. "You know, the whole conversation about moving… It reminded me of something I wanted to ask you," he said deviously.

"I don't like that smirk on your face, Dougray," Adam said vigilantly. "That always means you've got something dreadfully horrific under your sleeve, which means I most likely won't want to hear it."

"Relax, four eyes. It's not terrible," he said lightly. He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you would maybe think about joining the Warblers."

Adam wrinkled his nose, making his glasses rise higher on his face. "The Warblers? No—Why would—I can't even—_No. _No, Simon."

"Why not?" He tilted his head to the side pleadingly.

"I can't even sing, and last time I checked, that was a requirement for joining a choir," he hissed and pushed the book away from him.

Simon grinned gleefully. "Oh, come on. I bet you can sing. Everyone can sing."

"Dex and Leo can't sing. They sound like squeaky little rats," he pointed out and slumped back in his chair, knitting his arms over his chest.

"That's because they _are _squeaky little rats. Besides, all their time is filled up thinking of ways to annoy everyone else, so they couldn't possibly fit choir into their schedules." He rolled his eyes. "But my point is, everyone can sing. Even you can sing."

"I can't," he stated.

Simon smiled. "Have you tried?"

"No, but—"

"That's the only way you're ever going to find out," he interjected and pushed back from the table, getting to his feet. He held out a hand. "Come on."

Adam stared at his hand with the same expression he would use if he was looking at a time bomb with ten seconds left on the clock. "What do you mean by that?" he questioned squeakily.

"I mean," he said and grabbed Adam's wrist, pulling him to his feet, "that I want you to sing for me."

"Sing for you? As if." The East Precursor plopped back down in his chair the first chance he had.

Simon propped his hands on his hips. "Please? Do it for me? I know you can, Adam. Give it a try. I'll even sing with you, if that makes it better."

"Now you want me to sing _with _you? You're out of your mind if you think that I'll actually sing with _you_—"

But he was cut off by the smooth melody that the other boy started to sing.

_Hold my gun and watch the door,_

_Pick the lock and cut the phone,_

_Keep your head up, love,_

_Nobody here can stop us,_

_Grab the bags when sirens call,_

_We're out the window, through the yard,_

_Keep it locked up tight, _

_Nobody here can stop us_

Simon's face was lit with a wide smile and he hoisted Adam to his feet without warning. He danced around the table, jumping onto one of the chairs and throwing his hands above his head. He had one look on his face that read _Come on! Sing!_

Slowly but surely, Adam opened his mouth and mumbled the words, growing more confident as the song went on.

_Baby, I've had this same dream, where I wake up wondering what it really means,_

_If the world came running down,_

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_Baby, they've got us under, but we'll take whatever we want,_

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_You get the car, I'll get the cash,_

_We'll take the money and run_

Adam watched as the other boy leapt onto the table, teetering on the weak legs for a moment before springing off and dancing around the circular tables dotted around the room. He had no other choice but to follow close behind him, the words humming in his chest.

_They'll come running through the door,_

_Shattered glass across the floor,_

_Oh, they think they know but we both know they don't,_

_Oh, we did our crime and got away,_

_We stole the gold and made the day,_

_And we both smiling know they saying, ain't nobody here can stop us_

Then for a frightening moment, Adam heard his own voice cut through the air and he slapped his lips shut, eyes wide. It was chirpy and high and clear and nothing like he had expected.

Simon waved a hand at him to continue, practically skipping around the library. Adam didn't have to think twice before jumping back where he left off.

_Baby, I've had this same dream where I wake up wondering what it really means,_

_If the world came running down,_

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_Baby, they've got us under but we'll take whatever we want,_

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_You take the car, I'll get the cash,_

_We'll take the money and run_

The library's other occupants turned their heads out of their books to look at the two students bouncing around the room, chasing each other around the tables. One's glasses kept sliding off his nose until finally he ripped them off his face and discarded them on an empty table, not breaking his pace.

_Oh, I keep waking up in an empty bed,_

_And it's reminding me of all the things I should have said,_

_And, oh, we could have had,_

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_Baby, they've got us under but we'll take whatever we want,_

_If it was you and me against the world, _

_You get the car, I'll take the cash,_

_We'll take the money and run_

The smile was plastered to Adam's face, unable to be peeled off. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice reverberating in the library, hearing it hit the ceiling and the walls and bounce back to him. And it seemed that Simon did as well, because he was smiling, too.

The dark haired boy made a sudden jump and slid cleanly across one of the empty tables. He slipped off the edge and landed neatly on his feet. Adam chose to make the circle around the table, not wanting to risk it.

_If it was you and me against the world,_

_Baby, they've got our number but we'll take whatever we want,_

_If it was you and me against the world, _

_You get the car, I'll get the cash,_

_We'll take the money and run,_

_It's you and me against the world_

As soon as the lyrics ended, Adam took in a sharp gasp of breath. His lungs ached like someone had punctured a hole in them, like he couldn't get enough air. He collapsed in his chair, panting. He looked up at Simon, but all he saw was a dark blur.

"That was amazing!" Simon cheered, a little breathless himself. He leaned against the table and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in the process. When he removed his hand, his hair stuck up. "I knew you could sing, but not like that!"

"Then I guess… I did… alright?" he gasped and blinked.

"Obviously!" he exclaimed. "Now you have to join the Warblers! It's basically a given!"

Adam stood up shakily, his legs made of jelly. He wandered over to where his glasses lay on a table and placed them carefully on his face. He blinked to adjust. "I can't, Simon," he declined.

Still breathing hard, Simon's smile dropped at the corners. "What? Why? You're so good."

"I have my grades to tend to," he mentioned and shut the cover of Simon's History book, pushing it back across the table. "Being in the Warblers would only give me more to do, give me more stress. I'm sorry."

"Oh, come on, Adam. You and I both know you have straight A's in every single one of your classes. If you get scores any higher than what you have, you'll—you'll be in line as the smartest guy in this school."

The thought made Adam push his glasses up his nose. "That's what I'm aiming for. I want to be the valedictorian of our class. Next year, when we graduate," he said and the words made sparks erupt on his tongue.

Simon rubbed his face and said, "You're a shoo-in for that already. There's no doubt that you will be. Please? We can always use another Warbler."

"I don't want to think about it right now, Simon," Adam said in a sigh. "All I want to do is go to dinner and finish up the book I'm reading. It's—"

"It's 'Wuthering Heights', I'm guessing," the dark haired boy finished for him in a low tone as he scraped his textbook off the table and dropped it in his bag. "And I would know because that's your favorite book. You quoted it all the time last year. In fact…"

He cleared his throat and began mockingly, "'Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only _do _not leave m in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I _cannot _live without my life! I _cannot _live without my soul!' And that is from chapter sixteen."

Adam stood frozen where he was, unable to move. He narrowed his eyes to slits.

"I only decline your offer to join the Warblers and then you think it's okay to quote my favorite novel in a contemptuous tone?" he nearly spat. He shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You act like I killed your cat with a chainsaw instead!"

"Just think about it, Adam," Simon said, the words a growl in his throat, and he pushed past the other boy. "There are other things besides grades and homework. There's this thing called fun, something you don't understand the concept of."

* * *

"How did your death sentence with the devil go?" Wes asked sarcastically that evening at dinner. He picked at his food unenthusiastically and eventually set his fork down, not hungry enough to stuff his face.

Kurt stared up at him past his lashes, a warning glare, and stirred his soup leisurely.

"Yeah, how did that go?" Cody chimed in, pausing his conversation with Thomas about the baseball tryouts coming up that weekend. He had been talking about that nonstop the entire day and it was surprising to know how much there was about it to even talk about.

Kurt was strongly aware of Blaine listening carefully, though his chin was resting on his hand and he stabbed at his salad menacingly, looking in a daze. He had been silent all through dinner.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Kurt answered and took a sip of his water. No on smiled or nodded in agreement and they all waited for a serious answer. "It went well. We got our song picked out for the Spring Show already. Nothing very exciting, really."

"That's it?" David asked, like he expected more. "That's all that happened?"

Kurt felt his face grow warm. "What did you think would happen?"

"The world would explode?" Thomas answered.

"Will would turn into a zombie and attempt to eat your brain and guts?" Wes tried, which got a lot of strange stares.

"It would start the next Civil War?" Cody murmured and titled his head to the side in thought.

Kurt shook his head. "You boys have some insane ideas. But no, that's not what happened. All we did was sit in the commons for an hour and discuss songs. I played a few from my phone and we listened, sung a few bars, and decided. It was your average duet rehearsal. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Was James there?" Blaine said quietly. It was the first time he had spoken since dinner began.

"He was there," Kurt said rigidly, feeling the breath catch in his throat, "but he didn't do anything. He was doing homework when we came in, and then he left to give us privacy. He didn't stay or anything, if that's what you're thinking."

Blaine lifted a shoulder. "Just wondering, that's all."

Then he remained silent for the rest of dinner.

* * *

An hour after dinner ended, Kurt headed across the hall, a bag slung over his shoulder and a pillow clutched to his chest. He idled outside Blaine's door with his hand raised, ready to knock. Finally, he rapped his knuckles three times against the door and drew back his hand quickly.

Ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed, and Kurt ducked his head and turned to go back to his own room, thinking it was a stupid idea. The door opened with a creak from its hinges and Blaine poked his head out.

"Kurt? What are you doing?" he asked and blinked.

"Oh." Kurt stopped where he was, half turned toward his room. He faced Blaine and tightened his hold on his pillow.

"Hi. I was, um, hoping we could maybe start over." He could tell that his face was starting to turn pink and he ran one hand through his hair.

Waiting for Blaine's response, he tugged at the hem of the shirt he had changed into. It was Finn's old shirt from last year, a football tee for the Buckeyes that reached down to his knees. He had also changed into clean sweatpants.

"Start over with what?" Blaine questioned, clearly clueless, and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Kurt sighed and let his hands play with the strap of his bag. "Everything. I know me being paired with Will for the Spring Show is bugging you. Don't even argue with me because you know it's true," he said when he saw Blaine open his mouth to object. "Anyway, I was hoping if I could possibly spend the night with you. I brought movies." He gestured to the bag over his shoulder and pulled out a thin case.

Blaine took it and scanned the cover. "'The Notebook'," he murmured and smiled. He handed it back to Kurt. "What else is there?"

"The typical movie night picks. 'Twilight', 'The Wizard of Oz', 'West Side Story.' That kind of stuff," he explained with a hint of a grin.

"The last two I wouldn't mind, but there is no way in hell I'm watching a cheap vampire flick where they don't burn when you push them in sunlight," Blaine laughed. "Even you wouldn't watch it."

Kurt bit on his lip, smiling. "Would you watch it with me, even if we weren't watching it at all?"

Without answering, Blaine stepped forward, cupping his hand around the other boy's cheek. He kissed him shortly, but with enough passion to make both of them grow weak in the knees.

"Is that a yes?" Kurt asked breathlessly when they'd parted.

"That's a definite yes," Blaine whispered and brushed the bridge of his nose against Kurt's. "Come in. We'll get started." He pulled Kurt out of the hallway and into his room.

Kurt followed him in, donning a smile, and set his bag on the floor beside Blaine's bureau. He tucked the pillow close to him and watched as Blaine tidied his bed, straightening his sheets and fluffing the pillows. He pulled out another thick blanket from a storage bin underneath the bed and tossed it on the bed. Kurt perched precariously on the foot of the bed.

"So, I already know everyone asked you about it," Blaine started, "but how was your rehearsal today? With Will." As he said the blonde's name, he punched a pillow and then set it up against the headboard. He looked over at Kurt when he did not get a quick response. "And I want an actual answer this time."

Kurt wrapped his arms around his pillow and swallowed over the lump growing in his throat. "Um, it went okay, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"At least, I think it went okay," he corrected and played with a loose thread coming off the pillow case.

Blaine grabbed his laptop from the desk in the corner and unplugged it. "What does that mean? What happened, exactly?"

"Nothing really happened. Nothing exciting," Kurt said and got off the bed to grab his bag. He brought it back and pulled the flap back, rummaging through it. He brought out a DVD at random without really looking at the cover and slid it across the bed to Blaine.

"You can tell me what happened, Kurt, you know that." Blaine settled at the head of the bed with the computer on his lap. The moment he turned it on, blue light flashed against his face and he blinked. His fingers tapped against the keys as he typed in his password and he set the device down on the bed to look at Kurt.

Kurt crawled up to the head and grabbed his pillow. "It was boring. We only looked at music for an hour."

Blaine shook his head and stood up. He crossed the room to the bureau and, staring into the mirror, he removed the contacts from his eyes.

"There is no way you both looked at music choices for one hour. Will can't sit still for more than five minutes, let alone for sixty. Plus, he's too straight forward with everything. I imagined him giving you an idea and telling you to get out in under thirty seconds," he said.

"That's not the way it happened," Kurt murmured. He tucked himself under the soft, wrinkled covers of Blaine's bed and placed his pillow behind his head.

The contacts from his eyes went straight into a small container and Blaine pulled out a pair of sleek wire glasses from a wider case. He wiped the lenses with his shirt as he came back to the bed. "Well, how did it happen?"

"We tastefully discussed music," Kurt said. He waited, then added, "And he sung for me."

Blaine froze where he was, hands up to his face adjusting his glasses. "Wait, he _sung _for you?"

"Your glasses look nice. Are they new?"

"What? No. They're the same ones I've had for years, but that's not the point. Will—the Will I dated, the asshole—sung for you today?" Blaine repeated, sounding out the words in his mouth. "You're kidding me. You're absolutely kidding me."

Kurt folded his hands together. He crawled to his knees and took the DVD case into his hands, flipping it open and shut repeatedly.

"I wouldn't joke about something like this," he said. "I admitted that I'd never heard him sing before, and if we were going to choose a song, I'd have to hear what he sounded like, and he sung for me. It wasn't that complicated."

"You kind of lost me at 'I wouldn't joke,'" Blaine said in all seriousness.

Sighing, Kurt covered his face. "William Fitzroy sung for me. Get that through your head, okay? Got it so far?"

"You don't have to be so snappy about it," he mumbled. "But yes, I get it. Go on." He leaned back against the headboard and pulled the computer on his lap and immersed himself with clicking open the Internet browser.

"Anyway," Kurt continued on, the case still in his hands, "he sung for me today and I found myself quite impressed by his performance." He stopped in the case of interruption. When there was none, he looked over.

"He impressed a lot of people when he used to sing." Blaine licked his lips and closed the browser. He clicked randomly on his desktop. "Including me."

"Why did he stop singing?" Kurt questioned.

"What did he sing today?"

"Answer my question first."

Blaine sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. "He just didn't want to do it anymore, but his mom made him stay in the Warblers. She thinks he could get famous and rich off singing when he's older." He paused to chuckle. "Like he needs any more money. He's rolling in it because his mom's a widely-known doctor, if you didn't know. She makes enough in a year to buy three small houses in the nicer part of Columbus."

Kurt perked and raised an eyebrow. He scooted closer to him and leaned his head against his shoulder. "Really? I had no idea." An image of the woman in the arm cast from the Valentine's brunch flashed in front of his eyes, the woman whose son was a spitting image of her.

"Oh, yeah. She's worked at a lot of hospitals around the country, and gives seminars to interns at medical schools, but her main position is at a hospital near Lima," Blaine said, and his tone indicated that he'd already told that story more than he'd cared to.

"Lima?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, and he handed him the DVD case to play the movie.

"Actually, it's between here and Lima. About in the middle, but closer to Lima."

"Why wouldn't she be working somewhere closer to home? I mean, she and Will live in Westerville, right?"

Blaine nodded and slipped the disc into the laptop and waited patiently for it to load.

"They do, but I don't know," he answered. "I guess it pays a lot more than other places she's been before. And maybe she's here because Will's happy. He's going to a great school and has great friends, and I suppose she didn't want to take him away from that."

"Wow," Kurt said and bit his lip. "But I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to pack up and move somewhere else. I bet his mom could find a much better job somewhere else, like New York or California. There are better paying jobs there."

"I don't think it's about the money. In fact, I _know _it's not about the money," Blaine said dully. He reached over to flick off the lamp on the bedside table and he settled back under the covers, the laptop on his lap. "Freshman year, she got him some kind of fancy European sports car. I think it was a Porche. He didn't have his license yet, so it sat in their garage until he was able to drive it."

Kurt looped his arm through Blaine's. "Did he ever drive it?"

The screen turned black before starting in on the opening credits. Blaine shook his head. "The only time he drove it was to take it back to the dealership. He traded it for a smaller car that was less… flashy, I guess. It's the one he has now. The gray Nissan."

"I see," he hummed and snuggled closer.

Both of them fell silent as the movie's title came up on the screen. Kurt had grabbed one at random and had no idea what it was. They both figured out a moment later that he had picked 'The Last Song.' Kurt knew this movie, and the book, by heart, and he could almost recite every line, down to the last ones.

"Now back to my question," Blaine whispered and adjusted the computer so both of them could see it clearly. "What did he sing for you?"

"The Script," Kurt answered almost inaudibly. He didn't know how Blaine would take it, considering it was the same artist they'd sung for the brunch. He sunk lower under the sheets.

Blaine only hummed in understanding and did not ask the title of the song. He waited for the movie to play and five minutes in, he asked, "How was he?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt tucked his arm around Blaine's waist and inhaled the sweet scent of spearmint and cologne, maybe.

"Was he an ass to you?"

"No, he was a perfect angel in term of being an ass."

"Someone probably bribed him."

Kurt lifted his head to properly look at him. "Just because he was being nice to me doesn't mean he was bribed."

"Then why else would he be nice to you?"

Picking on his lip muffled his talking. "Because maybe he found the goodness in his heart. I don't know."

Blaine stifled a laugh. "Will has no goodness left in his heart; it was sucked out a long time ago. He was probably bribed by the fact that we're dating and he knows that if he was a total jerk to you, you would tell me and everyone and then Wes would be after him," he said lowly, but with humor.

"Oh, come on, Blaine," Kurt said sharply. "Maybe he was being out of character for once and decided to be nice to me. He doesn't exactly have anything against me. For you, on the other hand, I don't think I could say the same…"

"He has everything in the world against me," Blaine said. "Everything. Even though he's pushed me down the stairs more times than I can count."

"Why does he do that?"

"To get on my nerves. And to possibly break a bone."

Kurt shook his head. "Okay, look. Can we stop talking about this for right now? Let's just enjoy the movie and not worry about Will. Or James, for that matter. Or any of them. Okay?" He cupped his hand around Blaine's chin and pulled his face toward him, away from the laptop screen. "Okay?"

"You've said 'okay' three times just now," Blaine breathed, his eyes fixed on Kurt's lips.

"Why were you counting?" he whispered, amused.

Blaine ran his thumb across Kurt's lower lip. "I don't know."

Kurt ducked his head momentarily to laugh, and a moment later, Blaine pulled his chin up. He leaned forward to press their lips together for a few seconds. Kurt pulled back, smiling.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said and traced the hallows under Kurt's eyes, his lips brushing Kurt's as he talked.

"For what?" It was difficult to breathe, what with the heat between their bodies and their lips so close.

"Everything. I just want you to know that I love you," Blaine breathed. He didn't wait for Kurt's reply to kiss him again.

* * *

Late that night, a sudden bang against the South Precursor's door had him bolting straight up in bed, blinking his eyes lethargically. It came again and for a crazy instant he thought someone was banging against his door with a jackhammer.

Simon climbed out of bed, his foot snagging on the cord that hooked his laptop to the wall and he almost pitched headfirst into his dresser. But he caught himself, just as another round of knocks sounded on the door.

"Simon! Open up!" came a hurried voice.

He rubbed his face and kicked the laptop out of the way, turning on the lamp on his dresser as he trudged forward. He reached the door and twisted the knob, yanking it open.

"Thank God! I thought you would've been asleep by now!" Adam Harvey ran his hands nervously through his short hair.

"I _was _asleep, Adam. You just woke me up," Simon said blearily. He leaned his weight against the wall. "What in the world are you doing out here? It's two in the morning and if you haven't figured, we still have class tomorrow."

A smug look crossed the other boy's face. "And you thought _I_ was the one who was concerned with their grades."

"I'm not concerned with my grades," he said. "I'm concerned with the fact that I'm not sleeping right now. What's wrong?"

The look melted off Adam's face. "Oh. Nothing's wrong," he said and folded his hands in front of him.

"Then why in the world are you standing at my door in the middle of the night?" Simon questioned and rubbed his eyes. "You've already woken me up, so I trust you don't want to wake anyone else up, either."

"Right, right," Adam mumbled. "I came to tell you that I've done a lot of thinking, and—"

"This sounds like a 'coming out' speech but I know that's not the case," Simon interrupted. "Sorry, go on."

He huffed. "Anyway, I've decided that I will accept your petty offer to join the Warblers," he said, picking out his words with care.

If Simon wasn't awake before, he was now. He sprung forward and latched his arms around Adam, picking him up off the floor and swinging him around in a circle. Adam was startled by this and clutched his glasses to keep them from falling off his face.

"That's so awesome! I knew you would finally come to!" Simon cheered and placed him back on his feet.

Adam slapped a hand over his mouth and muffled the words that came out next. "Shh," he said. "What was that you said earlier about not wanting to wake anyone up?"

Simon removed his hand. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "Right. But still! This is so great, Adam! Now all we need to do is set up an audition with Lovett and you're as good as in!"

He froze. "An a-audition?"

"Yeah, of course. Why, did you not think you would have to audition?" he asked, half hoping his friend wasn't serious. His cheerful grin started to fade.

Adam stepped back from the door and tucked his hands to himself. "No, I-I was just thinking—I thought that maybe—"

"It's fine if you did," Simon said gently. "It's okay. We'll go in this weekend, during the baseball tryouts, and ask Lovett then if she would consider opening a spot for you. It'll be a piece of cake."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay. That…. that sounds good."

Simon flashed a smile that gleamed in the near darkness, a high-watt bulb. "Awesome. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to attempt to get some sleep before tomorrow," he said and took a step back into his room.

"Of course," Adam mumbled and retreated into the hallway as well. "I'll see you this weekend, then."

"Actually, you'll be seeing me tomorrow," Simon pointed out with one last tired grin, "but whatever floats your boat." He gave a nod and shut the door.

Adam had to do everything he could to keep from shrieking and jumping up and down. He held his hands over his mouth, the butterflies surfacing in his stomach.

There was no way he would sleep tonight.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The weekend of baseball tryouts arrives and puts one small boy in complete freak out mode. Not because of the tryouts themselves, but of who is competing against him. South makes another move in the infamous wing war, and Nationals comes closer, one week at a time._


	24. Tryouts

_Hello, readers._

_I apologize for the late update on this story. My last fic, Seven Days, was taking up a bit of time to write, not to mention all the crap that I've got going on in school. Thank you for those who have stuck with this story this far. It means the world to me that people are actually reading this, something I created._

_As always, reviews are appreciated._

_Anyway, disclaimer: I do not own Glee. But I do own the Elites._

* * *

**Tryouts**

* * *

**There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. – Oscar Wilde**

* * *

"Come on, Cody! Catch that ball!"

Kurt stared at Wes oddly. "What kind of cheer is that?"

"It's an encouraging cheer," Wes explained and sat back down and lowered his arms from over his head. "What other kind of cheers are there?"

"Plenty of other ones, I'm sure. Yours just sounds…" He trailed off, unsure.

"Different. Very different," Blaine substituted with a grin.

A small voice from the field shouted back at them, "Shut up, Wes! Don't make me come over there!" The figure that was shouting at them waved his glove at them threateningly.

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Wes mumbled.

The day of baseball tryouts found half the student body milling around the two diamonds, located far behind the track and equipment house. Most were wandering around in small packs, talking to one another as members of their own wing began tryouts for the two teams that were available.

The two teams, Kurt learned, were the school team—Dalton's team—and a wing team. Each wing had their own team that would participate in small scrimmages and games with other wings. Later on in the season, there would be a short series for the spring title. It was similar to the World Series, yet on much smaller terms.

Dalton's team consisted of a certain few from each wing team. It was made up of the finest players in the school, and this team would play against other schools in the district in the coming weeks.

The majority of the boys out on the field belonged to North; South followed up with two less; West and East had the same, with twenty boys wanting to have a spot on hopefully one of the teams, if not both.

At this point in time, four tall men, all with graying hair and athletic frames, leaned against the chain link fence behind home plate, right in front of the set of bleachers where Kurt, Blaine, David, and Wes sat. They were assumed to be the coaches of the four teams. Another man stood beside them; he was slightly younger, perhaps mid-twenties, and Kurt presumed him to be an assistant.

The boys were scattered across the field. They were busy warming up, half of them tossing balls back and forth, the other half swinging bats with a black weight around the barrel.

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon, the sun was out and shining across the field, and the traces of winter were starting to fade. April was beginning to come and take over, though it was just the end of March. The grass was transitioning to an ugly brown to a luscious emerald green, and the flowers planted in the garden and on either side of the walkways around the school were in the early stages of blooming.

"Speaking of cheers," Blaine said and nudged Kurt in the ribs, "don't you know a few yourself? You did say you were a cheerleader back at McKinley." A smirk found its way onto his face.

Kurt's face went pink. "That may have been true, but we didn't really do many cheers, per say. It was all flips and routines set to music. Nothing big," he said quickly.

By now, Wes and David were tuned in. As soon as they'd heard Blaine say "cheerleader" they gave him their attentions. Wes had thought he meant girls in short skirts, and his face dropped when he realized they were talking about Kurt instead.

"Yeah, Kurt, show us a few cheers," David urged with a smile. "We'd like to see something."

Kurt shook his head hastily. "Oh, no. I couldn't. We didn't cheer anything. Sure, we attended football games and the occasional basketball game, but we didn't cheer."

"Then what did you do? The last time I checked, cheerleaders were supposed to cheer. Hence the name," Wes said expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

"Flips and routines," he repeated. Now he was aware of all three boys listening intently to him. "It was all flips and routines. And some auto-tuned pop music, too."

"Did you have pompoms?" Blaine asked, a smile playing on his lips. He caught Kurt's flat stare. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know I was going to ask that sometime. You were a cheerleader once. Surely you used pompoms."

Kurt bristled. "Yes, we used pompoms. But if any of you are expecting to see them, prepare yourselves for disappointment. They're packed away in a box with the uniform in my closet back in Lima." He sat up a little straighter and smirked happily.

David rolled his eyes and braced one hand against the bleachers. "So you don't have the accessories. At least you could show us something. Do a back flip for us. I'm pretty sure that would get some attention," he snickered.

"I don't _want _to bring myself any attention," he said quickly. "If you haven't noticed, I don't think I'm the most likeable person here." He cast a look over the rest of the diamond and the bleachers at the rest of the boys. "I'm pretty sure if I started showing off, that would increase my hate factor."

"They don't like you because you're just so amazing," Blaine explained importantly, taking Kurt's hands in his own. "First, you're an amazing singer and brought the Warblers to a win at Regionals for the first time in a while. Second, your grades are skyrocketing. Have you seen your Physics grade lately?"

Kurt stared at him. "Have _you _seen my Physics grade?"

"I bumped into your professor in the hall the other day and he recognized me from the Warblers' yearbook photo, and he knew I knew you. He couldn't stop going on about how you have the highest grade out of all his classes," he described as Kurt's face turned a further shade of scarlet. "Anyway, and third, you're an overall good person."

Inwardly Kurt doubted the last one. He turned to face the field with a huff to the three of them and rested his chin in his hands, and his elbows on his knees.

There was no way Blaine could possibly think he was a good person. There were too many things he'd done in the last semester that dipped toward the lower part of the Good Person scale. In fact, he'd done more cruel things in the past semester than he'd ever done in his sixteen, almost seventeen, years.

There were times he could remember snapping at Blaine, snapping at James, snapping at anyone who did so much as stare in his general direction. He had been slightly sarcastic to teachers after a long night of studying and no sleep. Fights with his friends, fights with James, small flares with Blaine. He had once been selfish and rude and hateful, and that was not something to comfort him.

Kurt buried his face in his hands.

He only looked up when he heard Wes' voice grow razor sharp, barking, "What in the world are you two doing here?"

"Oh, nothing," Leo Kingsley said casually in his squeaky voice. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he strolled toward them. His blonde hair was parted smoothly to one side.

As expected, Dex Greene was at his side. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "And we could ask the four of you the same question: What are you doing at a sporting event such as this? Actually, it's not so much of a sporting event, really. More of a—"

"We're cheering on one of our friends," David interrupted snippily. "And shouldn't you two be inside, doing homework, or something? Or at least messing up another wing?"

Leo jabbed a finger at him. "Watch it, Rivers. You were a part of that whole ordeal as much as we were. If I were you, I'd be smart and keep my mouth shut."

David merely rolled his eyes, but turned his back to them and kept quiet.

"What are you guys doing here?" Blaine asked and peered down from the top seat of the bleachers at them. He had his hands wrapped around the metal beam they were sitting on and looked like he was about to fall forward, so Kurt looped his arm through his.

Kurt wondered that as well, though he did not say it. He hadn't seen Leo and Dex patrolling the hallways like usual. Either they were up to something that would eventually cause the downfall of the entire school, or they were simply doing everyone a favor and staying out of sight.

"We want to enjoy the festivities. We heard the baseball team was holding tryouts today and we wanted to see how everyone did. Besides, it's time to take a bit of a break from looking at colleges," Dex told him.

David blinked. "You're looking at colleges already? You're only… what? Fourteen?"

"Fourteen and a half," Leo corrected snippily. "And yes, we've been looking at colleges. We want to plan our futures as soon as possible."

"And your grades? Are they high enough to get into some of the colleges you want?" Wes questioned.

Dex smirked. "I'm sure they are. They're higher than yours, that's for sure."

Wes' face fell flat and he stared murderously at the small boy. He looked about to jump over the edge of the bleachers, right on top of him, when Leo said, "Actually, we just got kicked out of the building until the end of the day. That's why we're out here."

"Yeah, we got in trouble for trying to sneak live rabbits into Markus' office," Dex said happily.

"Rabbits?" Wes repeated. "Why were you trying to do that?"

Leo gave an amused shrug. "We wanted to pull an Adam Harvey and run a little experiment. We were trying to see if Markus was really allergic to rabbit fur and allergens like we've heard."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "And you actually thought you would get away with that?"

"Note to any of you if you ever try and do that," Dex told them and narrowed his eyes. "Never hang upside down from the ceiling vent with a cage of baby bunnies right above the desk while you're four inches away from touching the top of the Dean's head.

"It doesn't work," Leo chipped in helpfully.

"Especially when the guy holding the rope isn't strong enough and lets go." Dex glared at his friend.

Leo waved his hand at him. "You know it wasn't completely my fault. You need to lay off the Cheetos, my friend."

"And they wonder why it didn't work," Kurt mumbled, and he caught a grin from Blaine.

"In other news, isn't that little twerp trying for a place?" Leo asked loudly.

David bit his lip and bumped Wes in the elbow to knock the murderous glare off his face. "If by twerp, you mean Cody, then yes, he's trying out. And he's going to make it."

"What makes you say that?"

"He says he's a pretty good catcher," Kurt chipped in. "If he's true to what he says, then I'll believe him."

Dex made a _pshht _noise of disbelief and made his way around the bleachers. "Yeah, right. He's just trying to boost his morale by talking up his game like that. He's not really that good. I mean, he's so short. How do you expect him to do much of anything other than be a ball boy, if that?"

"Have you even seen him play?"

Leo smoothed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. "Well, no, but—"

"Then keep your mouths shut," Blaine ordered. "Wait until tryouts are over. Then you both can make your judgments. But when Cody makes both teams, you'll be eating your words."

The two boys climbed onto the bleachers and plopped down on the first row. "We'll see," they said in unison, narrowing their eyes, and faced the field.

"I hope they hurry up and start," Wes moaned. "This wait is killing me."

"Hey, at least it's not as bad as Blaine's fencing tryouts freshman year," David mentioned helpfully. "Those things took _forever _to get through, even if there weren't that many people trying out for the team."

Kurt looked to Blaine in surprise. "You do fencing?"

"Only in the late spring. It's not a big deal," Blaine dismissed quickly.

"Don't listen to a word he says. It's a huge deal," Wes said over his talking. "It's the biggest deal in the entire school. We treat it as the biggest deal in the universe. Because it is."

"Actually, it's sort of what started the wing war, now that I think about it," David pitched it thoughtfully. "You know how South is specially known for being top in sports, right? Well, back a few years ago, North had this sudden winning streak that smashed South into dust."

"It was really weird," Wes took over. "But every year since then, someone from North, namely Blaine"—he looked past Kurt at the blushing boy with his hands over his face—"has taken the trophy for the finals at the end of the year."

Blaine shook his head. "It hasn't always been me that's won it. The year before we came that boy, Charles, won it. _He _started the streak in winning. Not me."

"But Blaine was the one who kept it going. Even the others on the North team don't have a very good chance," David interjected giddily.

"And now, we're looking to him to keep up the tradition," Wes said proudly.

"Wait, who's on the North team?" Kurt asked. "Obviously Blaine is…"

Wes nodded. "Blaine is. He's pretty much the captain. I mean, he might as well be. He's the best fencer that's ever joined—" He was interrupted by another groan of protest. "_Anyway. _There are a few others that you don't really know. They're not in the Warblers. I think they're Elites."

"Elites?" he repeated. He took a calming breath. "There are way too many cliques at this school. And it's a private school, for crying out loud. We're all the same gender, and we're all supposed to be equal, right?"

David continued on as if Kurt hadn't spoken. "Blaine was an Elite in freshman year, right?"

"Yes, I was," Blaine said through a long sigh. "But that doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, it means everything," Wes said. He looked at Kurt. "It means he was the best of the best. The Elites are like this exclusive little club that has the best fencers from the wing teams, and they're basically the captains of the teams. It's kind of confusing, but it makes sense after a while."

David nodded. "Blaine was in the Elites throughout freshman year until the explosion-slash-breakup happened, and then he became more involved with singing and the Warblers, and then—"

Blaine gave him a strong death glare. "I quit them. You don't have to make it so dramatic, David."

"It has to be dramatic," Wes said adamantly. "I mean, you were an Elite once, Blaine. Once an Elite, always an Elite."

"That means nothing, too." He looked to Kurt. "It was a silly group I was in two years ago."

Wes leaned forward, almost to the point where his chin was resting on Kurt's shoulder. "Elites are not silly. They're the best fencers in the entire school."

Blaine bored holes in his forehead with his stare. "Stop talking through my talk. At any rate, it was a silly group I was a part of. I quit after freshman year because I decided I liked being in the Warblers more than being a part of some group where all our team meetings were about coordinating team shirts and practice times. We weren't really a family, like the Warblers are. It was boring."

"But it had good benefits. Great benefits, actually," David mentioned. "You got the best lunch table in the dining hall, the best seat in class—"

"But that was because the seating charts were set up by alphabet," Blaine interrupted weakly.

"—and the most attention," he finished. "Face it: you were popular once, Blaine. And you have the tacky polo shirts and the team pictures to prove it."

Kurt blinked. "Wow. I never knew that about you. Fencing, the Elites…" He scanned his boyfriend's face carefully.

"It wasn't really something I wanted to look back on," Blaine assured him and waved a hand at him. "Trust me, it wasn't the best part of my life. I kind of wish I could forget it, really."

Wes nodded in agreement. "I kind of wish I could forget that phase of your life, too, considering you used fencing practice as an excuse to suck face with your ex-boyfriend, and we both know he made our lives a living hell."

Kurt froze, unable to move, unable to stare at either of them. "Wait. Hold on. _William _was in the Elites with you?"

Blaine shrugged sheepishly and fixed his eyes on the ground. His upper lip curled distastefully and he did not say anything until Kurt nudged him harder than he should have. "Yes, Will was in the Elites with me. He fenced for South."

"_Fences _for South," David corrected. Now he was watching as the coach blew on a shiny silver whistle to draw the boys on the field into a circle on the pitcher's mound. They crowded around the coaches and listened keenly, gloves and bats by their sides.

"He still fences?" Wes asked him. "Man, I thought he'd quit the team."

David hit him in the ribs with his elbow. "No way. You, of all people, should know that, man. He just quit the Elites."

"I had no idea he fenced," Kurt said in awe. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Blaine lifted his eyes from the ground, blazing. "Why do you care so much?"

Shaking his head blindly, Kurt inhaled sharply. "I'm surprised, that's all. I had no idea he was into that kind of sport. Track, sure, I knew that, considering we went to that meet at the beginning of February for it. Fencing, no. In my mind, I had him in a football uniform or a hockey uniform, not in a fencing uniform."

"What does that matter what sport he plays?"

Words of argument piled on his tongue and he wanted to start snapping, but he swallowed them back and said in place of them, "Nothing. It doesn't matter at all."

Blaine gnawed on his bottom lip instead of replying and wrapped his arms around his torso.

On the field, the coaches had finished talking to the boys and they filed into the dugout, sitting on the metal benches. Kurt kept his eyes on Cody and watched him fill a small paper cup with water from a cooler and down it in one gulp.

This boy wasn't the boy that had befriended Kurt after his transfer. This wasn't the boy who sung like a little canary and found cooking a good use of time instead of a waste of it. This boy was stronger and more single-minded.

Then, Wes whipped around in his seat, which startled Kurt, as well as Blaine.

"What do you want, Twinkie Twins?" Wes spat at the two boys walking toward the diamond.

"Are you still using that nickname for us? You've got to get something better," Carson White told him through a fit of laughter. Beside him, Will would have said something, but was too busy covering his mouth to utter a single word.

Wes made an ugly face at them and turned to David for back up, but found his friend snickering under his breath as well. He sighed loudly.

"And to answer your question," Will said after he had quieted his laughing, "we're here to watch one of our own. He's trying out for the team today, if you were wondering."

"Since when is Simon trying out for the team? You and I both know he has less coordination than a cat," Blaine questioned, voice tense and nosy.

Carson smiled eerily. "Simon's not trying out. And you're right; he can't swing a bat for the life of him, nor can he catch anything."

"Neither of you are trying out for the team," David said and gestured to the two blondes, "because if you were, you'd be out on that field. And you"—he pointed a finger at Will accusingly—"are still fencing, and going out for baseball would only get in the way of fencing."

Will nodded. "Yes. Good job, Rivers. You've narrowed it down quite nicely. And Blaine, are you still on the team? Or did you decide to lay off this time around?" He spoke in a voice like venom and Blaine tensed.

"No, I'm still on the team," he answered as calmly as he could.

"Why? Expecting you could actually have a shot at winning finals for South this year?" Wes sneered and leaned forward so much that David had to grab one of his shoulders to keep him on the bleachers.

Will gave a careless shrug and walked around to the front of the bleachers; Carson followed close behind.

"Oh, maybe. Because I could never compare to Blaine. Not now, not ever. He's absolutely perfect in everything, including fencing. He would have to quit the team in order for me to even have a smidgen of a shot." He promptly sat down in the row in front of them and made eye contact with each boy, his cat-like eyes gleaming.

"I knew it!"

"If I had a sign that said 'sarcasm', I would hold it up right about now," Carson muttered and scanned the dugout.

On the field, the coaches stood off to the side. The assistant had a clipboard and shouted a name that made every single boy jump to their feet, startled. The boy whose name was called remained standing as the rest dropped their shoulders in relief and sat back down.

Kurt was pleased to see Cody was sitting. The small boy was flexing his fingers within a pair of tight batting gloves and he brought one of his feet up to retie the laces, which were a bright red to match the school's colors.

It was easy to pick out the freshmen from the sophomores, juniors, and seniors. The younger-looking boys were bouncing on the balls of their feet out of anxiousness. The sophomores and upperclassmen looked more at ease, more laid back, as they had gone through the audition process once before.

The boy that was called scurried out of the dugout with a bat in his hand and approached the plate. The assistant stood on the plate with a bucket of small, white baseballs at his side. A wide net strung on a metal frame was in front of him to protect him from stray balls. He grabbed a ball and launched the first pitch to the boy.

"But seriously," David said after the boy had hit the three pitches he was given, "who is trying out for the team in your wing?"

Will turned around completely and faced him. He set his hands in his lap. "Why don't you give a guess, Rivers? You're a smart kid. You can figure it out, can't you?"

David gave him a sour look. "Don't be shrewd with me, Will. I was only asking a question."

"And I was only answering it."

"That was a lousy answer," Blaine mumbled, not taking his eyes from the next boy up to the plate.

Will scowled. "I wasn't asking you."

"Well, too bad, because I felt like answering." Blaine wore a smirk, and Kurt chuckled into his hand.

Wes leaned across Kurt to smack Blaine in the arm. "Shut up, will you? Both of you. I can't hear names being called if you two are going at it like this."

"I don't think you could hear the coach even if you tried," David pointed out, trying to hear what name the older man called out next himself.

Will pursed his lips and his usually pale skin turned a light pink. He turned around and sat shoulder to shoulder with Carson. Blaine was busying biting his tongue off to keep from making a remark that would be considered rude, vile, or all around hateful.

The coaches called down the role and, one by one, each boy came up to take three swings. Most of them hit at least one, while others hit all three or none at all. Kurt eagerly waited for the middle of the alphabet to come around and caught himself picking at his cuticles to the point where he broke skin.

"Let me guess," David suddenly said, which made everyone look at him. "It's that weird Ryan guy that's in the Warblers that never says anything, right?"

Carson made a buzzer noise that sounded more like a dying goose than a negative game show effect. "Wrong. He should be coming up any second. They're doing the tryouts in reverse alphabetical order, right?"

Will nodded. "I would think so. They started with W in the beginning."

As soon as he said this, the coach yelled out, loud and clear for once, "_Montgomery!"_

"See? There he is." Will let a pleased grin slip onto his face and he sat up straighter.

Kurt's heart shot into his throat and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe properly. The air was trapped in his lungs as he followed the thin boy that tumbled out of the dugout.

A loose pair of athletic pants hung on his hips and the shirt he was wearing was baggy, like it was two sizes too big for him. A bat was gripped in one hand, both of which donned batting gloves. He wore a pair of worn cleats, laced with blindingly white laces. James squinted into the sun as he walked toward the plate and raised a hand over his eyes.

"It's _James_," Kurt breathed in absolute reverence, and his hands clamped on the metal of the seat. The air rushed out of his lungs and his mouth hung open. He didn't even try to shut it. He had a feeling he looked like an idiot, but this was too surreal. "James is playing baseball?"

"I know, right?" Will said nonchalantly. He tilted his head to the side to watch the dark haired boy approach the plate. "I never imagined him as the baseball type. But he told me this morning that he used to play for years—he said he was a pitcher, but could never hit worth anything."

Kurt blinked repeatedly and he resisted the abrupt urge to stand. He was rendered speechless and he moved his mouth, though no words came out.

"He said he wanted to do something fun this semester," he went on. "I told him that the Warblers were chock full of fun and that he should have his fill with that in itself, but no, his mind was too set on playing baseball." He shook his head.

"I can't believe he's really trying out for the baseball team," Kurt said, able to find words.

Carson wrinkled his nose. "Well, he has to do something to fill all that free time he has."

"There's this little thing called Nationals we're preparing for," Blaine said despondently. "He should be using that free time to practice. And the Spring Show. What about that?"

"Can it, Anderson. We've got the Spring Show under control, and we've only gotten one song for Nationals so far," Carson said to him. "I think he's fine with trying something new this spring. Now shut up so I can watch."

Blaine threw his hands above his head but fell silent.

At the plate, James took his stance, digging his heels into the dirt. It brought up a small cloud around his ankles and he avoided breathing in it. He raised the bat and pulled his arms back, fingers flexing around the handle.

"I had no idea he was left handed," David whispered, afraid of Carson snapping at him if he talked any louder.

"Of course he is," Kurt said without thinking. He was so tuned in to the boy on the field that he didn't notice Blaine gaping at him.

The first pitch flew from the assistant's hand, quick and a blur of white. James swung blindly and heard a loud crack. Instantly he felt a shudder vibrate through the bat and up through his arms, shaking him to the shoulders and making his bones feel like jelly. His eyes fluttered open—he hadn't realized they were shut the entire time—and he saw a trace of the ball head deep out to left field.

Wes kicked Will not so gently in the back. "And you told us he couldn't hit. What was that, then?"

"I don't know," Will snarled and smacked his shin. "Stop hitting me, will you? He told me what he told me. He could've lied, I don't know. All I know is that was a good hit."

"I swear, if this was all just a plot to get back at us—" He motioned to stand up, but David held his arm in an iron grip to keep him seated.

Carson stared at him oddly. "A plot? What kind of plot?"

"Oh, you know, the plot where you say he sucks at baseball, but then he tries out and he's the next Babe Ruth," Blaine said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "which would automatically knock down Cody's chances of making Dalton's team. That kind of plot."

This time, Will met his eyes. "I know you were going a little off the deep end, but this time you're sunk, Blaine. I am honestly telling you right now that we had no idea he was good."

"Maybe it was a lucky swing," Kurt chimed in loud enough to get them to stop bickering.

Though a split second after he finished his suggestion, another crack of the bat sounded and rang through everyone's ears. It attracted their attentions and all they saw was a white blur streaking through the sky, toward right field this time. It landed, hard, on the ground and bounced against the chain link fence at the back of the field.

"Maybe not," Kurt squeaked and sunk into his jacket, hoping it would swallow him up. He tore his eyes away from the grateful, yet superior expression masking James' face and studied the dugout.

All had gone still with the rest of the boys. The majority of them were up against the fence, watching James bat. Cody seemed torn between ripping off his glove and gnawing on his nails to mere stubs and throwing something. Kurt hoped it wasn't the latter. If he could throw as well as he said, things would not go well if he decided to chuck a bat clear across the dugout.

"Lucky swing, my ass," Wes grumbled. "I swear, it's the same thing. It's what happened when that goody-two-shoes decided to join the track team and beat the top time, which happened to be _my _time."

"Would you quit with that damn theory already? It's not true, so calm the hell down," Carson ordered. "I don't know why you'd think we'd be after you like this."

David rolled his eyes. "Because your goal in life is to ruin ours."

"Shut up, it's the last pitch. I don't want to miss it because everyone's fighting over a crackpot conspiracy theory, or whatever you want to call it," Will hissed at them.

The last pitch flew from the assistant's hand and James brought the bat forward with enough force to knock it right back at the assistant. It shot headlong and the man ducked, and the ball barely tipped the top of the netted barrier. Nonetheless it continued on, hitting the ground and bouncing far past second base. It settled somewhere in center field.

Now Wes got to his feet. "Again, lucky swing, my ass. I bet he's a baseball prodigy with some relations to Ty Cobb or Barry Bonds. Don't think I don't know what you two are planning."

Will stood up and faced him. Even though he was on a row lower, they were almost at the same height. Had they both been standing on flat ground, Will would have been a good three inches taller. "Look, Wesley, I don't want to be discourteous to you, but you're getting on my last nerve."

"You're getting on _my _last nerve," Wes said through clenched teeth. "You're always out to get us, no matter if it's in sports or glee club or in stupid school traditions. You need to lay off."

"Hey! Could you possibly be quiet for five minutes? I'd like to see Cody swing a bat without any of you swinging punches!" Kurt said shakily and rose. His voice, intending to come out strong and commanding, came out small and it cracked.

Wes dropped the angry face he had on and Will straightened his shoulders, flattening his lips. Blaine looked up at his boyfriend and he brought a hand to his mouth to chew on his nails. David tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," Kurt huffed and stepped down onto the next row past the blondes. He stomped down somewhat ungracefully to the first row and sat down, crossing his legs and not saying another word. He ran a hand through his hair and took in a calm breath. The others behind him had fallen completely silent. Even Dex and Leo had gone silent.

The small boy was taking his place at the plate and tapped the top of the bat against the dirt. He tapped his toes against the dirt as well and his chest visibly rose as he took a huge breath. Kurt immediately put off scolding the two boys and sat back down.

Cody raised the bat and cocked his arms back. He looked easy and natural in his stance at the plate, carefree and ready to swing. The helmet over his head seemed a little too big and reached down to his chin. The cover over the right ear was gone, the way it was in the major leagues. He pulled the bat off his shoulder and prepared to swing when the ball came.

Instead of the deafening crack that everyone expected, there was a dull, metallic thunk. The ball had collided with the bat, but almost at the handle instead of the barrel. It bounced off the bat and soared a good distance, landing in a dull spot between third and second.

Surprised, Cody stood still. He cocked the bat under his arm, giving the assistant the gesture with his hand to wait, and hastily straightened his gloves. He shook out his hands and curled and uncurled his fingers repeatedly. He had hit the ball in a way that the vibrations had made his arms go numb momentarily.

He yanked his gloves back on and molded his hands around the handle. His jaw was clearly clenched and he gave a nod to the assistant.

The next two pitches were somewhat better, the first one sailing a little beyond second base and the second one hitting the ground right off, bouncing wildly past first.

After the third ball finally came to a stop in the outfield, he dropped one hand from the bat. He cast a look back at the bleachers and instinctively Kurt flashed him a smile and a thumbs up. Cody shrugged in reply and stalked off the field and into the dugout.

Will cleared his throat, finally gaining the ability to talk again. "So, not to be rude or anything, but I don't remember him being this awful."

* * *

Adam Harvey stopped where he was at the double doors to the choir room. He clasped his hands together. "I can't do it," he said simply and instantaneously started walking away, all while shaking his head.

Simon reached back and caught him by the shoulders. "Oh, yes you can."

"No, I can't. Really," he said earnestly. "I can't go in there and sing for her."

"Well, you can't really go in there and not sing for her," Simon said, "so I guess you're going to do it." He smiled widely, which showed his pearly white teeth.

Adam shook his head again, which knocked his glasses down the bridge of his nose. "Nope, I can't go through with this. I think I'm going to go back to my room and burry myself under my bed and never see the light of day again. You can go in there and tell her I'm sick, or I need to finish homework, or I'm in tutoring, or something. Anything that will get me out of this."

"There are three things wrong with this picture," he started and pushed Adam's glasses back up into place with the flick of his finger. "One, you're never sick. You always remember to take your vitamins and allergy medicine and you open doors with your shirt instead of your hand. Second, you have your homework done all the time. There's never a time when you don't have it done. I mean, we get a worksheet during class and"—he paused to snap his fingers—"it's done before the professor even goes into detail about it.

"And finally, you never go into tutoring. The only way you could use the words 'Adam' and 'tutoring' in the same sentence is if you were set to tutor someone." Simon finished, the smile never wavering.

Adam sniffed. "Then I need to go tutor Kurt."

"Kurt's watching baseball tryouts with everyone else. I think it would be a little hard to tutor him now."

"Shouldn't you be there with them? You know, support your team and all that?" He tried at being peppy, but it failed and sounded miserable.

Simon shrugged. "Nah. I don't need to be there. It's only baseball."

"But James is trying out. Shouldn't you be there to support him?" he persisted and took another step away from the doors.

"He's got Will and Carson there for him. I think he's got enough support as it is. Those two are… crazy," Simon responded and got behind him to push him gently back toward the doors.

Adam dug his heels into the floor. "Oh, come on, he needs all the support he can get."

"We're not that good of friends. I don't think he'll miss me much, to be honest." He stopped pushing, which resulted in Adam almost toppling backward. Simon caught his hand and kept him on his feet. "What's the big deal? Do you want me to leave?"

The other boy gulped. "Well, in a sense, yes. But only so I can say I auditioned when I really bailed."

He chuckled and ducked his head to his chest. He looked up at Adam through long lashes. "You've got to be kidding me. It's just one little audition. You go in, sing your song, and you're as good as in. She won't say no to you, Adam."

"How do you know?" Adam tore his hand away and stuffed both in his pockets.

"Because. You're the only one who knows how to wire speaker systems and fix broken microphones, not to mention change the bulbs on the spotlights. You're a great technician," he explained. "Not only are you a wizard with the wires, but you'd make an excellent tenor."

Adam took his glasses off to wipe them against the hem of his shirt. He kept them off to avoid seeing Simon clearly. "I don't think I'd make a happy addition. More like a terrible burden."

"You're never a burden, Adam." Simon licked his lips. His emerald eyes were alight. "Never think that you're a burden to anyone."

A lump swelled in Adam's throat and he had nothing else to do but nod.

"So, let's get in there," he said next and the white smile reappeared on his face. He looped his arm around Adam's shoulder and brought him to the doors.

Inside, the choir room was dark and empty. The windows on the far wall let in golden afternoon light and the slits in the curtains drew lines across the room. Silence echoed and bounced against the walls and Adam was frozen on the spot. He was unable to move until Simon pressed his hand against the small of his back and gave him a small push. He stumbled forward a step, and the overhead lights flickered on, frightening both of them.

"Good afternoon, boys," said a cheerful voice from the doors. Ms. Lovett strode past them into the room and she made a beeline to the large mahogany desk. She propped her hands on her hips. Her hair sprung out from her head in a dark cloud that contrasted with her white skin. "I'm glad to see you both decided to stay the weekend. Though Simon, you're a bit early for your Nationals audition, aren't you?"

Simon offered a polite wave. "Just wanting to stay and watch, that's all."

"Ah. Watch what, if I may ask?" she said. She pulled out the chair behind her desk and sat down, crossing her legs.

Adam waited for his friend to explain for him, but Simon nudged him gently in the small of his back. He approached the desk carefully.

"I was hoping that you would be in favor of opening a place for me in the choir, and hold an audition for me," Adam requested timidly.

Ms. Lovett looked up at him past the glasses perched on her nose. "You want to audition for the Warblers, Mr. Harvey?"

Adam practically shrank back. "Yes, I do."

A quizzical look crossed her face. "I don't normally hold auditions in the middle of the semester, and the spring semester, nonetheless… But very well, then," she said easily and leaned back in her chair. "I'll hold an audition for you right now, if that's possible. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, ma'am," he stammered, and he knitted his hands together, twisting his fingers into knots.

She clapped her hands once. "Let's get started then, shall we?" She grabbed a sheet of paper sitting on the desk and plucked a pen into her hands, prepared to write. "Ready when you are, Mr. Harvey. Take it away."

At that moment, Adam didn't have a clue as to what to do. He instinctively folded his hands nervously in front of him. Simon had drifted away from him and was lounged across one of the three sofas of the room, emerald orbs trained on his friend. Adam gravitated to the other side of the room piano to give him something to do. He never learned how to play and never would; he had no interest in the interest whatsoever.

Ms. Lovett cleared her throat lightly to snap him out of his reverie. "Adam? You may start whenever you're ready."

"Y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered out in reply, and took in a good breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the unmistakable smile smeared across Simon's face. It was hard to ignore.

He wanted to be anywhere else, other than where he was now. Singing in front of a friend for fun was one thing, but auditioning for the school's choir in front of the director herself was on a completely different playing field. Simon had given him helpful and gentle advice about his singing: what to do and where to take breaths.

If I audition, he corrected inwardly. If I don't faint before the first notes come out.

The thought made him take quick, shallow breaths, and Adam rubbed his temples tensely, regretting the decision to go through with the audition. He was always somewhat of a pushover around Simon, and it was so simple for him to agree to something like this. The lyrics to a song bubbled on his lips. But that didn't mean they would come out in the end.

Finally, Adam realized his director, and his best friend, were still sitting there, waiting, and he licked his lips and began.

_I saw a ghost on the stairs,_

_And sheets on the tables and chairs,_

_The silverware swam with the sharks in the sink,_

_Even so, I don't know what to think,_

_I've been longing for daisies to push through the floor,_

_And I wish that plant life would grow all around me,_

_So I won't feel dead anymore, so I won't feel dead anymore_

Adam took a moment to suck in a much-needed breath before continuing on. He hadn't realized how poor his lung capacity was—he found himself struggling for air, but pushed on. He was too preoccupied with staying in time with track and keeping air in his lungs to notice that he was wringing his hands together and swaying back and forth in one spot.

_I saw a bear in the den, reading my textbooks again,_

_That bats flowed like traffic as they poured from the attic,_

_Heaven knows, I could really use a friend,_

_I'd rather waltz that just walk through the forest,_

_The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time,_

_Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus,_

_If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?_

Simon pulled a pillow from behind him and clutched it to his chest. He cocked his head to one side as he watched his friend sing, looking like he was in a completely different world. He smiled.

_I've been longing for daisies to push through the floor,_

_And I wish that plant life would grow all around me,_

_So I won't feel dead anymore, so I won't feel dead anymore,_

_Your spirit it sweet, so pull off your sheet,_

_And give me a ghost of a smile,_

_Show me your teeth, 'cause you're a teddy beneath,_

_So just grin and bear it awhile, just grin and bear it awhile,_

_I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest,_

_The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time,_

_Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus,_

_If I were to pluck on their heartstrings, would you strum on mine?_

The calm yet steady beat had Adam bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. The performance atmosphere melted around him until he felt as comfortable as if he was in his own room.

_Today I'm busting out of this old haunted house,_

'_Cause I'm sick of waiting for all the spider webs to grow all around me,_

'_Cause I don't feel dead anymore, and I'm not afraid anymore,_

_I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest,_

_The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time,_

_Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus,_

_If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?_

_If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?_

As soon as he cut off the last note, Adam sucked in a gulp of air. His head spun in circles and he could barely stay standing. Blinking to clear his vision, he heard a single wave of applause and turned his head. Simon was sitting up on the sofa, clapping and grinning from ear to ear. Ms. Lovett had a similar, but not too enthusiastic expression and she scribbled a few things down.

"W-was that alright?" Adam asked tentatively.

"I don't know." Ms. Lovett, her voice delighted like wind chimes. "Simon? Why don't you critique our newest Warbler?"

The words _newest Warbler _struck him like a wrecking ball. He was in the Warblers now? _The _Warblers? He was going to sing?

"I'd be happy to, ma'am."

At those next words, Adam nearly passed out right there. But he stood frozen in his spot as Simon clambered up from his comfy seat on the couch. He gave the East Precursor a polite smile, then circled him for good measure.

"What are you doing?" Adam asked in a fretful whisper and swatted his arm to halt his rotation.

Simon's lips were pink and flat. "That was remarkably good," he said quietly, and his breath brushed lightly over Adam's skin.

Adam let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and placed a hand over his chest, simply nodding. All the words he had planned to say ended up as a breath of air when he opened his mouth to speak them.

"In fact," Simon continued on, facing the desk where the director was seated, "I'd like to see Adam sing in the Spring Show this year."

"What?" Adam squeaked fearfully.

"Yeah," the other boy hummed contently. "I mean, you're obviously a good singer, seeing as you just killed that Owl City song. Ms. Lovett," he announced, "I would personally like to sing with Adam for this year's show."

"_What?_" Adam repeated, his voice more shrill now.

Ms. Lovett tapped her pen audibly against the clipboard. "I'm not sure I can do that for you, Mr. Dougray. He is free to sing in the show, of course, but we've already drawn names and picked partners. You would have to abandon your current partner, Mr. Starr, in order to sing with Adam."

The way she called him by his first name made him pucker his lips slightly, as if he wasn't on high enough terms with her to be called by his last name, which seemed opposite to him. He refrained from voicing that, though.

Simon gave a shrug. "I think Ronnie would understand. He'd probably be gleeful if he got to sing with someone else."

"I'm not sure…" she trailed off and she twirled her pen between her fingers like a baton. "We would have to make a few changes to the program, and find Mr. Starr a new partner."

"Matt or Jon would be perfect," Adam chipped in suddenly and clapped his hands together once. "They're like peas in a pod if you think about it. Why not get them out of their comfort zones for once? Besides, they're absolute trouble together." The last two sentences were a blur of words and he himself could hardly understand them. "Plus, they're paired with Nick in a trio. Better yet, you could put him with Nick and then problem solved," he added, fidgeting.

"Adam does have a good point, ma'am," Simon said a moment later. His lips were curved into a smile.

She gave a sigh and got to her feet. "We'll see. Adam, congratulations on your audition. I expect great things from a young man of your stature." She collected her bag and started toward the doors. "And boys? Make sure the doors are shut when you leave today."

"And me, ma'am?" Simon prompted as she was halfway out the door.

"What about you?" she asked over her shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about Nationals," he told her.

She waved a hand at him. "Those can wait until class on Monday," she said shortly. "Right now, you should be helping Adam here with your song for the Spring Show, not dawdling over Nationals crap. After all, you're singing together, correct?"

Adam bounced on his feet. "Correct," he chirped.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Very well then. What are you doing, staring at me like that? Get to work!" She flashed them a tight-lipped smile before departing the choir room in a flurry of her dark skirt.

The door fell shut and sealed in the silence.

Then Simon clapped him on the shoulder, which made him jump, and he said, "Well, you heard her. Let's get to work, baby bird."

* * *

After Cody left the plate, the tryouts went from thrilling to unbearably dull. The next boy came up to bat and Kurt left the bleachers without a word to the others, starting towards the dugout. He paced to the door, which was shut and locked with a heavy padlock.

"Cody," he hissed when he reached the door. He threaded his fingers through the thin links of wire and got his friend's attention.

Almost immediately, Cody brightened when he saw Kurt. He bounded to his feet and raced to the door. "Kurt! Oh, I'm so glad you came, but I kind of didn't want you to see that. I mean, it was a horrible tryout so far. Did you see that swing? I can't believe I actually _hit _like that! I—"

"Whoa, calm down there, Speedy Gonzales," Kurt said. His eyes drifted down to the lock. "What's with the padlock, anyway? Do the coaches think you're zoo animals?"

Cody shrugged. "They think that we might sneak out and take steroids or pills that would enhance our tryout. They think that would be unfair."

"And yet, there are breaks in the fence so people can slip things through when the coaches aren't looking," Kurt said dully.

"Yeah, these coaches aren't the brightest bulbs in the box, if you know what I mean." Cody bit his lip. "Anyway, I just can't believe I did that. I haven't hit that horribly since I started playing."

"Calm down. I'm sure it was just a little blip."

"A little blip?" he echoed. "I hope it was a little blip. If the rest of my tryout goes like this, then I am absolutely screwed. I won't make it on the team, and then I'll have nothing else to do!"

Kurt cocked an eyebrow. "What about the Warblers? Hello, Nationals?"

He flushed. "Oh, right. Well, there's that. But I've played on both teams here since my freshman year. If I end up not making Dalton's team or, God forbid, the North team, then I won't know what to do with myself."

"Cool it," Kurt commanded. "You're going to do fine. Just take a few deep breaths and don't hyperventilate. Keep drinking water and make sure you don't get overheated. Don't stress about it."

Cody's lips turned up and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."

"Don't look at me like that. I'm only trying to help out here," he laughed. "You're an amazing player, Cody, and you're going to do fine. You're going to put the batting behind you and concentrate on the rest of today. Okay?"

"Don't jinx it. Thanks, Kurt," Cody said, but he smiled cheerfully. He craned his neck to peer past him. "How's everything doing over there? I saw Will and Carson joined you a little bit ago, but I haven't had the honor of seeing any fireworks yet. What's going on?"

Kurt unthreaded his fingers from the fence and leaned back on his heels. Out on the field, the last batter was walking back to the dugout and the coaches were compiling results. "No fireworks yet, but it could be going much better, in my opinion. There's too much bickering going on. Mostly between Wes and Will. I swear, those two will never cease to start something, even if it's over the smallest of things."

"What did they start over this time?" he asked, although his attention was heavily fixed on the coaches coming out to the pitching mound and the assistant fetching the balls from the outfield.

Kurt puckered his lips. "Same old, same old. First, it was Will and Carson even showing up. Then it was over Blaine and Will and fencing at finals or something this year, and next it was over a crazy conspiracy theory designed to destroy your chances at making the team today. Nothing big."

"Wait, destroy my chances?" Cody squeaked. "What are you talking about?"

He was in the process of opening his mouth to give a reply when he saw James over Cody's shoulder. The dark haired boy was making his way across the dugout, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets and shoes scuffing lightly against the concrete floor. He came to stand beside Cody and their height differed greatly. He flashed a smile at Kurt.

"Hey, Kurt," he said politely.

"Hi, James," he said back. "Good job out there. Really. William and Carson were on pins and needles when you were up at bat." He took a self-conscious step back.

James cocked his head. "Really? They're here?"

"Oh, they're here alright," Kurt mumbled. "Why?"

"No reason. They told me they had other things to do and that they weren't going to show up. Pleasant surprise, I guess," he explained and tucked a curl of dark hair behind his ear.

His lips were chapped and red and looked on the verge of bleeding. His skin had a pale glow to it, and purple bruises underlined his eyes. As he dropped his arm, Kurt saw the flat strips of tan that wrapped around his wrists.

The bandages appeared to him like neon against black; the color of the adhesive was such a dark shade of tan, it popped out against the near white of his skin. The bandages continued further down his wrists and curled around his hands, fitting to the curves of his palms and fingers, similar to the fit of batting gloves. Both hands tucked back into his jeans pockets and Kurt's eyes shot up.

Cody had left the door to press his face to the wall that overlooked the field. The others crowded around him, anxiously waiting for the coaches to call out the next orders. Some of them began preparing gloves and bats and helmets, while others paced fretfully or downed water by the bottle.

"What are you looking at?" James asked in a way that seemed so innocent, but in a way that said he knew what Kurt was watching so closely.

Kurt withdrew his eyes guiltily. "The… um…" he said in a very quiet voice. He shut his mouth and gestured to his own arms instead.

He stepped closer to the door after a glance over his shoulder, nearly pressing his forehead against the chain link. "Oh. Will made me put these on." He indicated his arms. "I told him it wouldn't help, but I did it for his sake. I swear, he wouldn't stop pestering me until I did."

"I'm glad you did," Kurt said. "Decide to put the bandages on, I mean. It will help."

There was a nod and they went silent.

After what seemed like hours, James said, "So you're talking to me now. That's such a sudden change of heart, isn't it?"

Kurt blinked at him. "You told me yourself that you wanted to start talking again."

"So talk. I'm open for discussion."

"Are you doing alright?" Kurt questioned bluntly.

James shrugged and he looked like he expected the question. "He and Carson say I'm doing better. Carson doesn't know as much as Will does, but needless to say, he tells me I'm better," he said. He brought one of his hands out of his pocket and studied it. "I need to stop. It kind of hurts after a little while."

Kurt felt himself break into a calm smile. "It would be nice if you did. I hate to see you in so much pain all the time."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed and nibbled on his lip. He stopped only when he started to break skin. He wiped his lower lip with his hand and it came back spotted with crimson. "It just helps me cope with everything. My father doesn't make any contact with me if he doesn't have to, and my mom and my brother still live in California. They don't call." He stopped, absorbed in fiddling with the edge of a bandage.

"What was it like in California?" Kurt asked out of curiosity. "I'm only asking because I've never been out of Ohio before, and I've heard it's nice."

James caught hold of a loose thread on the bandage and pulled until it snapped. "It was nice, actually. It was sunny and pretty and we had a house by the beach. I had friends that I always hung out with, and my brother was an aspiring artist. My parents were happy and celebrated their anniversary like it was a national holiday," he said, and his voice faded.

Kurt pinched his lips together and waited for him to start back up again.

"Then, we had to go through money problems, and my parents had to start fighting over everything, and my brother had to start being rebellious and disappear for days at a time before he showed up again on the front porch smelling like…alcohol." He shuddered and wrinkled his nose.

"He drank?" Kurt asked, slightly disgusted himself. Burt sometimes had a sip or two and Kurt hated the smell of it, whether it was beer or wine.

James rolled his eyes. "It was disgusting. But he was old enough, so he had the power to. Anyway.

"It wasn't fun to be in the middle of. My parents finally got a divorce after two months of fighting, around November. My dad found a better job in Westerville a few weeks later, along with new a peace of mind, more than halfway across the country. And guess who was sacrificed to go with him?" A sad smile teased his lips.

Kurt let out a slow sigh. "You?"

"Of course, me. It was me by default," James muttered, and he clenched his hand, which made him wince. "My brother was adamant about staying with my mom because he had been accepted to a good art college by the time of the divorce, and he was hoping to live at home instead of pay for a dorm room. And there was absolutely no way he was going to give that up to come live in some silly town no one's ever heard of in the middle of Ohio. No offense, of course."

Kurt chuckled. "None taken," he said. "We are kind of in the middle of nowhere, aren't we?"

He grinned and turned his head. "We live in such a small world. Such a small town, and a small life. Sometimes, I think once I move in, I'm never going to find a way out. A maze."

"Don't let a small town make your life small," Kurt said thoughtfully, and he pressed his palms to the chain link fencing, leaning his weight against it the tiniest bit. "I want to get out as much as you do, trust me. Next year, I'll be applying for NYADA, and then I'll get out of here."

"I'd do anything to leave this place." James placed his hands against the fence and lined them up with Kurt's. Their skin barely touched. "Promise to take me with you?"

"I might," Kurt said. Their fingers brushed together and the bandages were rough against Kurt's hands. Even with the weather being pleasantly warm, his skin was icy. A trill of electricity jumped between their skin.

Then, "James! Come on!"

James sprung away from the fence, his heart in his throat. Another boy had called his name. The rest of the group was hurrying out of the dugout and onto the field to meet with the coaches. The color that had started to flood his cheeks was washed away and replaced with bone white. He clasped his hands behind his back.

"Are you going to watch the rest of the tryouts?" he questioned as he started backpedaling, taking steps toward to the door that led out onto the field.

Kurt nodded quickly. "I wouldn't miss it for anything," he said indefinitely. "Do well out there for me."

James took on a cheerful smile and raced out of the dugout to join the others.

But before he could reach the field, he called out, "Tell Will I said hi!"

Kurt nodded slowly.

Feeling his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest, he brought his hand up to his collarbone to fix the small yellow warbler pin. He wrung his hands together and turned away from the dugout.

He paced back to the bleachers, where he found a particularly cross looking Dex sitting on the edge furthest away from everyone else. He guessed Leo was upset as well, but the boy had his head buried in his arms.

Kurt climbed past them and up to the top row. He fitted himself between Wes and Blaine and crossed his legs, ready to watch the rest of tryouts.

"Oh, Will," he said as an afterthought. "James says hi."

The blonde looked half over his shoulder so that he was looking in Kurt's general direction, but only half his face was visible. "Thanks."

* * *

The next part of the tryouts consisted of a small scrimmage. The group of boys was split evenly into two teams to play a short, five-inning game. Since Cody was the smallest player on the field, it was easy to see where he was at all times. He moved to the right side of the pitcher's mound when his name was called and he joined one of the boys there, with whom he shared a smile.

James, on the other hand, stood out as well, but not in the same way Cody did. He was tall and towered over most everyone by two inches, at least. His dark hair contrasted against the insipid dirt of the field, and against his skin. He constantly nibbled on his lip and kept his hands firmly in his pockets. When his name was called he remained on the left side of the pitcher's mound.

"This is taking _forever_. Why can't they just take a handful and put them on each team and toss out the rest?" Wes moaned once the teams separated to both dugouts, some fetching equipment from the first one.

"That wouldn't be very fair," Kurt murmured and pulled out his phone to check the time. It was nearly one in the afternoon now.

Blaine nodded in agreement. "He's right, you know."

Wes gave him a sour look. "You're only agreeing with him because he's your boyfriend, not because you think he actually has a point."

"I have a point!" Kurt squeaked defensively.

"He most definitely has a point," Blaine said firmly. "It's like… in glee club. How would you like it if Lovett didn't hold auditions at the beginning of each semester, and just picked the ones she liked? That wouldn't be very fair at all."

Wes twisted his lips into a grimace. "I guess you're right…" His grimace brightened. "But it wouldn't matter to me. She likes me too much."

Kurt sighed and rubbed his temples soothingly. On his other side, Blaine stared at Wes, mouth agape in incomprehension.

"Even though we have been best friends for years," David said smoothly, "I still do not understand your logic. It goes straight over my head." He motioned with his hand, moving it over the top of his head. He kept his dark eyes locked on the field, where the boys were setting up for the first inning.

On the field, the team Cody was on was busy assigning positions. Without even being told what to do, he emerged from the dugout, clad in thick black gear that covered his legs and chest. A heavy-looking helmet dangled from his fingers by the face mask and a wide glove fitted itself around his other hand. He lingered behind the plate as the coaches assigned positions to the rest of his team and he approached the chain link fence.

"Good job, Cody," Blaine said at once. "You're doing awesome out there."

"You mean aside from the batting failure? I would like to think so." He narrowed his pale brown eyes sadly and he glanced over his shoulder at the field. "Can you believe how few people we have for tryouts? Last year we had at least thirty more."

"Well, you would have one less if it weren't for us," Carson mumbled and studied his nails like they were the most exciting thing in the entire world at the current point in time. He looked up oh-so-innocently to find everyone staring at him. "What? It's true. James wouldn't be out there if Will and I hadn't encouraged him."

From the look Cody had on his face, Kurt thought he was going to combust from frustration.

"Well," the smaller boy said instead and popped the helmet on, "good luck to him." He promptly turned on his heel and stood behind home plate, waiting for instructions.

Minutes later, positions were assigned and the coaches brought up the first batter from the other team. Four pitches and three failed swings later, the first out was called and five minutes had passed. Kurt rested his chin in his hands and watched, but shamefully admitted to not paying close attention to the plays that were happening.

Finally, after the third out had been called and both teams moved off the field to the dugouts, Kurt stood up and hopped off the bleachers. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He had only walked a few steps when he heard the metallic thump of metal behind him, footsteps pad against the concrete.

"Hey," Blaine said when he caught up with him. "Where are you going? You're going to miss the rest of the inning."

Kurt licked his lips. "Just going to the bathroom," he said. "Somehow, I don't think Cody would mind if I skipped out for a little bit of it. He seems pretty focused on destroying James, if you ask me."

Blaine's lips twitched into a smile and he fell in step with him. "Yeah, I'll say. Did you see him when James was coming up to bat? It was almost like he could shoot daggers out of his eyes." He chuckled.

"He probably would have, if they were alone and the body was easy to hide." Kurt stopped. "Don't tell anyone I said that. Will or Carson might chop my head off if they heard that."

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." Blaine reached down and threaded his fingers with Kurt's, and they shared a small smile.

The bathroom wasn't really a bathroom, or one that Kurt had in mind. It was a simple, yet large, washroom that stood next to the equipment house, where they kept the bases, baseballs, and other various things needed for games. The other field, the one that was used for soccer games and fencing matches, wasn't far off.

"I hope Cody does alright," Kurt said fearfully. He came up to the mirror and studied his face, and found purple under his eyes from lack of sleep and his lips chapped from lack of balm. He fished around in his pocket for a tube and smeared a good amount on.

"He'll do fine," Blaine assured him and strolled past the hand dryers, turning them on one by one by waving them on with his hand. "He's not the one I'm concerned about, however. James is worrying me." His voice tightened as he said the name.

"Why are you so worried about him?" he asked and kept his eyes focused on his own reflection in the mirror, on the flickery fluorescent lights hanging in the fixtures above.

Blaine gave a shrug. "He's getting in everyone's business," he started and gauged Kurt's reaction. "Before you say anything, just hear me out. First, he joined the track team and beat Wes' top time, which happened to be _the _top time out of the sixteen-hundred. Next, he skips out on the brunch—"

"Because he wasn't feeling well," Kurt blurted before he could stop himself. Blaine's gaze was puzzled. "He was sick, like I was. It was the flu. It was going around at the time." He stuck his hands under the sink. "Sorry. Go on."

"It's fine," he assured and paused by one of the hand dryers. He ran his hand under the hot air. "I don't have a good vibe with him, Kurt. And I can tell he doesn't like me, either."

"You two haven't had good vibes with each other since the day he came here," Kurt said a little too sharply. He bit the tip of his tongue and turned off the sink with the flick of his wrist. "Maybe it's a wing thing." He avoided mentioning the small rhyme.

Blaine shook his head. "You and I both know why, Kurt. He… he has this _infatuation _with you that I don't understand. The infatuation, I understand, but the way he can be so clingy. Like he's hanging onto you for dear life."

"Hey, I have an idea," Kurt said and stepped away from the dryer, though his hands were still a bit damp. He wiped them dry on his pants. "We should stop talking about this." He caught Blaine's confused face, ready to question. "Before you go on a rant, let me say this first," he said and approached the other boy, placing both hands on his shoulders and bringing their foreheads together.

"We've already had this discussion many times before and in many different forms, and it's getting a bit tiresome. I don't want to keep going on and on about this one little topic, and this one little guy who happens to like me," Kurt said over the lump in his throat; he made sure to make eye contact with the other boy, to send the message across clearly. "I know you might be a tad jealous—"

"Jealous?" Blaine snorted. "I'm sorry to say, but I'm more than just a tad jealous."

"—but it's nothing you need to worry about, Blaine," Kurt went on. "James is my friend and I'd like you to respect at least that aspect of my relationship with him. I'm not in love with him, but he's my friend. That's all. There's nothing you need to be jealous of or worry about. I'm not going to suddenly run off with him like nobody's business.

"I chose _you_, Blaine. Not him. He came after I met you, after I decided I loved you." Kurt ignored the feeling of heat washing over his cheeks, and saw that a slight blush was also crossing Blaine's face. "There's no changing the way I feel about you. Nothing can come between us. Not anything, not anybody, James included." He gently pressed his lips to Blaine's forehead. "Got it?" he whispered.

Blaine hummed contently and wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist. "Got it," he said and tilted his head up to kiss his lips.

When they had broken apart—neither of them had the lung capacity to continue on for much longer—Blaine kept his arms snug around Kurt's waist, and he rested his chin on his shoulder. He inhaled the scent that Kurt's clothing gave off: sweet, warm vanilla, and a hint of something stronger, like cologne.

"I love you, Kurt," he breathed, feeling the boy's pulse under the thin skin of his throat, "and I hope you never forget that."

Kurt let himself smile. "I love you, too."

Slowly, though neither of them wanted to move an inch, they exited the bathrooms with the reminder that Cody was still out on the playing field. Kurt couldn't help but notice how Blaine's hand fitted almost perfectly around his hip, how his touch was gentle. He knew his face was pink and he ducked his head in an attempt to hide it.

Outside, the sun was still shining and a breeze, smelling of sweet grass, drifted through the air. They walked the short distance from the bathrooms to the bleachers to find everyone sitting ramrod straight and on the edges of their seats. Even William and Carson were frozen where they sat. Usually, they would have been murmuring to themselves.

"What's going on, guys?" Blaine asked when they climbed up onto the first row.

"SHHHH," Wes commanded noisily with a finger to his lips.

"What—" Kurt started, but was cut off when Will said, "What part of 'shhhh' did you not understand?"

Kurt stared at him oddly and turned around when David gestured to the diamond. His eyes raked the field and when he found what everyone was so absorbed with, his knees gave out and he plopped down on the bench, his hand flying up to cover his mouth.

Out on the field, all was silent. The fielding team had dropped to one knee, heads down, though some were peeking to get a good luck at what was going on. The batting team glued their faces to the chain link fence in their dugout to see.

The batter at home plate might as well have been a statue, bat clenched tight in his hands. The boy standing beside him had smears of dirt running up the sides of his pants and his helmet was askew on his head. The two coaches and the assistant were crowded around a figure clad in all black, who was spread eagle on the ground.

"Oh, no," Kurt said frightfully. "Please say it's not—"

"Cody," Blaine finished and sat down as well.

Minutes, although it felt like hours upon hours, passed and one of the coaches stood up from his low crouch. The two other men stood up shortly after and helped Cody to his feet. Both his glove and his helmet were knocked to the side. His cheeks were flushed bright red and he ran a hand through his hair, peeling it away from his forehead. He blinked his pretty brown eyes and a smile appeared on his face. His lips moved as he talked with the coaches.

"What in the world happened while we were gone?" Blaine whispered. He was afraid to talk any louder in the case that Wes would obnoxiously shush him again.

"Well, we've gone through an entire inning," Carson reported a few rows behind them. "No one's scored yet, and Michaels got ran over by the batter coming in from third. He made the last out, though, so we're switching."

Kurt removed his hand from his mouth when the players got to their feet and left the field to start the next half on the second inning. "That's awful."

"He looks like he's okay, though. No bleeding or bones sticking out of his body," Wes murmured, and winced when David jabbed him in the ribs lightly.

The field reset itself and a new boy came up to bat. Kurt was relieved it wasn't Cody. After further searching, the small boy was spotted lounging on the bench in his dugout, a cool wash cloth pressed over his forehead and a cup of water in his hand.

The first pitch came from a boy of average height with chestnut colored hair and when the batter took a forceful swing at it, the bat flew out of his hands and sailed straight into the air. The pitcher had to drop to the ground to avoid being nailed in the face with it and it landed in the dirt a few feet behind him.

Stunned, the second baseman scrambled to grab the bat from the ground and deposited it in the nearest dugout. He returned to his position in less than thirty seconds, breathing hard, and the scrimmage continued on for three more innings.

* * *

The hallways were empty and the only sound that echoed against the walls were the soft sounds of shoes against the parquet floor. Without anything to carry on his shoulders or to grip nervously, Adam let his hands dangle at his sides. In normal circumstances, he would have stuffed them in his pockets. To him, hiding his hands in his pockets meant he had something to hide. But now, he was out of things to hide.

He had his eyes turned down at the floor. Still, his heart was racing from his audition. His breaths were quick and shallow and he attempted to take one long breath to even it out, but that didn't work so well.

"Please tell me you're not hyperventilating," Simon said and his voice shattered the silence. He looked over at Adam with glowing emerald eyes.

Adam placed one hand on the side of his face. His skin was hot. "No, I'm not. It's only the aftereffects of my audition."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought it would have worn off by now, considering it's been almost twenty minutes."

"I think I'll still feel like this in an hour." He let out a short laugh.

"Are you going to be shaking so much that you can be considered the vibrate setting on my phone?" he joked and nudged him playfully in the shoulder.

Adam pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Probably," he said, and he noticed his voice still had a tremor to it.

They walked another five feet in silence. Typically, the halls would have been overflowing with boys, but seeing as it was the weekend, the majority of the student body was home with family and old friends. Others were down at the diamonds watching baseball tryouts take place.

"Your audition was good, you know," Simon mentioned and a smile played at his lips. "It was really good."

Adam shrugged in response. "I think I could've done better, in my own opinion. At least I could've chosen a different song. It simply felt… off, for some reason."

"What? Owl City suits your voice," he said as a compliment. "I found the whole performance quite entertaining, actually."

"Entertaining? What is that supposed to mean? Is that meant to be an insult?"

Simon pursed his lips and backtracked on his words. "Not an insult at all. But you sort of stood still the entire time while you were singing. You kind of swayed once or twice once you got into it, but there wasn't really any physical appeal to it," he said uneasily. "But your voice was phenomenal."

"Yeah, because I'll definitely learn how to dance as well as you and everyone else. And I'll definitely have 'physical appeal' by the time we go to Nationals." Adam sighed sharply. "Which, may I remind you, is in nearly eight weeks."

Staring at him, Simon laughed. "You're starting to sound like Lovett. If you hang around her any more, you'll end up with a caffeine addiction and an obsession for oldies. Not that there's anything wrong with oldies," he added when he saw his friend's flat face. "No, there's nothing wrong with that kind of music, I was just kidding—"

"I know you were kidding about the music," he snapped. He took a deep breath. "All I'm saying is that I'm not as coordinated as you and the rest of the group. I can't do back flips like William and Carson, or belt out solos while spinning in circles like Blaine. The only thing I'm good at is fixing people's broken laptops and making sure stage equipment works properly. I'm not a performer."

Simon slowly stopped walking as he heard this and furrowed his brows. "You're a performer, Adam. You're most definitely a performer. If you have the confidence to sing in front of your best friend, and then sing in front of the school's choir director—and sing quite well, I might add—you are a performer. You're a performer when you do anything: when you get straight As on everything, when you fix everything that has wires or circuit breakers, and even when you manage your own wing." He spared a smile. "You're a performer. You've been a performer."

Adam shook his head, amused. "Gee, I don't know how to compete with that. You've given me this amazing speech, yet I have nothing to say to boost your confidence on something you feel insecure about," he stated. "Thank you, Simon."

"Any time," he beamed and scratched the back of his head. He started walking again. "Aside from singing in a prep school choir named after a species of bird, I double as a guidance counselor."

Grinning, Adam caught up with him. "Sounds legitimate to me. Now, I'm going to ask you one thing, if you're alright with that."

The smile on his face dropped the slightest bit. "Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"Teach me to dance without falling flat on my face," Adam requested and lifted his chin a fraction.

Simon blinked. "Teach you to dance?" he repeated, the words sounding funny in his mouth.

"Of course. I wouldn't trust just anyone with the task of coaching me on the art of dance," he told him. He ducked his head to hide the grin spreading across his face. With that, he tucked his hands behind his back and strolled down the hall, leaving Simon staring after him with a baffled expression.

* * *

By three-thirty in the afternoon, the scrimmage was finished and the boys collapsed in their dugouts, dead tired, when they were supposed to be collecting their gear. While everyone was begging to sit down or gulping down what water was left in the coolers, Cody bounced on his feet. He snagged his bat bag from where it sat under the bench and grabbed his bat from the hanger.

Stuffing the bat in the back pouch of his bag, he made his way out of the dugout. Dirt filled his shoes and was smeared all over his pants and shirt. His hands were dusty as well, and some of it had made its way under his nails. When he raised his head, he was greeted with arms locked around his neck.

"Oh, you did so well!" Kurt cheered as he hugged him to his chest.

"How would you know?" Cody choked out and pried his arms from his neck. "Have you ever seen a game of baseball?"

Kurt snorted. "Of course I have. I've watched enough to know how it works."

"Then tell me: what was the final score of the game we just played right now?" he asked to test him.

"Okay, so maybe I wasn't paying enough attention to actually remember the score, but that's not the point. The point is, you did _amazing_ and you are positively going to make the team. If I'm wrong, you can shoot me with an arrow." He smiled.

"I'll second that. Not the arrow shooting part, though. You did do pretty well," Blaine added. "And I actually know a few things about baseball. Like that every time someone crosses that pentagon shaped base, they get a point. And by the way, the score was five to three by the end of it." He barely missed the jab in the ribs from Kurt.

Cody brought one hand up to his mouth to nibble on his nails, though they were caked with dirt. "Thank you, but I don't know. I think I could've done better. I mean, the whole thing during the batting part…"

"That wasn't so bad," Wes said and took the boy's bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Grinning, he clapped Cody on the shoulder. "It was only a little mishap. It wasn't that bad at all."

"I'm glad I surpass Wes' expectations," Cody said with a hint of humor. "It makes me feel as though my life is now complete."

In a small group, they walked around the main set of bleachers and started away from the field. As they did, Will, Carson, and James made their way toward them, coming from the opposite dugout. Will and Carson walked wordlessly on either side of James, almost like body guards.

James' face was no longer pale. Kurt wasn't sure if it was the sun that had turned it a slight shade of brown or if it was a covering of dust from the field. Either way, he looked more cheerful and less exhausted. His pants now had a nasty rip right above his left knee and his shirt was spotted with dirt. A few locks of dark hair were plastered to his face by sweat while a handful of curls dropped elegantly down by his ears.

"Cody," he said in a regal tone and parted his lips to flash a white smile. "You did exceptionally well today in tryouts. I'm sure you'll make the team. Both teams, I mean."

"I plan on it," Cody said bluntly and hooked his thumbs in the loops on his pants where a belt should be. "And you did well today, too," he added after a moment of silence.

"I saw you were the catcher the whole game," he went on, oblivious to the marginally vexed tone with which Cody spoke.

Cody blinked. "I'm always the catcher. I've never not been."

Kurt bit the inside of his lip. Part of him wanted to interrupt with something that wished them both luck and assured them that they did great in tryouts, while the other half wanted to slap both of them silly. His hand twitched at his side and he curled his fingers in to his palm.

"And what position were you, ah, trying for?" he asked when James didn't reply to his previous remark. He was trying to be polite. But it didn't come through as intended and nearly everyone took note of it, even James, though he said nothing of it.

"I was sort of pitching for the majority of the scrimmage." James licked his lips, which looked red and painfully chapped. He saw Cody's unchanged expression. "But any position, really. I have no preference in the matter. If I get to play, I'll be happy."

Cody nodded mechanically and used the excuse of getting cleaned up to dismiss himself and the rest of the group. The blondes took this to their benefit and steered James away, who offered Kurt a petite, "'Bye, Kurt" as he passed. Kurt waved lightly to him and sighed.

When they had walked a little ways away but were still in earshot, Cody mocked in a whiny, high pitched version of James' voice, "'But any position, really. I have no preference in the matter. If I get to play, I'll be happy.' No preference, my foot! Have fun playing in the outfield for the rest of the season, if you're lucky."

Wes hit him in the shoulder. "Calm down, man. They can probably hear you right now," he said and cast a scowl over his shoulder at their retreating figures. He adjusted Cody's bag to his other shoulder and crossed his arms.

"For once, I don't really care if they hear me," Cody snapped. He never let his temper get this hot, and Kurt was surprised. "They can hear me and I wouldn't care what their responses would be. I've had it up to here"—he raised his hand level with his forehead—"with that rotten, no good piano player. I don't care if he waltzes into this school, all fancy, coming from California with the voice of an angel, the face of a foreign supermodel, and a distant but close enough relation to Beethoven."

David eyed him. "Beethoven? What does that have to do with anything we're talking about?"

"James could be related to him, for all we know. He is a mighty good piano player, after all." Cody threw his hands up over his head, exasperated with everything. He rubbed his face in annoyance. "I wish he hadn't even transferred in the first place. Life would be so much easier for me."

"You and probably a handful of others," Blaine muttered lowly. He avoided looking directly at Kurt, who remained mute.

Together they walked back to the school, where Cody took a 'quick' shower, which lasted a total of forty-five minutes. He came out of his room with a red face and smelling heavily of lavender. He had shed his dirty clothes and wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Wes complained how long it had taken and that he could take one in less than five minutes, and David made some smart remark against it. Blaine rolled his eyes.

But Kurt completely tuned them out. His thoughts still revolved around Blaine's last comment about James. Actually, they focused on everything Blaine had done, from giving James subtle, yet sharp glares, to what he said when they happened to meet, and also to what he had said in the bathroom. Simply thinking about it made Kurt's stomach churn.

He followed the others back down to the baseball diamonds, where the results would be posted outside one of the dugouts. Already a small group of boys had convened and were waiting impatiently. Some of them had probably been waiting out here for the last hour, seeing as they hadn't changed clothes or cleaned up in any way.

"This is certainly nerve wracking," Cody muttered under his breath and knit his hands together as he joined the rest of the boys.

Kurt stood off to the side with Blaine, Wes, and David and kept a close watch for one or all of the coaches. Things went quiet fast amongst the four of them. Wes and David were murmuring about something with their heads low. Kurt was checking his phone every twenty seconds, and Blaine absently played with the top button on his cardigan.

Minutes later, South showed up. Will was talking animatedly to James, who nodded in the right places and added a smile, but it was obvious he wasn't listening. They split so James could wait with the rest of the players for the results. James made no move to talk to Cody, and vice versa.

"This is exciting, isn't it?" Will asked flatly as he walked up to the four.

"You could say that." David's eyes were trained in on the blonde, though it appeared he was looking straight through him.

Wes shifted his weight from foot to foot, bored. "Where's your lackey, Will?" he mumbled.

"Pardon me?" Will blinked his cat-like eyes.

"Where's Carson?"

Will shrugged. "He decided to ditch at the last moment. Thought homework was the better option of the two," he explained airily.

Wes' eyes widened. "Carson? Doing homework? He hardly ever does homework."

"And yet, he's passing all his classes with flying colors," he said, showing a smile. He tilted his head to the side in interest. "Dear Wes, do you think I could say the same thing about you? That you're passing with flying colors?"

"Shut it, Fitzroy," David commanded. He made no moves to advance on him, but merely stayed put. His jaw was set and his expression hard.

Wes looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. "No, it's alright, David. I want to hear what this asshole has to say about me," he practically growled, and he was the one to step forward.

"Not about you personally, of course. Your grades are the subjects here," the blonde recited deliberately.

"There's nothing to say about his grades, Will," Blaine interjected firmly. "Back off."

Will's smile gleamed. "There's everything to say about his grades, Blaine," he said, and faced Wes. "Aren't they what's keeping you from going to Nationals with us at the end of the year?"

"Don't you start on that—"

"Oh, right! It was because you vandalized our wing!" Will cheered in a feather light voice that dripped teasing. "You ruined everything, Wesley."

Then, Wes got a razor sharp look caught in his eye that was easy to see and he took a foreboding step toward him. His hands curled into fists at his sides and his jaw clenched. Will stood unmoving, calm as Kurt had ever seen him, and he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Bring it on, Moore," came from his lips like four individual daggers.

Suddenly, David threw himself forward and latched his arms around Wes' shoulders to hold him back. Wes struggled and squirmed against his hold and reached out with hands yearning to strangle Will until he turned blue. Will remained standing, firm and solid, and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Now, now, Wesley," he said, his voice colored with amusement, "don't want to get into any more trouble, do we?"

"I swear, Will, when I get my hands on you—" Wes choked out, but had stopped wriggling. He glowered at the blonde.

Will clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Watch your mouth. The things you say could be taken the wrong way."

Wes opened his mouth to say more, probably vile, things when Cody came racing up to them, shouting, "Hey! Hey, guys! Guess wha—"

He skidded to an abrupt halt and nearly knocked straight into William. The two boys stared at the other, both in puzzlement, and they each took a step in the opposite direction. Cody sniffed disdainfully at the other boy until Blaine prompted, "What?"

"Oh, I made the team for North and Dalton's team!" Cody cheered and turned a blind eye to Will.

"Oh!" Kurt scooped him into a hug that had him gasping for air. "I knew you would! I just knew it! Oh, I'm so happy for you, Cody!" he cheered.

"I would be—happy too if—you let me down," the smaller boy said in short fragments and Kurt released his grip around his neck. He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. "Thank you. Anyway, I made it, and I couldn't be happier. I thought that little incident with my batting would have ruined it, but I don't think it did."

"Obviously not," Will commented crossly and turned his back to the group. Cody took this opportunity to stick his tongue out at him, and Kurt stifled a laugh. Wes cracked a smile, as did David and Blaine.

With his hand through his hair, James strode toward them, looking particularly white in the face, and he tucked his hands behind his back in his default pose.

This made Will's lips turn down in a frown. "What's wrong?"

James gave a shrug. His sapphire eyes, which seemed dull at the moment, coasted over Kurt, then back to Will. "Nothing."

"Did you make the team?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Which team? The South team?"

James nodded once.

Will chewed his lip. "Did you make Dalton's team?"

"Surprisingly."

"Then what's the matter?" He seemed to be annoyed with James' short responses and his lips puckered disapprovingly.

James licked his lips, his gaze running shyly over Cody this time. "The coaches told me they want me to try for a pitching position in the future," he said in a near whisper, as if he was afraid the others would hear him. "For South's team, I mean. And maybe Dalton's team, but we'll see how that turns out."

"What?" Cody said at the same time Will and Kurt asked, "Really?"

As Kurt and Will locked eyes, Cody's brows pushed together curiously.

"Really," he said. "The coaches want you to try for a pitching position? How? We've already got a splendid pitcher on Dalton's. The pitcher we had last year, Kyle, pitches just fine, and he's in good condition to last the season, and he's a junior, just like us, and—"

"They said in the future, and for South, probably not on the main team," James said loudly over him, and he instantly quieted. James cleared his throat. "I'll be starting out the first South game next weekend pitching, and if I do well, I might—just might—get bumped up to pitching for Dalton."

Cody propped one hand on his hip and blinked once, twice, three times, befuddled. "Really?" he said again. When James nodded, he asked, "Can you even pitch? I'm sorry for being so frank with you, but can you? It's kind of a requirement for being a pitcher. You have to have pitched at least once or twice before in your life."

The dark haired boy furrowed his brows. "If you hadn't noticed, I may have pitched the majority of the scrimmage for my team, Cody," he said, his voice suddenly taking on a venomous appeal. "I struck out half the batters and pitched more strikes than balls. I think I know how to pitch."

Will came to stand beside him, the smirk back on his face. Wes shot daggers at him and David's hand twitched, like he was ready to hold back his friend at a moment's notice. Blaine did not look pleased about this whatsoever. His hands were fists that he shoved in the pockets of his pants.

"Good for you," Cody said. The smile he wore was strained. "I hope you do well on the field," he said as sweetly as he could without it sounding fake or like a death threat. He took a few steps away, then stopped, pausing to say, "And I hope you don't get hit. The pitcher is always the first to get hit if the batter sucks." He gave another small grin and started off. The others shared looks and began following.

Kurt swallowed past the embarrassed lump that had grown in his throat. He placed one hand over his face and looked at James through splayed fingers. "You'll do fine, James. Cody is simply overreacting about things. I'm sure you won't get hit."

"Oh, I know I won't," he said smoothly, "because I'll simply duck before it hits me."

The comment made Kurt smile for some reason and they said their goodbyes. He reminded Will about their rehearsal later the following week and hurried to catch up with the rest of his friends. They were already discussing the terms of Cody's congratulations party.

"I say we raid the freezer and make sundaes," Wes declared and jabbed his finger in the air.

David chortled. "Yeah, right, dude. The freezer has nothing but ice in it. There's no food," he said.

"And if there was food," Blaine added, "it would have freezer burn all over it."

Wes grinned. "Ah, well. It's not like freezer burn can kill you, right?" he asked.

No one answered right away, and he dismissed the idea completely.

"How about we just play Call of Duty until we pass out from exhaustion, or until we die of starvation?" he suggested next as they climbed the small hill that led up to the dorm building.

Blaine wrinkled his nose. "There's only four game controllers and there are clearly five people," he pointed out. "I don't think that would be very fair to the fifth player, whomever he may turn out to be."

"I think we should ask Cody what he wants to do," Kurt interrupted and squeezed between Cody and Blaine, placing his hand gently on Cody's shoulder. "It's his honor, after all. We should let him decide."

"Thank you, Kurt. I appreciate your genuine thoughtfulness, especially when _some _people don't have it," Cody said graciously and turned his stare on Wes, David, and Blaine.

David held open the door to the building for them, saying, "We were only thinking of you in our suggestions, Cody. You know that."

"Yeah, because I totally want to get sick from freezer burn that has grown over what's been living in the freezer," he said dully. "And then I definitely want to collapse from exhaust after countless hours playing Xbox. It's my dream congratulations party."

"See? I knew it," Wes said happily, and he paced the hall to the commons, throwing open the doors that were shut. More was poised on his lips but they died before they could make it out.

Confused, the boys joined him at the doors and their mouths dropped open.

The inside of the commons was completely barren. The grand mahogany table in the back of the room was gone, as well as the handful of chairs. The bookcase that was normally behind it up against the wall had disappeared. The long sofa and the two armchairs had vanished, along with the coffee table and the side tables. The lamps were nowhere to be seen and even the flat screen television was no longer in its place in the media cabinet. If the media cabinet was there in the first place.

The curtains that typically hung from rods over the windows were gone and the rods with them. Underneath the windows, the seat cushions had been misplaced to somewhere unknown. Every single piece of furniture that had decorated the commons was gone.

"What in the world…?" Blaine trailed off and stepped into the empty space. The walls were free of the heavily garnished oil paintings and the tall lamps in the corners of the room were not in their place.

Wes had gone as white as snow. "Where did all our stuff go?" he asked to a vacant room and he flinched when his voice bounced off the walls.

"This is not happening, this is not happening," David chanted to himself, as if that would make all the furniture suddenly reappear in their original places. "This is so not happening."

Kurt crossed the room in a few long strides and peered out the window when something caught his eye. He cupped his hands around his eyes and squinted. He sighed and dropped his head. "Guys, I think I found all our furniture."

Immediately the boys pressed against him and scanned the grounds. Outside, in plain view and piled together, was the furniture of their common room. The long sofa was the most visible thing and it faced them in almost a taunting manor. The small chairs and side tables were piled on top of it, the tall floor lamp hanging over the edge. The rest of the furniture was arranged in a sloppy mound behind the sofa.

"That's just great. Just great," Blaine droned and pulled away from the window. He raked his hands through his curled hair and let out a furious groan.

"Too bad Diego isn't here," Wes commented quietly. "It would have been kind of funny to see him have a heart attack at this. You know, to see him freak out a bit." He was faced with blank stares. "What?"

Kurt shook his head. "I think poor Diego gets enough stress from you alone. Add on all the stuff that South has been doing to us and you've got a good heap of trouble," he said.

Cody clapped his hands together and sat down on the bench below the window. "So, I say that for my congrats-for-making-the-team party, we do everyone a favor and get our furniture back in here. What do you say?"

At first, no one answered.

Then, Blaine concurred, "I think Cody's right. We need to show South that we're not irritated by their actions of wing dismantlement, and be good sports about it."

Wes snorted loudly. "What have you been drinking?"

"Nothing." Pink tinted his cheeks. "All I'm saying is we need to not be bothered by them. We don't need to strike back against them and maybe they'll lay off when they get no reaction from us."

Kurt nodded, agreeing silently. Yet part of him wanted to do something horrible to South for all the grief they'd put North under. He had tried the same approach Blaine was describing back at McKinley, when Karofsky had constantly shoved him into lockers and dumped slushies down his shirt. He had tried to ignore it the best he could to show Karofsky he wasn't fazed by the harsh actions, but he had failed and had gone after the bully, which ended up in a brutal kiss.

Shuddering inwardly, Kurt wrapped his arms around his torso.

"I'm going to go grab one of the tables," he murmured, head ducked down with his chin touching his chest. "And maybe then we can figure out Cody's celebration party." He grinned in the direction of the smaller boy, and left the room.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Fencing in the spring arises and two boys put their patience—not to mention tolerance—to the test. Kurt's rehearsal with Will takes a sudden turn for the worst, and Cody fixes everything with cupcakes._


	25. Little Talks

Hello, readers.

I hope most of you are enjoying your week. Right now, I'm off on spring break, thank goodness. I haven't had any time to write or simply relax. But alas, I only have five days left until my break is over.

And for those of you who care, big news in bullet points:

- I just finished reading John Green's 'The Fault in Our Stars.' Amazing book. Overall, it made me cry like a baby. There were some parts where I was bawling and then the next line would send me into a fit of hysterics. This is a must read book, and it's not that long. I finished it in a day, flat.

- New story alert. Within in the next month, I will have another new story out featuring our Glee power couple, Klaine (as if I would write about Finchel (no bashing)). I'm not giving away any plot specifics, but it will be a short story, maybe fifteen or so chapters long, all of them not more then ten thousand words a chapter.

- Story update. The story I had planned to post in August will still be posted in August. More details to come.

- Started 'The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight' by Jennifer Smith. Forty pages in, and it's really cute. Go read it.

So there, that's all my big news in bullet points for today.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee, but if I did, Quinn wouldn't have gotten into that... um, thing (no spoilers since some people might not have seen the finale episode).

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**Little Talks**

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**There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back / I tell her that I miss our little talks / Soon it will all be over, buried with our past / You used to play outside when you were young / Full of life and full of love. – Little Talks, Of Monsters and Men**

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Kurt sat on the bleachers with his ankles crossed and a textbook open in his lap. He turned the page, the slight breeze carrying sweet scents through the air and pushing his bangs to the side. He raised a hand to straighten them and stared at the words on the page, watching them slowly blur together.

Shaking his head, he looked up.

The field in front of him was emerald green, shaped in the perfect oval. Goals were set at either side of the field for the soccer team that was currently out of state, playing against other teams for some national title that Kurt didn't pay too much attention to. A long strip of white was set in the center of the field, and one figure danced across it, donning all white.

Blaine jumped back and forth across the white strip, a mask hiding his face and white gear covering his body. He sliced and jabbed at the empty air in front of him with his sabre. He had been practicing for an hour straight now and Kurt was starting to wonder how much longer it would be before he quit.

Kurt sat back in the bleachers, leaning back on his hands, and let his mind drift from his upcoming Physics test. He had plenty of opportunities to study besides the current moment. He would study at night, when he found it easier to remember questions and their answers.

Deciding on this option, Kurt slid the textbook back into his bag and watched as Blaine made another sharp swipe through the air.

The last three weeks had been out of the ordinary, nothing he'd expected at all.

First, Adam Harvey was the newest member of the Warblers. There was something physically about the boy that made him look too much unlike a singer. He had the thinnest frame Kurt had ever seen on a boy, and he often wondered how his legs didn't snap beneath him. He just didn't look like a singer, but his audition must've proved otherwise.

In addition, it was unheard of for Lovett to randomly open up a spot in the group. The first exception she made was for Kurt when he had transferred, then James when he had come, and now Adam was the third exception this year. But he must have been good enough to convince her to let him in.

The next chunk of news Kurt mulled over, something he was actually excited about, was that the closer for Nationals had been determined. It was a catchy Queen song that got him drumming his fingers on his knees to the beat.

It was about time for Lovett to decide on the song; the others had spent the last three weeks pestering her about it. It seemed she finally got fed up and researched possible tunes.

On top of the first two things, the North wing had to deal with another attack, and not the one Kurt and the others had found after the baseball tryouts, with the furniture disappearance.

After the overflow of South's kitchen sink after Spring Break—Ronnie finally fessed up to committing the act, but no one ratted him out to Markus—and the removal of furniture from the North commons, everyone was waiting on pins and needles.

Then, one morning of the week after tryouts, the boys of South woke up to find out that the electrical switches were rewired. If someone tried to turn on the overhead lights, the fan would start spinning instead. And when they attempted to turn on the fan, the microwave beeped.

North was waiting for South to strike back after that. And they did.

The week after, everyone found North's main hallway filled with small plastic cups of water after the final bell. The cups were lined neatly from wall to wall and contained water colored with bright green food dye. The entire North wing been forced to remain outside after orders from Diego to not take a step inside.

But after he had said that, he had gone inside and furiously kicked at the cups, sending mini waves of green water and plastic cups flying. He had obviously been upset.

Wes had suggested it was Will who coordinated the entire thing, but nothing could be proved and he couldn't be suspected. No one could, in fact. All that could be done was to have it cleaned up and the plastic cups discarded.

It was now three weeks into April and Kurt waited to see what kind of plan North would come up to get back at them. He was slightly afraid to see what they would whip out, but he was also giddy, excited, to see what was in store.

Aside from the constant pranks between the two wings that kept everyone on their toes, there was baseball. Games took place every weekend. Games between wings were held on Sundays, and games between other schools were on Saturdays. Kurt would make sure he saw Cody off every Sunday morning.

On the other hand, fencing was another sport to keep up with. Even though Kurt didn't play the sport, he was hooked into it because of Blaine, who practiced religiously whenever he could. His matches were held after school, against the other members of his own team and against the wings.

He won most of them, to nobody's surprise.

Kurt found Blaine more often than not playing against Will, and there was always a struggle for power between them. Half the time, Blaine came out as the winner. The other half, Will was the victor. Each match sent adrenaline rushing through both boys' systems, as well as Kurt, who watched from the sidelines, like everyone else.

Then there were things that Kurt was not looking forward to, namely duet rehearsals.

His weekly rehearsals with William Fitzroy were somewhat bearable. The blonde was being suddenly and unexpectedly nice, not to mention out of character. He didn't speak out of turn or interrupt when Kurt was talking, instead waiting until he was finished to say something. He held his usually hot temper under control.

Kurt felt like he had tumbled headfirst down the rabbit hole and had popped up in some reversed universe, where everything was crazy.

And crazy was certainly an understatement.

Cody, for one, had been buzzing around from class to the choir room to the diamond every day since tryouts. There was a way to share the fields for practices, where two wings got to practice one day, and the remaining two the next day. The bracket for finals would start weeks from now, the middle of May, and he was already freaking about that.

Thomas, for another, never did much talking anymore. He always had his phone in his hand, waiting for a text from Marissa Harvey. They had formed somewhat of a relationship when she had been here for the Valentine's Day Brunch, and Thomas had never been any happier.

Though, each time he waited patiently for each text, Kurt could see that part of him that flickered through, hoping it wasn't the last text he would receive from the petite girl.

Now, Kurt clambered to his feet and brushed off his school sweater, feeling warm. It was already getting too warm for long sleeves and sweaters and soon he would retire to short sleeved polos and other shirts that kept him cool. He carefully stepped down three rows until his feet touched the luscious grass and he walked across the field.

Blaine still had his mask over his face and was blindly slashing the air skillfully. His small frame allowed him to jump back and forth with frightening speed.

Kurt stopped at the edge of the long white mat and waited until there was a pause in the other boy's melodic swinging. Blaine must have noticed him standing there because he removed the thick mask and let his arms drop to his sides. He smiled tiredly.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Pretty entertaining, huh?"

"I don't know whether to take that as sarcasm or completely straight forward," Kurt said and clasped his hands behind his back. He cocked his head to the side. "Personally, I think the matches are more interesting than watching you practice for an hour straight."

Blaine raised an eyebrow and he pulled a clump of hair, glistening with sweat, out of his eyes. "It's been an hour already? Wow. Time certainly flies," he mumbled. "What time is it now?"

"Just four-thirty," Kurt answered after pulling out his phone.

"I guess I should be done for the day, then," Blaine mused and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. He stepped down from the white mat. "Thanks for coming to watch."

Kurt waved a hand at him. "It wasn't a problem; besides, I wanted to see you. I always love a man in uniform."

Blaine smiled warmly at him, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek, and he sat down on the mat, setting the mask beside him.

"Do you ever go out of the district?" Kurt sat down beside him, their shoulders brushing together, folding his hands over his knees.

"Not really. Usually, it's just against other wings, but rarely do we ever play against other schools," he started off. "So if you want to watch, you'll never have to leave the comfort of the school grounds."

Kurt smiled lightly. "That sounds good. For finals, who do you play against?"

He raised a shoulder. "I'll find out the day of the match."

"And those are… when, again?"

"Those are the weekend of the baseball wing finals," Blaine said. He leaned back on his hands and carefully set his sabre by his side. "It should be a crazy weekend. Are you going to watch Cody, too?"

Kurt nodded and reveled in the soft breeze that ruffled his hair. "Of course. Thank goodness the two fields are close together. It would be a pain to have to run back and forth from one side of the school to the other over the course of the day," he said and brushed his hair back into place.

Blaine smiled again and tilted his head back, looking up at the sky.

"Do you have to play against William in finals?" Kurt asked after what felt like twenty minutes had passed.

The other boy looked at him gravely. "Most likely. East and West aren't much of fencers, so it's probable that they won't make it to finals. That's the way it is every year, anyway. North and South get paired in finals, we choose one from each team to battle it out, and may the best fencer win."

"And is the best fencer usually you?" Kurt guessed with a teasing smile.

Blaine struggled to hold back a grin. "I don't want to brag, but yes. I was in finals with him last year, and—"

"And you only won by one point, Anderson. I know you like to revel in that, but please, it's not polite to brag," came a slick voice from behind them. Both turned to look, though they knew from the voice.

William strode toward them, head to toe in white. A mask dangled from his fingers and in the other hand, he carried a long sabre not unlike Blaine's. As expected, Carson and James brought up the rear, Carson looking positively bored and James with a leather-bound book propped open in one hand.

"But it was that one point that counted," Blaine said and slowly got to his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Whatever." The blonde curled his lip slightly.

Blaine leaned his weight to one foot. "What are you doing here?"

Will gave the sabre a twirl between his fingers and nearly caught its tip against Carson's face; it was obvious Carson was trying to hold back to urge to rip it from his hand and crack it over his knee.

"Same reason you're here: I was going to practice," Will said easily. He stopped spinning it and held the point down at the ground. "Is that a problem?"

Blaine put on his best face, though Kurt knew that was the last thing he wanted to do. "No, not at all. Kurt and I were just leaving. The field is all yours."

But when Blaine bent over to pick up his sabre, a white shoe came down on the beam and he looked up.

"What do you think you're doing, Will?" he asked, sugar coating his voice. But even then, it sounded deadly.

"Oh, come on, Blaine. One scrimmage. For old time's sake," Will told him, looking down. "It won't affect the standings of finals, if that's what you're worried about. I'm sure North and South will both make it. Again. Like last year."

Blaine stood up and placed a hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temple. "Will, I don't want to. If this is your way of wanting me off the field, then you've got it. I was already leaving. Now get your foot off my sabre."

The blonde's lips curved up maliciously. "Don't be such a stick in mud. What's one little game between us?"

"Fine," Blaine said flatly. "Move your foot and we'll play, if that's really what you want."

Will gladly moved out of the way. "Of course it's what I want. I don't know why I'd be asking for it if I didn't want it," he said smoothly. He waited until Blaine had picked up his mask and weapon to start strolling to one end of the mat. "Now, the terms…"

"Best out of three touches," Blaine said shortly. His posture was slouched as he marched to the opposite side of the mat.

"Best of five," Will shot back. He took in Blaine's glare. "Don't be such a sour puss. Best of five makes for an exciting match. Three is too quick, too simple." He lifted his mask and gracefully fitted it on. "And you would easily lose that."

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the last comment. "We're doing best of three, Will. This is a scrimmage, not the actual bout."

The blonde flattened his lips into a line so tight, it almost disappeared. "Fine. We'll do best of three. Let's get it over with."

"It'll be quick, I assure you. This will be over before you blink," Blaine said sternly.

"Sounds like a threat." Will's voice was muffled by the mask, but the words were clear enough to decipher.

"No. It's a promise," Blaine said and slipped the mask over his face. He raised the sabre.

Carson casually stood in the center of the mat as James and Kurt stood a distance away. Kurt couldn't help but keep at least three feet of distance between he and the dark haired boy, and he felt his muscles lock.

"Alright, ladies," Carson said jokingly, "I want this to be a clean game. No splicing, spearing, or tackling allowed. No ripping off face masks, as that will be a penalty, and definitely no vulgar language." He looked between them with a bored expression. "I don't want to see any blood at the end of this, so please, refrain from killing each other."

"Just get on with it," Will called lowly. He was already anxious—bobbing up and down on his feet, shaking his muscles loose.

Carson raised his hand and pulled out his phone to set the time at three minutes. "If the allotted three minutes runs out before three touches are made, the player with the most touches wins. If one of you happens to get three touches before the three minutes are over, the bout is over," he recited. Over his shoulder, he said, "James, Kurt? Will you mind counting points?"

Kurt perked when he heard his name. He carefully stood on the side of the mat where Blaine was standing. Though Kurt couldn't see his face, he knew he was worried out of his mind.

"All I want you to do is keep track of how many points they score," Carson instructed them.

"Are you going to tell us when they score?" James asked feebly and the look on his face right after said that he shouldn't have said anything.

"I'll tell you. Now, are you ready?" Carson nodded and he gazed at the two players dressed in white. "En garde!" His thumb hovered over the button that would start the time. "Prêt!"

Kurt held his breath. Even though it was only a meaningless game, one that didn't affect anything, it made his heart flutter.

"Allez!"

As soon as Carson dropped his hand and started the time, the two boys advanced on each other, the twang of metal filling the air when the sabres collided. Blaine was disadvantaged by several inches, as Will was clearly the taller of the two. The blonde charged forward and their sabres met with a twangy sound that drove Kurt insane.

Ten seconds hadn't even passed when Carson was nudging him lightly in the shoulder. "Point for Blaine."

Anxiously, Kurt held up a finger. He wrapped his other arm around his waist in hopes of calming his twitchy nerves. He ended up biting the nails of the hand he was counting points on.

The thwips of the metal through the air were the only sounds. The baseball teams weren't practicing until later that evening, which would explain why James was present, and not a soul could be seen. The faint buzz of cars off the highway miles away was heard, however, and that gave Kurt something to listen for, as watching the bout made him antsy.

Then, Will struck forward and pinned the tip of his weapon against Blaine's shoulder.

James sucked in an audible breath, thrilled, and held up a finger. His sapphire eyes watched the two boys dance across the mat and he picked at his lower lip. Kurt thought he saw a spot of blood, but turned back to the bout, realizing he had not been paying close attention to the game.

The next point was scored again by Will, having found a blind spot in Blaine's charge forward. He stabbed the uniform right at Blaine's arm and by his body language, he was clearly exhilarated.

And again, James held up a finger.

"One more touch left for Will," Kurt heard Carson mumble under his breath. His eyes darted back and forth between the time on his phone and the two boys, watching for faults and penalties.

Blaine gritted his teeth and stared through the mesh mask at his opponent. Adrenaline flooded his veins and he wanted nothing more than to drop the sabre and attack him head on, but he knew that would cause him to automatically lose. He kept his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt and made a daring strike forward.

Carson saw it, Kurt saw it, and even James saw it. Will had misstepped and there was an open area on his chest that Blaine struck. Kurt happily held up a second finger without needing Carson to tell him.

They were tied now, and tension was strung through the air as tight as a bow.

Kurt had to cover his mouth with his hand to physically keep from shouting and cheering. His toes curled in his shoes and he pinched his tongue with his teeth, he thought he tasted blood.

Beside him, Carson looked nervous. He was chewing on his thumb nail and watching the clock eagerly. Kurt leaned over his shoulder and saw that there were forty-five seconds left before the game would be called. And the seconds were ticking away fast.

Kurt snapped his head up when he heard a sharp clang of metal that he hadn't heard earlier. Will had made a swipe at Blaine and nearly knocked the sabre from his hand. But Blaine kept a firm grip on it and, obviously not expecting that, jumped back to avoid the blow that Will struck.

Thirty seconds and the boys were still dancing.

On Carson's other side, James had paled. His eyes were as wide as saucers and a vein was visible on the side of his neck.

Blaine dodged another of the blonde's strikes. He leapt back, breathing hard, and felt a stich strike his side. He wanted to jump off the mat and fall flat on the ground to catch his breath, though he stayed on his feet. If he did that, Will would never let him live it down.

He had never had asthma before. But with the exertion he was presenting, his arm muscles screaming in protest every time he made a swipe and his legs growing weary, he might pull up a case of it.

Sweat dripped down the side of his face and stung as it reached his eye, and he held back to urge to rip of the mask and wipe it away. From Kurt's suddenly bouncy behavior on the sidelines, he guessed he didn't have much time left.

Will swallowed roughly and took gasping breaths. Blaine had always been quicker than him, more agile, and he always pulled through in short bouts like this. He was built for short times, not the long, eight-minute bouts they would have to compete in for finals.

He stood back to pant, his chest rising and falling greatly. His muscles were wound tight and his hand quivered around the hilt of his weapon. Blaine stood on the other side of the mat and was breathing hard as well. Even through the mesh, he saw Blaine's piercing glare.

"Getting tired, Blaine?" he chuckled loud enough for him to hear. He didn't care if any of the others heard.

"You wish," came the bitter reply from Blaine.

Then, Will broke the eye contact and charged swiftly forward. He saw the movement Blaine made back to avoid being hit and then he saw the tip of Blaine's sabre coming straight for him. Without thinking, he struck and slammed the point of his weapon forward. When he hit something padded, he knew he had won.

Kurt gasped from the sidelines. He had seen the mistake Blaine made—jumping back, then trying to strike a successful blow—but it had backfired and had given Will a wide open target.

Blaine was unsteady on his feet and felt the point of Will's sabre digging into his uniform, right over his sternum. He nearly dropped his weapon in surprise and leaned back. He put his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, Will," Carson said and broke the silence. He stepped up onto the mat and led Will's sabre in a path away from Blaine's throat. "You've won, so stop trying like you want to slit his throat. Lay off."

Will stood back and yanked off his mask. Underneath his face was pink and beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his hair plastered to his skin. He smiled faintly. "Relax, Grumpy Gus. I wasn't going to hurt him."

"That's what you said the last time, and remember how that ended?" Carson snapped. "Stop wasting their time."

Blaine took a gasping breath and removed his mask, letting it drop to his feet. He dropped the sabre, too, and it landed with a metallic twing. He took in as much air as he could muster and his throat was incredibly dry.

"Good game," Will said, ignoring Carson, and offered his hand.

Blaine stared at it. "Good game," he repeated rigidly.

The blonde licked his lips. "I hope finals goes as just as well as this," he said and pushed hair from his face. "If it does, we'll be seeing that trophy come my way."

"Get off the field," Blaine said hastily and made a grab for his weapon. Before Will had a chance to comprehend what was happening, Blaine had the tip of his sabre pressed at the base of the blonde's throat.

After the initial shock wore off, Will broke into a silly grin. "We both know that you wouldn't dare hurt me with one of these." He reached forward and ran a gloved finger slowly down the blade.

Blaine gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared. "After what you did to me last time, it's time I return the favor, don't you think?"

"Okay, okay," Carson said hurriedly and rushed between them. He yanked the blade from Blaine's hand and tossed it behind him, out of reach. "Both of you need to quit it. I don't want to have to call the Dean out here because you're both too idiotic to know when enough is enough."

Will raised his eyebrows in a way that said _I told you so. _He had trouble keeping back a satisfied grin.

Carson saw this and, to Kurt's surprise, shoved his friend in the chest, lightly. Will stumbled back a few steps and the smirk was gone.

"Stop it," Carson practically yelled through clenched teeth. "I don't want to see either of you throwing punches out here."

"I was using a sabre," Blaine pointed out in an eerily flat voice.

"Shut up!" He thrust his phone in his pocket and glared murderously at them.

Kurt felt a lump form in his throat and he cautiously stepped up onto the mat. He placed a weary hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Carson's right, Blaine. Let's just go," he said so quietly, he wasn't sure if he had even said anything in the first place.

At his touch, Blaine's shoulders fell from their tense position and he rubbed his face. He was at loss for words.

"I'd like to not see anyone die today," James said in a near whisper. He stepped onto the mat and stood between Carson and Will, his eyes on the latter.

But Will glared at Blaine. "No one's going to die, unless I shove my sabre down his throat—" He started to raise his dominant hand and took a step forward, towards Blaine. He halted when James suddenly scrambled between them.

Kurt had to admit, it was a smart move for him. Will would never bring any harm to the dark haired boy, and he immediately dropped his arm.

"I think it's time we leave," Kurt whispered. He looped his arm through Blaine's and pulled him in the direction of the bleachers. He had to keep his hand wrapped around Blaine's to keep him from going back.

Kurt slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled Blaine with him.

"Oh, and Kurt?"

He froze when he heard his name tainted by Will's voice.

Slowly he turned around. "Yes, Will?"

"Don't forget about our rehearsal this afternoon," he drawled.

Kurt narrowed his eyes to slits. "Rehearsal?"

The blonde raised his chin a fraction. "For the Spring Show. You didn't forget, did you?"

"Of course not," Kurt said, feeling suddenly short of breath. "I'll be there at five-thirty. The South commons, right?"

"As always." Will twirled his weapon in his hand like a baton and Carson had to take a step away from him to avoid being tipped in the face. He flashed a charming smile and turned his back to him.

Kurt rolled his eyes, exasperated, and tugged Blaine away from the field and to the equipment house. Kurt opened the door and followed Blaine inside, closing the door behind them.

The equipment house was stacked from floor to ceiling with shelves. Soccer balls were grouped together in a plastic bin on one of the shelves, along with mesh jerseys and spare nets, all for the soccer team.

The other side of the house was reserved for the fencing teams. There was a box of extra gloves on one shelf, and that was all Kurt saw. Then he saw the large metal locker that Blaine was in the process of opening. It was the height of regular public school lockers, but much, much wider, almost taking up half the entire wall.

He flung open the door and didn't stop it from hitting the wall, creating a sharp sound. Blaine rummaged around inside for a black garment bag and unzipped it, taking out an array of hangers. He started to remove the blindingly white gear, starting with the shoes, which he placed at the bottom of the garment bag.

As he changed from his gear into a pair of shorts with the Dalton logo emblazoned on the side and a matching shirt, he kept his lips pressed into a furious line.

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. "I think you did alright."

This set him off, and Blaine glared at him. "I _lost, _Kurt. I don't think that qualifies as 'doing alright.'"

"I was only trying to offer a bit of sympathy. You don't have to snap at me," he grumbled.

"I wasn't—" Blaine stopped with the chest pad halfway over his head and he sighed. He pulled it the rest of the way over his head and hung it on a hanger, placing it with the shoes in the garment bag. "I'm not going to say anything else, because I know someone is going to get mad."

Kurt ran his tongue across his lower lip. "Why didn't you have that attitude when you were out there a few minutes ago?" he asked. "When you had that sabre pressed to Will's throat?"

"So you're defending him?" Blaine asked and noisily zipped up the bag. "You're really defending him over me?"

"Believe it or not, but I am," Kurt said in a long breath. "Your behavior out there was completely uncalled for. It's only a game, Blaine."

Blaine slammed the locker shut loudly, so loudly that it rang in Kurt's ears, and he tugged on a pair of old tennis shoes. "It wasn't just a game. He made it personal—He makes every little thing personal."

"I think _you _made it personal, Blaine," Kurt said thickly. He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

"I did not make it personal!" he argued and hopped on one foot trying to tie his shoe. He knotted it and joined Kurt outside. "Believe me when I say he always makes everything personal," he said in a lower voice, watching as Will danced across the mat.

There was some grace to it, Kurt had to admit, the way he moved skillfully across the mat, making it almost seem like a waltz. He swung his weapon sharply and precisely, slicing at the air in front of him.

Carson was lying on the grass with his hands folded behind his head and short distance away. His lips moved as he said something to Will. A few feet away, James was spread on his stomach with his volume open in front of him, flipping pages and skimming over words.

Kurt tore his eyes away from the trio and started walking back in the direction of the school.

"You need to stop reflecting on everything that happened in the past with you two, Blaine," Kurt muttered sourly and kept walking.

Blaine caught up with him, his eyes wide with shock. "If you haven't noticed, he's the one who won't let go. He brings up the past like it's a common dinner table discussion, and he says it so casually like he doesn't even care about it. Like he doesn't even care about how it would affect me."

"I don't think you considered how it would affect him before you put that weapon at his throat.

"Would you stop bringing that up?" Blaine asked. "It was a sudden urge I had, and I thought it would get him to shut up. He's always been an ass and I've been waiting two years to do that."

Kurt bristled and wrapped his arms around his torso. He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, thinking of new words.

Then, "Look, I get that you two had a rough history that I don't completely understand, but this is the present. You need to stop hanging onto the past and using it as an excuse for everything you do to him."

Blaine stopped walking for a few seconds, his brows furrowing. He caught back up with Kurt, speechless. "I'm done. I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said and ran a hand through his damp hair.

"You're going to have to tell me sometime," Kurt contradicted. "I'm not going to go the rest of the year without hearing what went down between you and him. It must've been bad because every time you bring it up, you act like someone's pressed a hot curling iron against your face."

"Then find out from Will. I don't care if he tells you," Blaine told him gruffly. They reached the dorm building and stepped into the cool air. "All I'm asking from you is… to not ask me to tell it. I can't get through it without wanting to punch him in the face or drowning myself in the shower."

Kurt stopped just outside the commons and trained his eyes on him. "Then I'll be sure to ask him during our rehearsal today. I'm sure he wouldn't mind telling me at all."

"Go ahead. I don't care. Just as long as I don't have to talk," Blaine grumbled and stalked in the opposite direction. He disappeared behind the double doors that led to the dorms and left silence in his place.

Fuming, Kurt turned on his heel and stalked into the common room. He plopped down on the window seat between Cody and David and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Whoa, Kurt doesn't look happy," Wes said in a low voice. He was sitting backwards in a chair with a book in his hands, trying to read, when he saw Kurt sit down. "What happened?"

"Blaine's being very temperamental," Kurt replied briskly.

"How, exactly?" David asked.

"He threw a tantrum because he lost a scrimmage that meant nothing and nearly stabbed William in the throat with a sabre," Kurt said without skipping a beat.

Cody dropped his jaw. "No way. He didn't do that."

"He did."

Wes let out a laugh. "Man, I'm going to have to give him props for that," he crowed. "He always talks about Will getting on his ass about stuff, and now he's finally decided to do something about it." He caught the stern glare from both David and Kurt. "I mean, oh. He shouldn't have done that. What was he thinking?"

"That's better," David said and crossed his legs. "Now answer me this: why in the world did he nearly stab Will in the throat?"

Kurt sat up and leaned against the window. Through the glass, he could feel the warmth of the sun. "Will challenged him to a little bout and he ended up losing. He got so mad that he decided to oh-so-innocently spear Will in the throat."

Thomas suddenly appeared, sitting up on the couch. He had a bleary look in his eye. "Okay, all I heard was 'Will' and 'stab.' What happened? Did someone really do the deed and stab old Fitzroy?"

Kurt reluctantly repeated what he'd just said and Thomas had the same reactions as the others.

"No way!" He scrambled to his knees and leaned forward zealously. "How did Blondie take it?"

"Carson broke it up before it got to be anything too serious. And James threatened to become a human shield, which set Will off guard," Kurt said and straightened his tie. "I thought for a second that he would've accidentally stabbed James in an attempt to get to Blaine."

Wes leaned forward in his chair so much that it almost toppled over. "And did he?"

Kurt sighed. "No, he didn't. Needless to say, everyone was ticked off by the end of it."

"Wow. Blaine doesn't usually get too upset over little games like that," Cody said curiously. "Actually, he never lets anything get to his head."

"Well, he certainly let this get to his head, it seems," David muttered worriedly. "I know he's always had issues with Will and fencing and competition, but he's never threatened anyone like that."

Kurt perked. "What kind of issues?"

David shut his mouth, looking ashamed, like he wasn't supposed to say anything more.

"Well, to start off, he's always had major issues with Will and fencing. Since, like, our first year," Wes said and rocked back and forth in his chair. He had abandoned his book completely. "They were about equal in skill and all that, but there was something that made Will better, and Blaine couldn't stand that. He started working harder and harder for it, and he spent most of his time after school practicing out on the field."

"We made it a pact that one of us would have to get him before it got too dark," Cody said fretfully. "There was one night when he didn't show up until morning because he had been too tired to drag himself back to the dorms. We found him sleeping on the bleachers."

Kurt blinked. "He did that?"

"Oh, he did more than that," Thomas jumped in. He rested his chin against the armrest of the couch. "A few times he skipped lunch and even Warblers class to go out and practice. It didn't matter if people were using the soccer field: he would use the track field or even the baseball field. Just as long as he had somewhere to practice."

"And all that practice paid off in the end," David said mournfully. "He won the fencing finals for North our freshman year and he couldn't have been happier. And since he had faced off against Will, it was an even sweeter victory. He's got a medal for it and he has it somewhere in his room, I think."

Kurt nibbled on his nails. "I had no idea. Did he win finals the next year?"

"Obviously," Cody said and licked his lips, which Kurt noticed were chapped. "He worked as hard as he did the year before, and maybe even harder. But he nearly lost it all by one point. That was one of the closest games Dalton had seen in terms of fencing. They went over the time limit because they were tied and it lasted for _ages_—"

"Until Blaine sucker punched him right in the chest, a perfect hit!" Wes said excitedly. He looked ready to jump out of his chair. "Oh, man, it was great!"

"In the end he came out on top and with another medal to join his first one," Thomas said. "Not to mention the trophy that's in the trophy case by the main office."

"And if Will wins this year's finals," David said crossly, "then expect to not have any contact with Blaine all summer, or all of next year's fall term. Because he'll be out on the field, practicing until his heart gives out. I swear, I wonder how he doesn't have asthma or another sports-related bodily issue."

Kurt tilted his head to the side. "Has he ever had an inhaler?"

David and Wes shared a look; they knew him better than anyone else in the room.

"I think in middle school he did," David said unsurely.

"And maybe even elementary school. But if you want to be sure, ask him."

Kurt held up his hands defensively. "There is no way I'm asking him anything else today. He's already under a lot of stress as it is," he murmured, concerned. He tucked his knees to his chest and placed his chin on his knees. "Long story short, he kept bringing up that he couldn't understand why Will had to make everything so personal, and when I asked him to explain what had happened two years ago, he didn't want to tell me."

"I can understand why," Cody said and tucked a lock of light brown hair behind his ear. "It was an awful, awful thing to witness. When they were together, all that came to mind was sappy romantic couples in Nicholas Sparks books. Everyone _hated _it."

"Why did they hate it?" he questioned.

Wes rolled his eyes. "Obviously, Blaine was too down-to-earth and Will was too much of a snob. I know they say opposites attract, but these two did not go well together. I mean, they liked each other, but we didn't think it was all too good."

Cody nodded. "That was the way it was until the spring, about May."

Kurt looked at him, waiting for him to finish. When he didn't he prompted, "And? What happened after that?"

Cody placed his hands over his mouth and shook his head furiously.

"He can't say anything," Thomas told Kurt, seeing Kurt's bewildered expression. "He thinks that if he tells you, then Blaine will get mad at him, and he doesn't want that. From what you're telling us right now, Blaine's pretty pissed, and he doesn't want Blaine to be even more pissed."

"Then will you tell me?" Kurt rounded on him.

The redhead flushed. "No. I can't. I'm under an oath."

Kurt stared dumbly at him. "What kind of oath?"

"Blaine made us take a silly oath that, at the time, seemed pretty legit," Wes said and scratched his head. "He made us promise that we wouldn't start blabbering to people about what happened with everything. He wouldn't even let us say Will's name."

"Obviously that last one was broken nearly five seconds after he made us take the oath," David chipped in and played with the Warbler pin on his lapel. "But Blaine made us cross our hearts and hope to die, stick a poodle in our eyes, that we wouldn't tell a soul. It was very elementary."

Kurt nodded. "It sounds a little immature."

"But it was Blaine, after all," Thomas mentioned. "He wanted to have our words that we wouldn't let rumors spread."

Wes sighed longingly. "And look where that brought us. We've got a whole pool of rumors the size of Idaho."

"Like what?" Kurt asked. He couldn't begin to fathom what rumors there were.

"After he and Will broke up, he called me and David to tell us," Wes started. "At that time we were in the lunch room—"

"When we weren't supposed to be using our phones, I might add," David said punitively.

"—and he told us everything. Somehow, someone overhead us talking about it and there were rumors all over the place." He threw his hands over his head. "There were ones that Blaine had broken up with Will, and vice versa, and then ones about why neither of them showed up to school for the next two weeks."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Those were the ones where some people thought Blaine had gotten so mad at Will for not putting out that he killed him and was trying to figure a way to hide the body." He brushed flaming hair from his eyes. "But thank goodness that one was only a rumor."

"Yeah, thank goodness." Kurt felt his face grow bright red. He tried to keep his mind from going back to the words Thomas had said earlier—"putting out." It made his stomach churn to think that the two boys had actually… gotten down and dirty. He shuddered.

Wes chuckled at his reaction. "I know what you're thinking. Will would give himself up in an instant," he said.

"And how would you know that, Wesley?" Cody remarked smartly, a grin on his face.

Wes waved a hand at him. "Oh, you know it as well as I do. He looks like the kind of guy that would do anything for a—"

Kurt hid his face in his hands. "Okay, okay! Too much information! I do not want to know about his sex life, please!"

"I don't think any of us do." David glared heavily at his friend. "Anyway, the point is that there were a lot of rumors about what had happened between the two of them, from the classic Taylor Swift-Joe Jonas twenty-seven second phone call to a bloody murder out of grief and depression. It was getting insane."

Wes pointed a finger at him. "Don't forget the ones when they came back—the ones about the bandages—"

"Wes!" Cody shrieked and had to physically restrain himself from leaping to his feet.

"Oh, shit," he said and his eyes were wide with realization. They stared blankly at the floor and his mouth dropped open.

Kurt sat up straighter when the entire room fell silent. "What's wrong?" he asked, knowing he would not get an answer. "What's the deal about the bandages?"

"There's no bandages!" Cody said in the squeaky voice he acquired when he was out-of-his-mind nervous. He knitted his hands together and tried not to look Kurt in the eye.

"You just said there was something about bandages," Kurt argued and wrinkled his brows in confusion. "Who hurt someone?"

Wes stared at him funnily. "You hear something about bandages, and then you immediately assume someone got hurt?"

"Why wouldn't I? People usually use bandages to help cuts heal, and—" He froze midsentence. He paused for a long amount of time and almost lost his train of thought. But he came up with the words that were bouncing around his mind. "Will didn't… hurt Blaine, did he?"

"Not at all," Cody murmured into his hands.

"Will was a gentle giant when it came to Blaine," Thomas said. Even he had toned down the enthusiasm in his voice and was picking at his cuticles. "He would've never laid an unkind on him. He loved him enough to not make him hurt."

Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Cody sat beside him, not saying a word and curling his toes in his shoes; David was leaning against the wall and kept his mouth shut; Wes had gone back to his book and had it open to look like he was reading, but he was holding it upside down.

Shaking his head barely, he looked behind him out the window. The sun was bright and nearing the horizon, reflecting against the vibrant green grass. He spotted three figures pacing across the grounds, in the direction of the dorm building, and Kurt shot to his feet.

"I almost forgot," he said hurriedly and grabbed his bag from where it was sitting on the floor. "I have a rehearsal with Will."

"Again?" Wes blurted. "You're spending so much time with him, you might as well marry the guy."

"I would hope not," said a voice from the doorway. Blaine idled by the doors, donning fresh clothes, his hair damp and smelling strongly of mint. "I think I would die of heart break if that happened."

Kurt couldn't hold back a smile and he shrugged his bag over his shoulder. He came up to where Blaine was standing and said in a low voice, "You look better."

"And I feel better," Blaine concluded and a wet curl dripped in front of his face. Kurt pushed it carefully out of his eyes. He caught Kurt's hand and held it between both of his own. "I'm sorry about the way I exploded over the bout. It was completely out of turn."

Kurt smiled and felt his hand, warm and smooth under his own. "It's fine. But you don't need to apologize to me. Apologize to William."

"As much as I would love to do that," he started and the smile slowly faded, "he deserved it. After all that he's done to me since our freshman year—"

Kurt placed his hand over Blaine's lips. "Okay," he said, "you keep repeating 'in our freshman year' or stuff like it. When are you going to finally tell me what happened in freshman year?"

Blaine picked the boy's hand from his mouth and said, "Don't you have rehearsal with Will? It's nearing five-thirty."

"I suppose I do," Kurt said rather tautly, catching the roughness in Blaine's voice, and pulled his hands back. "I'll see you in an hour."

With that, he stalked out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

When Kurt arrived in the South wing not five minutes later, he found the hallways empty. The lighting was dim as most of the lamps were off. Even if he had one million more rehearsals with Will, he imagined he would never get used to the constant cloak of darkness.

He found the common room without much difficulty and poked his head in.

A handful of boys lounged on the sofa and across the floor in front of the television, which displayed a soccer game. Others were studying in the corners of the room and on the window seats. Some of them lifted their eyes to stare at him. Kurt tried not to stare back.

At the back table, Will sat with his feet propped up, resting upon it. He had his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes were shut, his chest rising and falling at a deliberate, even pace.

He was out of his fencing gear and without it, he looked much slimmer. He had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, similar to what Blaine had on earlier. His arms were toned from years of athletics and his skin was colored tan.

James sat in the chair next to him and held a red-splattered tissue his hand. He was dabbing it under Will's eye.

"Oh," he squeaked when he caught Kurt standing in the doorway, and he flushed. "Hello, Kurt. Please, come sit down." He nodded to one of the chairs and went back to dabbing at Will's face.

"What happened?" Kurt asked in a quiet voice. He felt the eyes of the other Souths boring holes in the back of his head and it made him want to bolt. But he forced himself to sit down.

If they had a problem with his presence, they would have to deal with it.

Now that he was closer, he was able to see the blemished skin underneath Will's left eye. It was bruised and red and looked like it may have been bleeding earlier. A first aid kit and a bottle of something awful smelling sat on the table in front of James.

"Is he… is he unconscious?" Kurt asked lamely.

"Unconscious?" The blonde opened one eye, the right one, and chuckled. "I'm far from it, thankfully." He titled his head back to look up at James. "Did you know he had such a good right hook?"

James offered a petite sigh, shook his head, and said, "No, I didn't. Now be still, unless you want me to stab your eye."

"Did someone punch you, Will?" Kurt asked incredulously. He felt like breaking out into laughter, considering Will would be to punch anyone if he felt like it, not the other way around. But he held back his laughter.

"Carson did," James said when Will didn't say anything.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Carson? Really? Why would he do that?"

"He said I was acting very childish today, after the bout with Blaine," Will said. "And he thought it would be a good idea to—" He winced, a sharp intake of air through his teeth, and cast a bitter glance up at James.

"If you would stop moving so much, maybe you wouldn't be in so much pain," James grumbled in reply.

He reached over to drop the used tissue on the table. It was crimson red with blood and it occurred to Kurt that Carson must've punched him hard enough to draw blood.

James reached for a cotton ball from the kit and soaked it in a bit of the foul-smelling liquid that Kurt recognized as rubbing alcohol. He was screwing the cap on the bottle shut when Will caught his wrist.

"What, Will?" James asked and stopped moving.

"What are you doing?"

The question stunned him. "What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm trying to help."

"I know, and thank you, but you don't put alcohol on a wound." Will looked kindly up at him, almost appearing like he was in a bit of a daze. Along from physically punching him, Carson must have punched the arrogance out of him as well.

James dropped his hand. "And why would that be?"

A small, sly grin crept onto the blonde's face. "Because it can irritate the wound and cause more damage."

"And you know that because…?" James disappointedly placed the cotton ball next to the soiled tissue and waited for his answer.

Will sat up in his chair, swinging his feet down from the table. He leaned his elbows against the table and kindly picked through the first aid kit. He found what he was looking for—a small tube of cream.

"Because my mom is a knowledgeable doctor," he said and there was a hint of boastfulness when he said it. He opened James' hand and placed the tube in his palm, closing his fingers over it. "Now, if you put cream on it instead, it will have a better outcome than if you put alcohol on it."

James stared down at the cream, then looked to Kurt for assistance. Kurt offered a helpless shrug. James turned around in his seat and unscrewed the cap, squeezing out a long line of white cream onto his index finger.

Holding Will's face steady with his other hand, he smeared the cream, not just under his eye, but down his cheek. Will leaned back, out of his reach, and made a face.

"You said cream would help," James said jokingly and sat up a tad straighter. He collected the first aid kit and the tissues. "The more, the merrier, as they always say."

Will bit his tongue and tried not to break his poker face. "One night, I will break into your room and cover you in antibiotic cream while you sleep, and we'll see how you like it," he said.

James made a noise that counted as a laugh and he stood up, tucked the kit against his chest. With a smug look, he strolled out of the commons.

"What was that for?" Will said. He held a disgusted face, but the hints of a grin were starting to peek through. He wiped off his face and used a little bit of the cream to smear under his eye.

Kurt bit his lip to keep from chuckling. "Well, you did say it would help. You really were asking for it."

Will rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "Come on," he said, pushing in his chair.

Blinking, Kurt got up and followed him out into the hall. "Where are we going?"

"My room," he said. "I think the commons would be a little too distracting. And think of everyone's reactions if we burst out in song without warning."

Kurt caught his lip between his teeth but didn't protest.

He had never stepped foot in any other room in the South wing other than the commons, and walking down the hall only accentuated his desire to not see the rest of the wing. The hallway held the dorm rooms grew darker as they proceeded.

Kurt was faintly reminded of the scenes in horror films where the main protagonist investigates a hidden chamber of a house, only to be led into a trap. This made him hesitate and he was about to stumble over his own feet, but caught himself.

The light that was there came from petite lamps sitting every few doors, and they all were so dim, they looked like the bulbs were close to going out. Doors lined the walls, stained in the same dark mahogany that was a constant around the school.

Will stopped in front of a door with a gold plate across it at eye level. He fished for a key in the pocket of his shorts and unlocked it, pushing it open. Kurt paused in the doorway and awkwardly picked at his lip with his nails.

Inside, the blonde was flicking on a few lamps. The light bathed everything in gold and Kurt blinked to adjust his eyes. It was such a contrast to the darkness of the halls and the common room.

Will beckoned him in with the wave of his hand. "What are you doing, just standing out there? Come in."

"Come in?" he repeated and he wrinkled his nose.

"No, I said get out and never let me see your face again for as long I live. Yes, now come in." Will gestured to him again but with a wide, sweeping motion of his hand.

Kurt swallowed back the urge to snap at his sarcastic remark—maybe Carson hadn't hit him hard enough after all—and he clutched the strap of his knapsack. He took a few steps into the room and found it not at all like he had imagined.

For the blonde's room, he had pictured bed sheets draped over the headboard and pillows slumped against the walls, the curtains half hanging off the rod and underwear piled on the floor. The dresser was supposed to have some of the drawers half open with clothes dripping out, and school papers were expected to create a blanket of white across the floor.

But it was not like that at all. The covers on the bed were neat and pulled tight enough to bounce a quarter off them. The carpet was free of debris and clothing and the lines drawing through it hinted at a recent vacuuming.

The desk where Will was standing held only a laptop and a folder of papers; his messenger bag was hooked over the chair. The bureau on one side of the room was bare across the top, save for an incredibly tall stack of novels from the library, a textbook, and what appeared to be a small instrument case.

Will scratched the back of his neck and winced when his wrist brushed his eye. "Would it be alright if I cleaned up before we start? I'd rather not go through rehearsal smelling like I just got off the playing field."

Kurt nodded. "By all means. It's your room."

"That's true, but it's also wasting your time," he said and passed him. He opened the door to the bathroom and licked his lips, like he wanted to say more, but went inside and wrenched the water on.

As soon as the door shut, Kurt let out a long breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He pried his hands off his bag and set it down by the bureau. Everything was so neat and tidy that he didn't want to sit down and mess anything up, so he remained standing in the middle of the room.

There was a second bed, parallel to the first, and it was only a wooden frame and a mattress. It was littered here and there with a few books. Will either never had a roommate or they'd moved out some time before now.

Kurt sat at the foot of the underdressed bed and let his hands close around the edges of the mattress.

He heard the water running through the pipes and the muffled sound as it hit the linoleum of the tub. He half expected to hear Will start singing, like most people do when they get in the shower. But there wasn't any singing, and he wondered if Will was purposely keeping quiet, or if he just didn't sing in the shower.

Shaking his head to clear the insane thought, Kurt looked around the room.

The laptop on the desk flashed once, twice, three times with a little white light. It was hooked up to a wall outlet, charging. The folder beside it was thin and looked like it had almost nothing in it. Kurt forced himself to stay seated and not snoop through it.

He did, however, allow himself to stand up again. He was antsy and walking helped calm his frayed nerves. He ran his fingertips along the smooth edge of the bureau and stopped when he reached the instrument case. He stole a glance back at the bathroom door to make sure everything was clear, and then he flipped open the two silver clasps.

The case opened with some difficulty and a reddish dust covered the hinges. Kurt's first assumption was that Will left it out in the rain. But who would leave an instrument in the middle of a downpour?

He finally wrenched the lid open and it made a cracking sound that sent shivers down his spine. The lid hadn't broken off, thankfully. Inside, laying on a bed of crimson velvet, was a violin that looked in near perfect condition.

Kurt stared at it. He would have never guessed that Will played the violin at all. If he had to play some instrument, Kurt would've pictured him with a guitar or a drum set. Carefully he ran his hand along the velvet. It was coated in a good layer of dust and he gave it a short blow.

A cloud of dust was sent up and Kurt leaned away, covering his mouth. A handful of dust made him sneeze and cough and he put his face in the crook of his elbow. When he looked up, eyes watering, he saw Will standing there, watching him.

He didn't know how long the blonde had been there and he certainly hadn't heard the water turn off. Hastily Kurt shut the instrument case and put a good three feet of space between he and the bureau.

"Your violin is very dusty," he commented after his fit of coughing had ceased.

Will didn't look surprised. He padded into the room, his hair damp and a dark shade of blonde, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He opened one of the dresser drawers and instead of having to dig, he was able to pluck a pair of socks right out and slip them on his feet.

"It's alright that you looked," he said and sat down in his desk chair. "It needed to be opened anyway."

Kurt lowered his arm from his face. "Do you play?" he asked lamely.

"Guessing from the large amount of dust in that case," he said and swiveled around in a circle, then coming to a stop after a full spin, "I would guess not in a while."

"Why?" The question slipped out of his mouth before he had the chance to think about it.

Will's nose twitched, almost like a rabbit's. "I don't know. I guess I lost interest in it."

Kurt stepped another pace away from the bureau and dug in his back for his music folio. With it in hand, he sat back down on the empty bed. He opened the folder and clasped a pen in his hands. "Are you ready to start?"

"Actually, no. I didn't plan on rehearsing with you today, Kurt," he said and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. He registered the shock on Kurt's face. "I wanted to talk to you about something, and this time is perfect."

"But the Spring Show is coming up, and—"

Will's glare silenced him. "You and I both know that our song is already up to speed. There's no reason to continue running it unless you really enjoy the song." He paused. "Not that it's a bad song, of course. I'm only saying."

Kurt gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Okay. What do you want to talk to me about?"

The silence between Kurt's last sentence and Will's next one was lengthy. Lengthy enough to make Kurt stir in his seat, fiddle with the tie at his throat. He brought his hand up to his mouth and then decided against chewing his thumb nail off at the last second.

"Could you do me a favor, possibly?" Will said quietly.

Kurt watched him closely. "It depends on what you want me to do."

Will leaned back in his chair and smiled, amused. "It's nothing bad, if that's what you were thinking. I don't plan on robbing a bank or making plans to take over the world," he said easily. When he found Kurt not affected by his humor, he continued, "You and Blaine are still together, correct?"

"That's correct." Kurt drew lazy circles in the corner of the sheet music for their Nationals opener. "Why do you want to know?"

"I was only wondering. Today, you two seemed a little far from on par with each other," Will said. "Is everything alright?"

"We're fine. Why do you want to know?" he repeated, and the words seemed to sink in his throat.

Will clasped his hands together in front of him. "That's the favor: don't hurt him."

Kurt stopped drawing. "What do you mean?"

Will shrugged one shoulder and looked over at the lamp that sat on the desk beside him. For a moment his cat eyes were soft, not piercing or as flat as a pane of glass. "Blaine meant a lot to me when we were dating, and he still means something to me now. I'd prefer not to see him hurt."

"And you think I would ever do something like that to him?" Kurt questioned sharply and heard a rip. He had torn a small hole in his music with the tip of his pen.

"I know you would never do that," Will assured him and turned his back to the lamp, "but it could happen whether you are aware of it or not. That's what happened between us in freshman year. I just want to know that you won't do anything to break him."

"I won't. I don't plan on it, either." Kurt shook his head, irritated by the use of the phrase 'in our freshman year.' He was about to ask why, but shut his mouth.

"That's good to hear," he murmured and he played with a strand of his hair between his index finger and his thumb.

Kurt clicked the pen. "Not to be nosy or anything, but why are you asking me this? I know you still care about him in a sense, but I'm not sure I understand completely."

Will twisted his lips to pucker them, like he had eaten something sour by mistake. "Blaine has had it rough the past two years, as you probably know. I don't want him to go through a similar situation again." He found Kurt's expression puzzling. "Has he told you?"

"Told me what?" he squeaked and sat up straighter.

"I guess not." He chuckled shortly and folded his hands in his lap.

Kurt set his jaw. "Told me what, Will?"

"About everything that happened two years ago. About his father. How we dated for six months and then broke it off," he explained. "Surely he's said something about it and you're messing with me right now."

"No. No, he hasn't told me a single thing about any of that," Kurt said rigidly, his words clipped.

"Funny," he mused to himself. He let his fingers drift over the bruise under his eye. "I imagined that that would be one of the first things he would want to tell you. I mean, you two are an item now. Doesn't that mean you start being open with each other?"

Kurt bit his lip. "I—I'm not sure," he stammered.

Silence fell in a blanket over the pair. Will spun around in another circle in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Kurt crossed his legs at the ankles and swallowed past the lump growing in his throat. What was Will talking about? Why didn't he know about it? _Should _he even know about any of it in the first place?

"What happened?" Kurt asked almost inaudibly. "With he and you. I know you dated and all, but I hear everyone saying that horrible things went on in your freshman year. Could you tell me a little? Just so I understand."

Will sucked in a long breath and let it out to stall for time. "I suppose you deserve to know. If Blaine won't tell you, then I guess I will.

"Blaine and I met the day of orientation at Dalton, two weeks before school was scheduled to start," he started. "Well, we didn't exactly meet that day. It was more of a 'love at first sight' experience, except neither of us knew the other was gay and we were both too afraid to introduce ourselves. Well, I was too afraid to. He acted like I was a ghost, not there at all. For a time, at least."

Kurt held up a hand. "So you're starting at the beginning."

"The very beginning. I'm sure it would be confusing if I started in the middle, wouldn't it?"

* * *

_Two years ago, August_

The main hallway of the school buzzed with boys. They were accompanied by parents, who clutched packets of papers that went into detail about the school and the classes and boarding. They followed their boys eagerly up and down the halls, finding classrooms on their schedules and becoming familiar with the school.

The Dalton Academy for Boys was grand. Three buildings spread across its campus, with a main building for classes and fine arts courses. The teachers' quarters were tucked away far behind the main building. It was specifically designed for professors who had a long commute home, which most of them did. And finally, on the other side of campus stood the boys' dorms.

The building, the boys learned, was divided into four separate wings, named after the four directions: North, South, East, and West.

North was especially known for its abundance of leadership skills and general outgoing qualities. It housed boys whose hearts might as well have been made of gold. They were kind, and generous, and glowed with a warm aura. This was where the best of friends could be made.

East was where academics were the key to everything, it seemed. All who lived in the East dormitories focused intently on schoolwork and found nothing more satisfying that receiving top marks. West, on the other hand, found its knack in the dramatic arts. The students took pride in being called drama nerds and any of the other names they were granted.

The South wing had a reputation for performing exceedingly well in the sports offered on campus. The majority of the teams were composed of boys from South. Athletics were a main part, as they held the most records for each sport.

This was the precise wing where William Fitzroy was enrolled. He was never really the athletic kind in the first place, and this bothered him. If he wasn't very fond of sports, why would he be placed in a wing centered around them? Was the enrolling done by randomly placing students? Or did the administrators scour personal records to see who would perform the best in what wing?

Will had no idea where to begin and he wasn't about to start questioning authority if it meant calling attention to himself. He would rather be stuck with a bunch of jocks than have everyone know who he was because he simply didn't get what he wanted.

Standing at the base of the wide, spiral staircase, he rolled his schedule into a tube, flattened it out, and then rolled it up again to keep his hands busy.

His parents were discussing the choir course with one of the teachers who stood off to the side, one with a cloud of dark hair and spectacles perched on her head. She wore a skirt that was so big it looked like it belonged in the Victorian era, and Will wrinkled his nose at it. He didn't understand why some women dressed that oddly. It wasn't that hard to find a skirt that didn't look like it had hula-hoops ringing the inside.

Either way, he assumed she was the choir director. He couldn't remember, even after he had auditioned for her during the summer, around July, for choir placements.

She looked like the singing type. But how could you tell who was the singing type and who was not? Physical attributes did not determine the superiority of your voice. At least, not that Will knew.

If singing was based on how good looking you were, he would have to consider himself an awkward goose in a flock of song birds. He never thought himself to be handsome at all. With his light blonde hair that was either hanging to the side or slicked back, and his eyes that were colored a mysterious green-hazel that was compared to that of a feral cat, he was sixty-six inches of normality.

There were others he knew that were tall and strong, dark hair and well-defined features, and they were handsome. They had interesting personalities and were in half the school clubs, and played on some, if not all, of the sports teams. They were the handsome ones.

Will chewed on his lip and stepped out of the way of a lanky boy with shaggy red hair, who looked tall enough to touch the ceiling. They shared brief eye contact before Will glanced away and leaned against the wall. That boy, he decided inwardly, was not handsome at all, even with the outrageous height.

There were certain things he should not have been thinking about at all, and the first that came to his mind was other boys. He should not have ranked the ones that passed him on a scale of one to ten based on their looks.

He should not have stared too longingly at that dark haired boy lingering by the door, the one with eyes made of emeralds. That one, he knew. Simon Dougray. One of his middle school friends.

He should not have possessed these feelings that drew him towards other boys, to Simon, at all.

Will had never harbored feelings for a girl in his grade, not in elementary school as a silly crush, or in middle school as something that may have grown to something serious. He was questioned for it lightly by his mother, who wondered about him dearly. He told her, plain and simple, that he was not sure he liked girls, and that he liked boys the way he should like girls.

She had looked ready to faint when he told her this.

Will had expected her to scream at him and tell him what a horrible son he was. After all, their family was religious and believed most everything that came from the pastor's mouth in his Sunday sermons, which did not praise same-gender relationships. To be homosexual was a shock.

But his mother was acceptant enough to keep him in the same household, unlike some guardians, who kicked their child to the streets. She thought that his views on love were a tad out of whack, but never attempted to change or manipulate him into thinking otherwise. He was her son, and he deserved her love, even if he was different, so to speak.

His father, however, had not been as understanding.

He was a religious man and had recited scripture to Will over and over in hopes that his son would see what was wrong with him. Will had persisted in telling him that he could not help the feeling, and that was as far as he had gotten before his father left him alone. Though he did not pleasantly swallow the fact that his son was homosexual, he accepted him.

As long as Will would end up happy with someone who loved him and would care for him, he would be happy.

That was near the end of the seventh grade. He knew his identity by then, and was happy to have found himself. He did not mind that he had different views from his small group of friends, who longed for girlfriends to hang on their arms and kiss them and love them.

But they were only in middle school, and the thoughts seemed so surreal and unbelievable, as most girls never batted an eyelash in their directions. Will was content to not have such problems, chasing after girls and winning them over, though he did have to fret about his own feelings.

Whether telling Simon Dougray what he considered a secret was a good idea or a bad one, he didn't know. It could have been both, he supposed. He reveled in the feeling of getting it off his chest and having someone outside his parents know. That was the only good thing he was able to conjure up.

The rest were horrible, awful, and nasty. The other friends he happened to have drifted away from him and ignored his calls and his requests to hang out. People had tripped him in the hallways between classes when the teachers weren't looking, and they had slammed his hands in his locker as he gathered books, and they had hung his backpack from the flagpole at the front of the school.

The small secret had spread like wildfire around the school until most of the students in his grade knew about him, and by the end of that first week, he had been treated as a virus, not to get mixed up with for the obvious reasons.

Though he seemed to repel, Simon Dougray had stayed close to his side. He had said many times that he didn't care what Will's sexuality was. All that mattered was the personality underneath.

Despite the cruelty he faced, it wasn't as if it bothered Will too terribly. It bothered him some, but not to the point where it became unbearable. Seeing his parents' reactions had prepared him, in a way, for what he was to see in school. He had ignored the people that pressed against the walls when he passed, and the boys who fled the bathrooms whenever he entered.

He never showed up for his gym class because of the taunting in the locker rooms and found a safe haven in one of the practice rooms in the orchestra hall, playing his violin or humming a few bars of music until the final bell saved him.

Will had hardly lasted until the end of his eighth grade year, emotionally and physically unstable. Somewhere along the course he had quit eating as much, and he had grown thin and frail and looked like a bent light pole whose bulb was nearly run out.

He had also dropped his interest in music, which included both orchestra and choir. He was out of tune in both instruments until finally his mother forced him into vocal lessons over the summer; the violin was never touched after that. He had made a promise that there was no way he would ever allow himself to sing again, and had promptly not opened his mouth in his lessons.

That promise was broken when he found out of his enrollment in the Dalton Academy.

Will glanced up. His head had fallen against his chest to give others the appearance that he was staring intently at the intricate parquet flooring under his feet. He found his parents still across the hall with the choir director, chatting up a storm.

Will felt a pang of pity for the choir director, who had the nerve to stand there and listen to his parents talk on and on for who knows how long. He also gave her a piece of respect for having the patience to not sucker punch them both in the face.

Even though he should not have, he snickered into his hand.

Around him, boys traveled this way and that, parents trailing them. Once in a while, two boys would stumble across each other in the hall and rejoice in finding the other, and it would be clear that they were friends. Will had no earthly idea who anyone was and he felt as if he was crashing a party, and the wrong one at that.

A streak of golden blonde passed by and a boy with his father walked past him. He was near Will's own height, maybe a bit taller, and donned the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen, almost robin's egg. He was muscular and appeared the sports type, and Will had a feeling he would be seeing him in the near future.

* * *

"Carson?" Kurt guessed and picked at his cuticles.

Will nodded affirmatively. "Believe it or not, we weren't friends at first. He hated me when we first settled into our dorm room. Actually, he despised me with a burning passion," he said and sat down on the edge of the perfectly-made bed.

"Why is that?" he asked curiously. As far as he knew, he and Carson were attached by the hip. There was no way that had had a disagreement going between them at one time.

"I can't remember if it was about who got dibs on the bathroom first in the mornings, or if it was over who was better at running." He pursed his lips. "I know I was the better one at running, so maybe that was it. Either way, we didn't like each other."

Kurt tilted his head. "Okay. But right now, you have a room to yourself. I thought you said you and Carson shared a room?"

Will chuckled. "We did share a room in our first year. Then, when all the seniors graduated and we had a small freshman class the next year, there were extra rooms available. He asked me if I was alright with him moving and I said yes. He's always been the most claustrophobic person I've ever met. It made sense to me to let him move."

"I never imagined him as the claustrophobic kind," Kurt murmured.

"Oh, he's very claustrophobic. You'd never guess it if you just looked at him, but just lock him in a closet with you for a game of hide-and-seek, and you'll find out very soon." He gave a short shudder. "Anyway. Carson and I weren't the best of friends."

* * *

Will watched the other blonde boy pass with interest and he flattened his lips into a line. He held himself properly and leaned against the wall, the flat part of his shoe pressed against it for balance and his elbow propped against the end of the banister.

The schedule crinkled in his hand and he let it fall open; it curled up at the end. Neither of them moved to speak when they locked eyes a moment later, and the boy disappeared into the crowd of students and adults.

As soon as the boy was out of sigh, Will relaxed his shoulders and let out a sigh. If this was the way he was going to act in school specially for boys, he was going to have a difficult time paying attention in class.

* * *

"Wait," Kurt said abruptly and held up his hand.

Will glared at him lightly. "If you keep interrupting me like this, Kurt, you'll never get to the part where Blaine comes into the picture," he said, and he cleared his throat. "And if I know you as well as I think I do, you want to get to that part."

"I know, I won't interrupt again, but I have a question." He waited until Will waved him on. "Did you ever have a crush on Carson?"

"Of course I did," he said easily, as if the answer was obvious. "From day one. I thought he was good-looking, good at running, and he was also in the Warblers. We were basically a match made in heaven."

Kurt furrowed his brows. "But he's not…"

Will tapped the tip of his nose. "Exactly. I figured that out soon after we were introduced. I dropped my little crush right then and there."

"Did you have a crush on anyone else?" Kurt asked and ground his teeth together out of habit.

"What is this, 60 Minutes with Barbara Walters?" he snapped. He cleared a lock of hair that had fallen forward from his face. Behind the hair, he glared at Kurt.

The other boy shook his head rapidly, startled and blinking.

"I'm sorry," Will sighed and rubbed his face. He kneaded the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index finger. "What were you saying again?"

"I asked if you—"

He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. If you want to know so badly, I had this insane crush on Simon Dougray that would not go away. I don't know what I saw in him for the three-week crush, and I still don't know. It's beyond me."

Kurt threaded his fingers together. "Okay. I was only wondering."

"Why? Do you think I'm a whore?"

He choked on nothing in particular and widened his eyes, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair line. "_What?_"

The blonde raised his hands in defense. "You can't blame me for asking, can you? You were questioning me on my love life and I didn't want you to get the worst possible impression of me."

"I think I've already gotten a bad impression," Kurt mumbled and ducked his head.

"What?"

"Nothing," Kurt said, louder.

"At any rate, I was worried about how high my grades would end up. They certainly wouldn't stay above passing if I couldn't stop staring at every other boy who crossed my path. And by every other boy, I mean Blaine."

* * *

Will pushed away from the wall and stepped up onto the first step of the main staircase. He bent the corner of his schedule with his thumb and studied it for what seemed like the hundredth time. He had a course of Geography, followed by Geometry. Third period was saved for the Warblers. The last class he had was eighteen weeks in Latin. That made up his first semester.

The only constants in his second semester were choir and Latin, as the other classes were replaced by the remaining core classes, English and Biology. Biology, he despised. English, he adored.

He pulled his attention from his schedule and stared up at the window fixture on the ceiling that let in generous amounts of light. The window had a bird cage-like appearance to it, and he briefly wondered whether the school chose to follow the bird theme. As his eyes drifted down from the window, he found the boy standing at the top of the stairs.

Even from this angle, Will knew the boy was short. He was short, with his curly, brown hair making up at least another six inches. He ran a hand through his hair in puzzlement, glaring at a sheet of paper in his hands.

As he studied it, his eyes, which were some color between nearly black and a warm chocolate, crinkled at the corners. Wiry black glasses shielded the eyes and light glared against the glass. His skin was creamy and the color of cocoa, his flat lips pale pink. He leaned back on his heels and looked up from the paper. Scanning the hallway below, he leaned forward against the railing.

Will's breath caught in his throat and he snapped his head to stare at the doors. He tried to search for the boy out of the corner of his eye, but was unsuccessful. A feeling came over him, one he had felt before when he had once failed in killing a large spider in his room; he had remained too paranoid to sleep for the rest of that night.

The boy was the spider, and he was too frightened to move an inch.

* * *

"And this is Blaine we're talking about, right?" Kurt couldn't help but blurt out. "The Blaine we both know? The one I'm dating?"

Will nodded, exasperated. "The one and only. Now will you quit talking over my talk? Frankly, it's getting a tad frustrating."

Kurt made the motion of zipping his lips.

"_Thank _you."

* * *

Will, with anxiety running up and down his spine, unfolded his schedule to give him something to do. He had already committed it to memory and he didn't need to open it, though the desire to occupy his mind with something else was stronger.

He stared blankly at the words printed in black until they blurred together. By then, a minute, two minutes must had passed. He dared himself to look up again at the top of the stair, at the landing that was really a wide balcony.

When he did, he saw that the boy had disappeared. His heart seemed to deflate, both solemnly and in relief. There was a part of him that wanted to meet this boy, whoever he was, and discover what made him so fascinating. The other part was disappointed in his absence, that when he looked up, he was gone.

Will bit the inside of his cheek in thought, crumpling the schedule back into his pocket. The hallway had cleared significantly and there was enough room to move without getting bumped shoulder-to-shoulder with two other people. He felt like he was able to breathe now.

"Oh, William," said his mother, who strode across the hall, her very tall heels clacking, "I love this school. Don't you?" She touched the ends of her curled blonde hair out of habit.

The only thing he could do was nod his head; if he tried to speak, it would most likely come out in a jumbled mess.

His father came up beside his mother, placing his hands on his hips. He cast one look at the ceiling, then back down at Will. "Well, what do you think? Nice, huh?"

"Great," he choked out.

His mother was already standing on the first step of the grand staircase by the time he'd said this. She ran her hand along the banister in awe and a smile flashed across her red lips.

"Let's go upstairs, shall we?" she asked to the boys. "Will, are any of your classes up here?"

Without waiting for his reply, she started up the stairs.

His father chuckled and followed her, Will bringing up the rear. He tried to ignore the clenching and unclenching thing his stomach did with each step he climbed. He should've gotten away from them when he had the chance. If there was a chance that he would meet the boy up here, he figured he had no hope for himself.

Boys like that—who were attractive, appealing to the eye—had always been his undoing.

They arrived at the top of the staircase and his mother leaned against the railing, peering down at the people walking below. She was completely captivated by the majesty of standing at the balcony for some reason, one Will couldn't fathom. It was only a balcony, and the last time he checked, she was afraid of heights.

Will stood off to the side as his parents reveled in the sheer existence of the view. He pressed his back against the wall and stared down the hallway. It was lined with doors, all fashioned identically, with little number plates. A handful of boys and their parents wandered down this hall, talking to professors and finding their classes.

Suddenly the air hitched in his lungs and he was unable to breathe.

The boy, the one with the massive amounts of curly hair, stood halfway down the hall, staring intently at the paper in his hands. He was accompanied by a woman with short brown hair; she wasn't very tall, as top of her head came at about the boy's eye level.

The girl standing with them had her arms crossed sourly over her chest and her dark hair hung down in her face. She looked maybe a year older than the boy, and didn't look like she was having too much fun at the moment. But she did amuse herself by waving flirtatiously to the boys who passed her.

Will found himself staring to long at the three people and turned his head. His parents were hunched over a brochure, his mother pointing out things with her long nails. How she worked around those nails in the emergency room, Will had no clue.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the boy mill around, going from door to door in hopes of finding one that was on his schedule. Finally, to Will's horror, he halted at one of the two doors closest to the end of the hallway. To _him._

_Maybe he won't see you. If he walks by you, don't say a word or make eye contact. Don't do anything to provoke conversation. Don't do this, don't do that. Don't, don't, don't—_

Will held still as he watched the boy drift out onto the landing, the older woman and the younger following him. Suddenly, Will brought his hand up to cover his mouth when he felt a tickle in his nose and he sneezed.

Then came a petite, "Bless you" from a warm voice.

He looked over his hand to see the curly haired boy looking at him, the corners of his lips rising in a smile. That must have been his voice that said that, and he was smiling. At Will. There was no one else on the landing to smile at.

"Thank you," Will said quickly and nodded his head once. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned against the wall.

Up close, Will could see the boy better now. There was a stitch of tape wrapped around one arm of his glasses and one of his shoe laces was looking to come untied at any moment. His jeans hung on his hips and his brown hair stuck out in the back. Will desperately wanted to smooth it down, but he had second thoughts.

After all, it would be a little more than odd if a random boy came up and started petting your hair.

Will swallowed the urge as the boy and the woman, the girl tagging along, started down the stairs. He thought he caught another teasing smile off the boy, but he shook his head.

Who was he kidding? The only words that passed between them were "Bless you" and "Thank you." It was as simple as that. He did it all the time with people he didn't know.

Though why did he feel his stomach flop, his heart jump into his throat? There was no way he could have actual feelings for this boy, one he had never met before. He had only heard two words come out of the boy's mouth. He didn't even know his name.

Will chewed on his lip until it broke skin and, without thinking, stepped forward rush after the boy, ask him his name, his schedule, when he stopped. What did he think he was doing?

"Will, darling?" his mother said and tore herself away from the balcony. She had her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow, like the way most women did back in the sixties. "Do you want to see the rest of the school?"

Saved by the mother, Will thought dully to himself.

"Sure, Mom," he said aloud and presented her with a smile. "Let's go."

* * *

Kurt looked up when Will stopped talking. "Is that all there is?"

Will nodded simply.

Kurt licked his lips for what felt like the hundredth time that day and he stood up from the bed, setting his folder on the mattress. He approached the bureau and braced his hands against it.

"Are you sure that's all?" he asked and watched Will from the corner of his eye.

He leaned back in his chair. "I think I'm pretty sure. That's all there was that day. We never spoke except after I sneezed, or crossed paths for the remainder of the day. There was nothing."

"Until?" He studied the wood patterns under his hands.

"Until what?"

Kurt looked at him now. "There was nothing until you spoke to him. When was that? When did you finally start talking to him?"

"The first day of school," Will answered and stood up.

Not replying, Kurt looked away. He caught his reflection in a small, oval-shaped mirror that hung on the wall. He caught part of his reflection, anyway.

The mirror was cracked straight down the middle, sending a spider web of cracks everywhere across its surface. All the pieces were glued to and held up by a sturdy shape of cardboard and hung on the wall with a nail. He twisted his hands together to avoid wanting to reach out to touch it.

"Go ahead. You can touch it. It's not going to break any further if you do," Will commented and he nervously straightened the things on his desk, which were only his laptop and his folder. Finding nothing else to keep him occupied, he faced the mirror. "It's the mirror that was on the wall at the Anderson's the night Blaine told his parents he was gay. That night was also the last night I ever had dinner there."

Kurt felt the hair on his arms prickle. "Wait, what happened?" he gasped, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Will sighed almost longingly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Blaine will absolutely kill me if he figures out I'm telling you all this. He wanted to keep his issues with his dad under wraps," he said dreamily. He chewed on his thumb nail in thought, biting away a good portion of it. "But I'm going to tell you a shortened version. When Blaine is up to it, he'll tell you what happened.

"In our very first year of Dalton, after we had just met, he was going through issues with his family. His mom was a flight attendant at the time and was never home most of the week. His sister, Sadie, wasn't the most social with the rest of her family. His dad was the only one who stayed home with Blaine and Sadie for the most part. He took them to school since kindergarten, and helped them with homework, and fixed them dinner when their mom wasn't home. The whole nine yards. He was a nice man, and a good dad to Blaine. I would know, because I frequently visited his house. Enough to understand what was going on."

Kurt nodded for him to continue on and resisted the urge to scowl.

"Blaine's dad was nice. But as we got through the school year, I noticed that Blaine didn't have that…" He chewed his pink lip as he racked his brain for the right word. "That _thing _about him. He wasn't as cheerful as he usually was, or as outgoing. There was a point in the year, right around the Valentine's Brunch, that he actually backed out of singing the solo Lovett offered him, if you can believe that." He laughed shortly at the memory only he could see.

"But what does him not singing have to do with his dad?" Kurt asked somewhat sharply. He did not want to be caught up in the other boy's memories.

"He didn't sing as much because his dad was suspicious of him. Being gay." Will tensed and he locked his eyes on the mirror. "He'd seen me over at their house a few times a week, so it was first nature to suspect that there was something more than friendship going on. And there was, of course, but his dad wasn't absolutely positive. He also wasn't keen on the idea that his son might be gay. He was the kind of person you would call a homophobe."

The word made Kurt bite the inside of his cheek. "No, he wasn't," he said suddenly.

Will raised an eyebrow. "How do you know? You've never met him before in your life."

Kurt flushed. "How do you know I've never met him?" he stuttered.

"He moved out of state after he… after the end of our first year. He lives in some big city now, and probably has a nice family with a couple of kids and a well-paying job, just like all other middle-aged men living in that city," the blonde explained with a bit of venom, reveling in being correct.

Kurt shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

"As I was saying," Will started again, "Blaine's dad was a natural homophobe. He was disgusted by the whole thing, from simple eye contact to hand holding to kissing. To everything. He thought it was wrong and sick and vile, and that every homosexual on the planet would go to hell one day. He was a very religious man, like my father, and said that God didn't want people changing what He had created."

He paused and leaned forward, pulling the mirror off the wall and laying it carefully on the dresser. He traced the cracks. "And so, one night sometime after the Spring Show, I was over at their house, having dinner. Blaine's father was on a roll, talking about something he had heard at the store that day, about the cashier's son being gay. He ranted and raved on it until finally, I set down my fork and told him to fuck off."

Kurt didn't try to stop his jaw from dropping. "You did _not _tell him that, William!"

Will grinned crookedly, wickedly. "Yes, I did. I-I told him to fuck off, and that everything he was saying was complete and utter bullshit. And you should've seen the expression on his face after I'd said that. His glare could've blown two clean holes through my head.

"He disregarded me like I was a piece of trash, and then accused Blaine of making poor choices in his friends. Because of course, he didn't want his son being friends with a gay, which led to assuming his own son was gay, and then all hell broke loose. There was screaming and yelling, and plenty of things being thrown. Blaine got hurt, I got hurt, and I think his dad was knocked out with a frying pan."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. "Please tell me you didn't hit him with a frying pan."

"No, but I wish it would've been me. Sadie did," Will said, sounding disappointed. "I was too busy trying to help Blaine, and I got hit with a chair in the process."

He couldn't help but wince. "A chair? You've got to be kidding me."

Will shook his head slowly, sadly. "A chair. It was one of those kitchen chairs. Heavy, made of wood, sharp edges. All the better to hit your gay son with," he said without a trace of humor. "Getting hit repeatedly was enough to leave a few scars. Blaine has one across his back, from his left shoulder blade to almost his right hipbone. And I have one down my arm."

He faintly ran his fingertips down his left arm. He described the wounds without a moment's hesitation, like he didn't need to recall it from somewhere in the depths of his mind, like it didn't bother him to think about it.

"On his back?" Kurt repeated and raised both eyebrows.

"Must you repeat everything I say?"

He shrunk back. "Sorry. Just making sure I heard everything right."

"It's fine. I was only asking," Will mumbled. He fell silent before adding, "Blaine used to do that, too. Repeat things after someone said them. Like you said, he wanted to make sure he understood what people were saying."

Kurt looked up, confused. "He doesn't do that."

"Not anymore," the blonde corrected gravely. "His dad used to do it all the time, which is where Blaine got it from. After his parents' divorce, he stopped doing it. He hated to be reminded of his dad." He turned the mirror over in his hands and pressed his thumb against the nail, but not with enough force to break skin.

Kurt pursed his lips. "What else happened that night?" he asked.

"I… I don't think it would be wise to tell you anything more," Will decided. "If you want to understand what else went on, ask Blaine. He would be the one to talk to. He's the one who was beat by his father, not me."

"But what if he doesn't want to talk to me about it? What then?" Kurt questioned and stood up as well.

"Then you're out of luck, Mr. Hummel," he said stiffly. He hung the mirror back on the wall. "I'm afraid I've said too much for today. I'm sorry."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying a much more appropriate version of 'get out.'"

His stomach fell and he took a step away from the bureau, holding his hands close to him. "Well. I can see I'm not wanted anymore."

Will leaned his weight against the dresser. "I'm not saying you're not wanted, Kurt. All I'm saying is that if you want what happened that night at dinner, in detail and in context, ask Blaine. He's the only one to ask. I'm not… going to tell a story that's not mine to tell."

"And if I were to want the rest of the story…?" Kurt plucked his bag off the ground. "From when you two met, all the way up until you broke up, I mean."

"Then try any of his friends. Of your friends," Will suggested lightly and chewed on his thumb nail again. "Wesley would be more than happy to tell you, as would David. I don't know about Michaels, though. He seems skittish about the topic."

Kurt nodded and collected his music folio from the mattress and tucked it in the bag over his shoulder. He turned around to face the blonde. "Thank you, Will. For telling me this. All of it," he said, the words coming out rough.

"I would say it's not a problem, but for once, it actually is." He ran a hand through his still-damp hair and his cat-like eyes gleamed.

Kurt took this as his cue to leave, so he nodded again and went to the door.

"And Kurt?" Will pinched his lip between his teeth. "Would you mind not telling Blaine that I told you all of this? I know you're curious and all, but I would appreciate it if he didn't know."

"And why is that?" he asked, lingering awkwardly at the door.

Will hesitated for a moment. "I'd rather him tell you than you ask him. If you did, he would know I said something about it," he explained briefly. "Everyone knows his parents got a divorce, but not everyone knows he was beaten."

"Why does no one know about that? Didn't he come back to school with—with injuries?" Kurt questioned. Suddenly Wes' earlier comment about the bandages came to mind.

"He told anyone who asked that he got into a motocross accident," Will said. "And that was why he was in the hospital for two weeks."

Kurt trained his eyes on the blonde boy. "And what did you tell anyone who asked why _you _were gone?"

This caught him. "Biking accident. Hit a stub in the trail and flipped over the handlebars," he said easily. "No one outside our little group knows what happened. Our group being Wesley, David, Carson, etcetera."

"I see," Kurt mused. "Again, thank you for telling me. And I won't speak of it to Blaine."

"Do you promise?" Will asked him and clasped his hands together almost fretfully.

"Why does that matter to you?" He clutched the handle, his hand itching to turn it and leave. Simply standing in the blonde's room made him feel out of place.

Again, another second of hesitation. "I want to make sure that there is still trust between us. Between Blaine and I. We may not be in a relationship anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't want our trust to die as well."

Kurt felt the heat rush to his face. He gave one last nod before he opened the door. Without saying anything more, he slipped into the hall and shut the door behind him.

The only think he could think about as he made the five minute journey back to North was the mirror, cracked and broken and destroyed, but still together enough to show a reflection.

* * *

When Kurt arrived in the North kitchen five minutes later, he was overwhelmed by the aroma of baked goods. Cody stood in front of the oven with mitts on his hands and his hands on his hips. He was staring into the appliance with the utmost urgency.

"Cody?" Kurt questioned. "What are you doing?"

Cody looked up and wiped his face with a mitted hand. "Baking."

"And what are you baking?" Kurt passed him and scooted around a few other boys to the back table, where he set down his bag. He noticed that when he set it down, his hands were still shaking slightly. He had a feeling he would never get the image of the shattered mirror out of his mind.

"Cupcakes!" Cody said chirped. "I just felt like baking something, and there was muffin mix and a tub of leftover frosting from the Brunch in the pantry. I don't know."

Kurt came to stand beside him and peered through the wavy glass, seeing a twelve-mold pan sitting on the rack. "They look good. How much time is left?"

Cody pursed his lips and plucked the small timer off the counter behind him. "A minute and a half. Want to help me frost them?"

"I don't know."

"Aw, come on, Kurt. They're cupcakes. You don't get to frost cupcakes every day," he protested.

A smile teased his lips. "I do when my best friend likes to bake," he remarked. "Speaking of, what _can _you bake?"

"Cupcakes," he said and gestured to the oven.

"I know that." Kurt picked up the tub of frosting and looked over the label on the back. It was the same frosting he and Blaine had used to frost cookies with. The idea of the Brunch sent an Eden of butterflies loose in his stomach and he set down the frosting. "But what else?"

Before Cody could answer, the doors peeked open and Wes stuck his head in, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Hey, what's cooking? And I mean literally, not in the slang sense."

"Cupcakes," Kurt replied and pushed the frosting across the counter to him.

Wes caught the tub before it slid off and hit the floor. His face glowed. "Alright. Did you put some of that sweet stuff in them?"

"Sweet stuff?" Cody raised an eyebrow and hit the red button on the oven's panel. He opened up the door, which unleashed a wave of heat. He carefully picked up the pan and placed it on the cooktop to cool.

"The stuff you put in the pancake batter and stuff," Wes clarified. He had the lid on the frosting off and was digging around with his finger. He stuffed a glob in his mouth and smiled.

Cody snatched the tub from his hand. "No finger-digging. Not sanitary. And yes, I put the sweet stuff in."

"Yes!" Wes cheered, licking the remains of pink from his finger. "So, are you going to frost them now? Can I have one?"

The small boy removed his mitts. "Of course you can have one, but wait for the others. I know David and Blaine will want one."

Wes waved a hand at him and wiped his hands on his pants. "Yeah, no. Blaine is probably on some kind of diet. I mean, he never eats candy or junk food or part of the Nutella stash in the back of the pantry. I think he won't mind if I have his cupcake."

"I think he will," Kurt murmured, amused, and bit his nail. "If it's his, I think he'd mind."

Wes grabbed two of the cupcakes from the pan, pulling them out easily. "Not if he doesn't know he has one in the first place," he said and took the tub of frosting from Cody. He rummaged around in the drawer for a knife and spread a dollop of frosting on each cupcake.

"Wes, that's not fair," Cody whined.

"Who says I have to be fair?" Wes peeled off the paper off one of them and took a huge bite from it. "Besides, we're friends. I've been stealing his homework answers, show music copies, and food for the past three years now. I don't think he'd mind."

Behind them, the doors opened. David strolled in, hands in his pockets, and Blaine followed close on his heels. The latter instantly broke into a smile when he saw Kurt on the other side of the kitchen.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Wes said and waggled his eyebrows at the two boys.

"Look what the cat _already _drug in," David quipped. He reached up to wipe a glob of pink from Wes' face. "And clean up. You look like you're a five-year-old eating."

Wes rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth.

"Hey," Blaine said and sidestepped his friends. He came to stand beside Kurt. "How did today go?"

Kurt knew what he was referring to. He knew Blaine would want to talk about it before the rehearsal had even happened. He swallowed, thickly, and leaned against the counter, letting his eyes fix straight ahead.

A small part of him was begging to tell Blaine what had happened, what Will had told him. He wanted to demand why Blaine had never told him about his dad and the divorce, why he had lied when he told Kurt his dad was on a business trip over the break. Kurt couldn't wrap his mind around it—Blaine, lying to him about his own father.

Where was his dad now? Still in the state? Or moved to another? Did he have a wife and kids? Or just a wife? Did they live in the city or the country? What was his job? Lawyer? Doctor? Dentist? And more importantly, did Blaine keep in contact with him? Or did his mom? Or even Sadie, Blaine's sister?

And the other part, the more dominant part, was pleading to keep quiet, to not say a word about Blaine's dad. Kurt's mind wandered, and he could only imagine what Blaine's reaction would be if he told him about what he had learned. Blaine would be angry at Kurt for knowing about it, and then he would be furious at Will for telling.

The last thing Kurt wanted was for Blaine to be mad at him. And he had promised Will to not say a word about it, to keep it under wraps, so to speak.

Blaine nudging him in the ribs broke his reverie and he snapped his head to the side. "What?"

"I was only asking how today went and you kind of got this glassy look," Blaine said, shrinking back a fraction. "If it was that bad, you don't have to tell me."

Kurt licked his lips. "No, it went well. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Will's finally starting to get the idea that we're partners," he said with a slight chuckle.

Blaine gave a small smile, pleased. "Yeah, he was like that. He was never really a people person at all."

"Why do you talk about him like he's… like it's in the past?" Kurt wondered. He kept his eyes forward to avoid seeing Blaine's smile droop. Instead he watched David and Wes dig through the frosting tub and smear pink across their cupcakes while Cody grimaced, arms over his chest disapprovingly.

"I guess because we're not dating anymore. And I don't know how he acts now," Blaine said in a long breath. "He could have changed for all I know. He could be completely social and hate the color red."

Pursing his lips, Kurt looked down at his hands now, not answering.

"But how was the rest of the rehearsal? Good?" Blaine pulled part of the smile back onto his face.

He lifted a shoulder. "It was fine. I just can't wait for this Spring Show business to be over, that's all. It's not that I don't like being partnered with Will, it's just the wing itself. It practically oozes darkness."

"Yeah, it does," Blaine agreed. He chewed on his lower lip, and his hand drifted down to take Kurt's, their fingers threading together. "But hopefully this is the last time Lovett ever tries to pair us up for duets."

Kurt chuckled, nodding. "Hopefully. Speaking of, how are you and Cody doing with your song? Since you've pried into my rehearsals, I'd like to know a little about yours."

"There's nothing to report. We've already got our song picked and now we're just running it. We don't really have to hold rehearsals anymore," Blaine answered.

He nodded again. "Sounds nice. And painless."

Blaine grinned. "Definitely painless."

"What would you do if you had been paired with Will?" Kurt asked softly and gave the boy's hand a squeeze.

Blaine was silent for a few seconds. He seemed captivated with the way Cody smacked Wes over the head with an oven mitt for trying to take a fourth cupcake from the pan. Then he caught David trying to spoon frosting into his mouth from the tub.

"Um, I don't know," Blaine sputtered out eventually. "I don't think we would start fighting or anything, if that's what you're thinking. It would just be a very uncomfortable atmosphere, that's all."

"Uncomfortable atmosphere indeed!" Wes agreed loudly. He had heard what Blaine said and was nodding at the soloist. "And speaking of uncomfortable atmospheres, this is a good example right now. Come here and control your duet partner. He's trying to hit me with a—Ow! Not cool!" He rubbed his head after Cody smacked him with a wooden spoon.

Cody looked cross. "That's what you get for trying to make more than your fair share. Not my fault. And Blaine, if you lay a hand on me, you won't get a cupcake."

Blaine held up his hands in defense. "Fine by me. I don't need one. I give it to Wes."

Wes looked triumphant. "Ha! Told you. Now hand it over, short stuff."

Cody threw his hands in the air and smacked the spoon down on the counter. "Fine. Take all the cupcakes. But don't be begging me to make you anymore," he grumbled and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Man, what's got his underwear in a twist?" David asked, his eyes on the door.

"Maybe he doesn't like you touching his food and defying his laws," Blaine suggested.

Wes shrugged, his mouth full. He swallowed. "I guess. Ah, well. I should probably take one of these to Thomas, since he won't come out of his room. Then off to study for tomorrow's 'Odyssey' test." He clapped his hands together and grabbed a bare cupcake from the pan.

David wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Why is the Jolly Green Giant still in his room? He's been in his room since class let out today," he pointed out.

"He's on a Skype call with Marissa," Wes told him in a sappy, mocking voice. "God, he loves that girl more than he loves Cody's cooking, and that's saying something—"

"The 'Odyssey' test is tomorrow?" Kurt repeated, fear zapping through his veins. He widened his eyes and stared holes in Wes' forehead.

Wes stopped halfway to the door. "Yes, why?"

"What chapter?" He had completely let all thoughts of tests in the future leave his mind, and now he was trying to scramble to remember whether they did really have a test or not over Homer's epic.

"Seven?" Wes furrowed his brows. "Seven or eight. I don't remember. But I know we're not being tested over the entire book until the end of the semester, so you can calm down about that—"

Kurt gripped the counter. "Oh, crap, you're right."

Blaine looked at him. "Did you not read it?" he asked, concerned.

He ran a hand through his hair and shut his eyes briefly. "No, I read it, I just need to review it. I don't remember it at all."

"Then how do you know you even read it in the first place?" Wes asked and weighed Thomas' cupcake in his hand; he had a look on his face that said he was trying to refrain from eating half of it on the spot.

"I know I read it," Kurt said adamantly, "but it will make me feel better to review it. Thank you for reminding me, Wes. If I didn't have a boyfriend, I would definitely kiss you right now."

Blaine did not look amused and Wes snorted.

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment," he said dully. He left the kitchen with the cupcake in tow and there was a fifty-fifty chance the cupcake wouldn't make it to the redhead's room in its entirety.

"I'm glad you weren't serious about kissing him," Blaine said once the other boy had left. He let his gaze linger on Kurt.

"Same here," David added, nearing the door. "That would have made for an awkward moment. I'll see you both later."

"Why the quick departure?" Blaine asked him.

David stared at him flatly. "Because I have a feeling that there's going to be a weird makeout session now and I don't want to be in the middle of that. I'll see you later." He disappeared into the hall.

Kurt watched the door anxiously, his fingers curling into tight fists. "Is he right? About the makeout session?"

"That will be determined," Blaine said thoughtfully. "It depends if you would rather study or kiss me."

Kurt let some of the tension leave his shoulders, though his hands stayed in balls at his sides. "Don't pull that on me. You know I would choose kissing you over studying. But I've got to look over the material before tomorrow, or I'm toast."

Blaine simply looked at him, and his hazel eyes had a gleam to them.

"Blaine," Kurt drawled and tilted his head back. "Let me study."

"I'm not going to be the reason you don't," the other boy said smoothly. "But just one condition."

"What's that?" Kurt dared to ask.

"Kiss me once before you go and I'll be happy."

Kurt let a smile spread across his face. He stepped forward and, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders, pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips. He felt electricity jump between their skin and he pulled back.

Blaine smiled as Kurt pulled away. "I think I'll live. Now, go and study."

"Yes, Mom," Kurt teased as he made his way around the island.

"That would be kind of weird," he said and wrinkled his nose. "If you kissed your mom in a romantic way."

Kurt merely sighed and shook his head. He traced his finger along the edge of the frosting tub and tasted a bit of it. It was sweet, tasting like strawberries. "You, Blaine Anderson, are the weirdest person I know. Not even Wes or David can compare to you."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Blaine said happily. He watched Kurt leave the room and leaned against the counter. He let his head fall back and he stared at the ceiling, wondering how on earth he had gotten so lucky.

As Kurt walked down the hall, toward his room, he felt a burning desire in his lips, aching to tell Blaine what he had learned from Will.

But despite his urge, maybe he owed Will just that much. The pact of silence.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The auditions for the Nationals solo brings five boys to the auditorium to battle it out. Another battles lies underneath, and not one that Kurt can solve by singing._


	26. Auditions, Take Two

Hello, readers.

I hope this update finds you all in good company. I'm sort of off kilter as I type this, but that's alright with me. As long as I have the internet, I'm fine.

There's not really much to report, aside from the fact that I now have four stories that are in the process of being written (all Glee, of course), aside from this one:

- One short story that I'm basing off a book and a movie that is fantasy/adventure/romance/whatever else.

- Another short story taking place in the future.

- A sort of long story where Rachel and Kurt go to New York for college, where they embark on adventure, love, and strive to be the best.

- And finally, hopefully a sequel to this story.

But no promises on any of these. Just ideas swimming around in my head.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee, but if I did, it would be back from its hiatus by now.

* * *

**Auditions, Take Two**

* * *

**For the majority of humans, the past is a regret, the future an experiment. –Mark Twain**

* * *

The day of the auditions for the Nationals solo found Kurt chewing his nails off, a steaming cup of coffee sitting in front of him.

He sat in the North kitchen, watching David pour himself a bowl of cereal. The kitchen was eerily empty; usually at this time of morning, the place was packed with boys sipping coffee, scarfing food from the pantry, or swapping homework answers at the back table. But most of the kitchen's typical residents were occupied with other things.

Cody was busy talking with his baseball coach about possible positions to play other than catcher. He had blown through the kitchen far before Kurt had arrived and left with a cup of coffee. Thomas was heading in for his weekly voice lessons with Lovett, so he couldn't stay and chat. Most likely, Wes was still dead to world in his room, pillow over his head and buried under a mountain of blankets. Neither Ronnie nor his camera had been seen all morning, and Blaine might as well have vanished off the face of the planet.

Kurt brought the cup in front of him up to his lips and blew gently. He took a calm sip and set it back down. "So, David," he said, and his voice sounded so loud compared to the near silence that had washed over the room, "what are you and Wes going to do? I mean, for Nationals. I heard you both got suspension and weren't allowed to go." The last part of his sentence faded into nothing.

"Yeah, that's true," David mumbled and did not lift his eyes from his cereal bowl. He added a touch of milk from the fridge and stirred the mixture around. "And I don't know. We might just go home the week you guys are in New York."

"That's a shame," Kurt said sadly. "But may I be blunt?"

"By all means."

"What were you two thinking when you set Dex and Leo up to do that?" he asked incredulously.

David shrugged his shoulder and brought his breakfast to the counter, leaning against it and bringing a spoonful to his mouth. "We thought it would be a way to get back at South. You know, poke a little fun at them. But we never expected them to go so far. Just mess up their commons a little, hide the game console or something small. Not completely destroy the entire wing." He chewed and dropped his spoon back into the bowl.

Kurt nodded his head and took another sip of coffee. "Why did you do it, though? I know Wes has a thing against William…"

Smiling a little, David pushed cereal flakes around in his bowl. "Wes does have a thing against Will, and he's completely in the right. When Blaine and Will broke up, Blaine was devastated to the point of not coming out of his room for anything but classes. He even skipped rehearsal enough that Lovett came to his room." He laughed. "Wes wasn't too happy with Will for breaking up with Blaine."

"But I thought Blaine broke up with Will?" he asked, bemused. "I mean, I don't know that for sure, but that's what I've always assumed."

"There are twisted rumors. The one that holds true is Will breaking up with Blaine," David explained with the wrinkle of his nose. "Anyway, Will was about to personally get his ass kicked, but Wes could never start something because they were in separate wings, or there were always people around that could tell authority."

Kurt pushed his mug back and forth between his hands. "Was there ever a time when they actually got into a physical fight?"

David chuckled and leaned against the counter. "Boy, you don't know the half of it. Will pushed both of them—Wes and Blaine—down the stairs so many times, it wasn't even funny. Of course, it wasn't funny the first time, but you know what I mean. And Wes had his fair share of punching Will in the face. Then—"

"Wait. _William _pushed _Blaine _down the stairs?" Kurt repeated in awe. "I thought they were dating?"

"That was before they started dating. Will was going through the whole phase where he thought it was perfectly acceptable to pick on the boy he liked." David rolled his dark eyes. "It was kind of elementary school-esque, if you ask me. But Blaine didn't think it was too funny, because he had spent most of middle school being pushed around by bullies.

"Anyway, that's not the point of your question. Yes, Wes does have a thing against Will for breaking up with Blaine. And when we found out that James liked you, we were kind of worried." He twirled his spoon between his fingers. "If we thought the Blaine-Will explosion slash breakup slash end-of-the-world-apocalypse was awful, we didn't want you to have to through that. We thought messing South up a little would keep them at bay."

Kurt sat back in his seat. "Who says I would have dated James?"

David quickly looked down in defense. "Well, for a while, you two looked pretty smitten. Everyone agreed."

"We were not—and are not—smitten. He is just a good friend, that's all," Kurt said firmly, his face growing warm, and his hands tightened around his coffee mug.

"Whatever you say," he mumbled.

Silence overtook the kitchen again.

Kurt was the next to speak after clearing his throat. "And I'm guessing Lovett isn't letting you do the Spring Show, either?"

"That would be correct. We're suspended from any and all extracurricular activities," he reported dully. "Even if the show's not going to be for a panel of judges or anything official, we still aren't allowed to. And in some cases, it's a good thing this whole thing happened."

"A good thing? How?" Kurt raised an eyebrow critically.

David stuffed the last spoonful of cereal in his mouth and drained the bowl of milk. "I can finally focus on grades for once. It used to be all hardcore on music and my grades started to drop a little. It got so bad that I had to skip rehearsal to come in for tutoring."

"How bad did it get, exactly?" Kurt asked and finished the rest of his coffee, the warm drink surging through his body.

"I ended up with A's at the end of the semester," he answered and shrugged again.

Kurt stared at him. "You had A's? How is that bad?"

"I started out with A pluses at the beginning." David smirked.

"You little overachiever. I envy you," he teased with narrow eyes and jumped down from the barstool. He went around the counter to rinse out his mug and place it in the sink.

Chuckling, David placed his bowl in the sink next to the mug. "What can I say? I'm just that good."

"I'll say," Kurt murmured as he pulled a fresh mug from the cabinet. He held it under the spout of Wes' expresso machine and filled it two-thirds with the rich drink. "I know how you're benefitting from this, but how is this a good thing for Wes? Now that track season is over, the Warblers are all he has left."

"He can focus on his grades—and his little brother, Gabe. With their mom cut from her old teaching job, she works two jobs and is hardly home to take care of him. She evens works weekends, which means Wes staying here is not an option. He has to be there for Gabe," David said and leaned against the counter. "So, for once, he's glad he got in trouble and got this insane amount of suspension."

Stirring cream and sugar into the coffee, Kurt lifted his head. "Wow. I never knew what kind of home life he had. But what about his dad? Isn't he home? Or does he work, too?"

A crestfallen look replaced the expression on David's face. He licked his lips and looked absently around the kitchen. "Wes' dad was a fighter pilot in the war a few years ago. He got shot down."

Kurt nearly knocked the coffee cup from the counter in his haste to cover his mouth. "Oh, my goodness, David. I didn't know, I swear, I didn't—"

David held up a hand. "It's fine. I never knew until freshman year, when we first met. I was the first person who knew about it because he didn't want people pitying him. That was the last thing he wanted."

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered.

"It's fine," he repeated. Then he eyed the mug Kurt picking up. "Are you really going to drink that with all that sugar in it? I know you have your Nationals solo audition today, but I didn't know you needed that much of a boost."

Kurt offered a shaky laugh. "Thanks for reminding me. I had kind of forgotten about it until you said something."

"Oops. My bad," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay. I'll get through it. The coffee is for Blaine. I figured I would bring him some before class started." He lifted the mug, looking at the clock on the wall at the same time. There were twenty-five minutes left until the first bell rang. "He likes so much sugar and cream in his coffee that it isn't even coffee anymore."

David took a deep breath and sighed. "That sounds like him. Well, go take that to your man, and good luck on the audition. Tell him I said good luck, too."

Kurt flashed him an appreciative smile. "Thanks. I'll see you in class," he said, and left the kitchen with the coffee steaming in his hands.

He paced down the corridor and past the rooms, where some boys were lingering with knapsacks and homework in their hands. Kurt waved to a few of them as he passed them and arrived at Blaine's door. The light was on and he was about to knock when he heard a muffled voice from behind it.

At first, Kurt assumed someone else was in the room with him and he dropped his hand to listen. But as the talking went on, his shoulders dropped with great relief. It was only music playing in Blaine's room, and it sounded like Blaine was singing along. Kurt put on a smile and knocked twice, then twisted the knob.

"Blaine…?" he said quietly and peered into the room.

The room looked like it was in half a state of disaster, with a few articles of clothing wadded on the floor, homework spilling off the desk around the speakers, and the bed sheets were in a tangle on the mattress. Kurt had seen worse in Cody and Thomas' room, but for Blaine, it was a train wreck, as he normally kept it tidy.

And in the middle of the room stood Blaine, who was singing along with the song playing. His iPhone was sticking out of his pocket with the earphones snaking their way up to his ears, and he had his eyes shut in concentration. A bed sheet was draped over one of his arms and he struggled to sing and fold the sheet at the same time. It was either stop singing for a few seconds or miss a handful of words to match the corners of the sheet.

"Blaine?" Kurt said again and stepped further into the room. He shut the door silently behind him.

The other boy snapped his head up and his eyes fluttered open with surprise. He yanked the earbuds out of his ears. "Oh, hey, Kurt," he greeted and tossed the sheet back on the bed, unfolded. "How much of that did you hear?"

"A good bit. At first I thought you were talking to someone else," Kurt replied and handed him the coffee. He picked up one of the earphones and listened to the song that was playing. "How correct would I be in saying the song is Jason Mraz?"

"You would be very correct. Mmm. Thanks for this, by the way. A little too much sugar, but nevertheless, it's good," Blaine said gratefully as he took a sip. "And do you like the song?"

Kurt bit his lip and made the mental note to not add that last packet of sweetener if he ever made up Blaine's coffee in the future. "Oh, yeah. The song was good. You killed it."

"Thanks," he said and set the mug on his bureau, resuming making his bed. "Because that's my number for today's auditions after school."

"Really? That's an interesting choice. So not top 40's, like you usually pick," Kurt said, a tad shocked. He grabbed the other side of the sheet and tugged it over the corner of the mattress.

Blaine nodded. "Yeah, I know, but I wanted to try a little something different other than what's out there. But I'm glad I found something. I thought I wouldn't be able to find a song in time. You know, like a repeat of the Valentine's brunch auditions."

Kurt hummed and reached for a pillow case that lay discarded on the floor.

"So, are you going to tell me what song you're singing?" Blaine wondered a minute later and straightened the sheet.

"Why would I?"

Blaine set down the sheet. "I'm only wondering. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone," he said, and moved across the room to stand in front of Kurt. He tried to look past the height difference, even if it was only a few inches.

Kurt smoothed pillowcase out in his hands. "But that would completely give away everything. I want it to be a surprise," he explained.

"A surprise?" he repeated and gripped the other side of the case, gently pulling on it to pull Kurt closer to him. "Why would it be a surprise? Are you singing Katy Perry?"

Laughing, Kurt turned his head. "That is the last thing I would ever sing. It's for a solo at a National competition. I want Lovett to know that I have vocal range, not to mention a good taste in music."

Blaine considered this. "That's true," he said and gave the pillowcase another tug. "But I promise, I won't tell anyone. My lips are sealed." His lips turned up in a sly grin.

"I'm not going to tell you, Blaine. Again, it would take away the surprise." He flexed his fingers over the smooth fabric.

"You know what I'm singing. It would only be fair," he pointed out. Rolling up the edge of the case in his hands brought Kurt forward until they were nearly face to face. Blaine felt Kurt's breath wash over his face, sweet like sugar and coffee.

Kurt ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. "That's because I found out. You didn't necessarily tell me."

"Then give me a hint. Just a little one," he requested. A soft smile spread across his face and he tilted his head up to kiss Kurt affectionately.

Kurt pulled away after kissing him back. "There is no way you can persuade me with kisses. I'm not that easily swayed."

Wrapping his arms around his waist, Blaine pressed their foreheads together. He let his lips drift over Kurt's jawline, and up to the tender patch of skin just under his ear. "Are you sure?" he whispered and was delighted by the way the other boy's skin turned pink.

"Maybe," Kurt said and he was surprised to hear his own voice sound rough.

Blaine's breath was warm, and his lips trailed down to his neck, leaving fire on the skin it touched. Kurt's heart plummeted into his stomach and his knees weakened. He leaned his head back when he caught sight of the alarm clock sitting on the bureau, and his eyes widened.

"Blaine," he hissed.

"What?"

"I'm sorry to kill this well-planned out mood, but we have class in ten minutes."

"Well, damn." Blaine stepped back and gave an eye roll. "I guess I'll see you at rehearsal."

Kurt nodded and folded the bed sheets in his arms, setting them on the foot of Blaine's bed. "I guess you will."

As he was about to make his way to the door, Blaine caught his wrist and pulled him close, waiting half a second before kissing him fully on the mouth. He pulled away, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Nine minutes," Kurt said, vaguely dizzy. "If I'm late, it's your fault."

"Then you better hurry," Blaine teased.

Kurt shot him a soft glare before rushing out the door.

* * *

"Thank you for staying after, boys," Ms. Lovett said as she propped her feet up on the chair in front of her, "what with your final exams just around the corner, and then all the work we've been putting forth for our program. I promise you, this audition isn't all for nothing." She smiled and tapped her pen against her notebook.

The day had flown by quicker than desired for the five boys standing in the aisle. Kurt had nearly gotten a detention for tumbling into his class a minute before the bell rang first period after his interesting morning with Blaine. The other boy was without a detention as well, though he received a stern lecture from his professor about keeping track of time. The only thing on both their minds was the audition.

Guessing from the other three boys' expressions, they were not looking forward to singing as well. Will rocked back and forth on his heels and chewed on the inside of his cheek; Simon had his sights directed up at the ceiling to avoid looking the director in the eye; and James found a sudden interest in his shoes.

"So, who wants to go first?" she asked, chipper and ready to begin.

The boys visibly tensed and snapped to attention. Kurt defaulted to picking at his lip and looking over his shoulder at the doors. He had half a mind to bolt right then and there, but he knew he would most certainly regret it later. Blaine drummed his fingers on the side of his leg, unable to keep still.

"No takers?" she asked, disappointed, to the silence. "Ah, well. You leave me no choice. Dougray, you're going first."

As Simon sucked in a breath, the four others let out theirs. They retreated into a row as Simon dropped his bag in one of the seats. He marched up to the stage with a stuff posture.

In the rows the boys had chosen, Kurt put himself at the end of the row, with Blaine next to him. Anything to evade sitting next to William or James. Instantly he took Blaine's hand and smiled a little, his nerves calming.

Up on stage, Simon clasped his hands in front of him, waiting awkwardly for the music to start. It did, and he fell into beat.

_You can blame it on the small things, you can blame it on your heart beat,_

_The wrong day, you can blame it on your regrets,_

_And all your little secrets, you keep them,_

_You can show me all your old scars, that you got from all the old wars,_

_You fought so you could tell me,_

"_I'm not the one who needs the saving"_

As he took a breath, he glanced up into the spotlights, momentarily blinding himself, and nearly tripped over his own feet.

_You can say what you want but it's only getting better,_

_It's alright, oh baby, it's alright,_

_You can try to deny but it's only getting better, _

_It's alright, oh baby, it's alright now,_

_You think it feels right but you don't know,_

_You've got everything you wanted but you're not sure,_

_You can say what you please if it's all that you need,_

_To believe it's getting better, you can blame it on me_

Kurt had never heard Simon sing before. His voice was smooth and strong and steady, and it carried something between an East coast accent and a southern twang. He watched as the performance continued on.

_There's a million ways to hold on,_

_To everything that goes wrong, the sad songs,_

_Oh but all these different reasons,_

_Are just a million different ways to say the same old thing,_

_Now tell me, "I'm not the one who needs the saving"_

Simon threw his hands over his head as he belted out the note and his voice echoed through the auditorium. Ms. Lovett nodded to herself and tapped her pen against her notebook to the beat accordingly.

_Say what you want but it's only getting better,_

_It's alright, oh baby, it's alright,_

_You can try to deny but it's only getting better,_

_It's alright, oh baby, it's alright now,_

_You think it feels right but you don't know,_

_You've got everything you wanted but you're not sure,_

_You can say what you please if it's all that you need,_

_To believe it's getting better, you can blame it on me,_

_You can blame it on me, you can blame it on me,_

_Come on._

The song finished on a single note. Simon's chest rose and fell as he took in deep breaths. A smile was spread across his face and he scanned the audience for approval from the director and the boys. Blaine was the first to start clapping, and the others followed in suit.

"Good, good," Ms. Lovett murmured as she scribbled down on the paper in her lap. Raising her head, she called, "That was wonderful, Simon. Please, have a seat. Blaine? How about you go next, dear?"

Blaine faltered in his seat. He looked over when Kurt squeezed his hand in reassurance and got up. As he met Simon at the stage stairs, they shared a brief smile. Simon proceeded to take a seat at the other end from Kurt, next to James, and Blaine headed onto the stage.

It was silent except for the whispering between Will and James. Kurt suddenly felt self-conscious, as if they were talking about him. Will spoke in a sharp tone, almost loud enough for his words to be heard. James' voice, on the other hand, was a whole volume level down, to the point where it looked like he was only moving his lips. How Will was able to hear it, Kurt couldn't fathom.

On stage, Blaine vanished behind the curtains. He appeared soon after with a guitar in his hands, strapped over his shoulder. He leaned his weight on one foot and looked to the director for the thumbs up to go. As he waited, he caught Kurt's eye and winked. Kurt's face went up in flames and he returned it with a smile of his own.

"Okay, Blaine, you may start," Ms. Lovett said with the sweeping motion of her hand. She held her pen in her hand, ready to write.

Blaine cleared his throat anxiously, strumming out opening notes.

_Well, sometimes the sun shines on other people's houses and not mine,_

_Some days the clouds paint the sky all gray and it takes away my summertime,_

_Somehow the sun keeps shining upon you while I struggle to get mine,_

_If there's a light in everybody, send out your ray of sunshine,_

_I want to walk the same roads as everybody else,_

_Through the trees and past the gates,_

_Getting high on heavenly breezes, making new friends along the way,_

_I won't ask much of nobody, I'm just here to sing along,_

_And make my mistakes look gracious,_

_And learn some lessons from my wrongs_

There was no recording of music that needed to be played. It was all Blaine and his guitar.

_Oh, if this little light of mine combined with yours today,_

_How many watts could luminate?_

_How many villages could we save?_

_And my umbrella's tired of the weather, wearing me down,_

_Well, look at me now_

He was at ease under the bright lights. It was his natural state. Singing was what he desired and he looked content with it. A smile was stretched across his face and his fingers plucked fluidly at the strings, continuing with the words.

_You should look as good as your outlook,_

_Would you mind if I took some time to soak up your light, your beautiful light?_

_You've got a paradise inside,_

_I get hungry for love and thirsty for life,_

_And much to full on the pain,_

_When I look to the sky to help me and sometimes it looks like rain_

The chorus repeated itself and each word fell from his lips easily. Kurt found himself grinning, remembering the song from earlier that morning.

_You're undeniably warm, you're cerulean,_

_You're perfect in desire, won't you hang around so the sun, it can shine on me,_

_And the clouds, they can roll away,_

_And the sky can become a possibility?_

_If there's a light in everybody, send out your ray of sunshine._

Blaine strummed the last notes to finish the song and he raised his head. Kurt and Simon were the only ones to applaud, as James and Will were sucked into their own conversation, and Lovett was busy writing.

"Jason Mraz. I like it," was all she said before Blaine left the stage. Then she called out, "William! You're next."

The blonde stood up and nudged James, saying something Kurt failed to catch, and left the row. Whatever he'd said turned James' skin a delicate shade of pink. He passed Blaine on the way up to the stage and neither of them did more than make eye contact. Blaine sat back down in the seat beside Kurt.

"That was good. I liked it," Kurt commented with a smile.

He lifted a shoulder as if to say _eh, not really_. "You probably have something better planned."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're Kurt Hummel," he scoffed and leaned his arm against the arm rest. "Even the name says something. It says, 'Hello, world, I'm a Broadway extraordinaire and I'm amazing.'" He smirked and leaned forward.

Kurt jabbed him in the ribs to avoid the kiss and he felt the blood go to his face again. "You know, I talked to David this morning."

"And?" Though his answer should have been calm, his voice carried hints of worry.

"And," he sighed, fiddling with his hands, "he told me, that when you were dating Will, that he would…" He twisted his hands together.

Blaine puckered his lips. "That he used to push me down the stairs?"

Kurt looked at him, alarmed, and nothing came from his parted lips.

"Yeah, that's David's favorite part of our relationship," Blaine grumbled and he sunk back into his seat. "Yes, Will used to push me around a lot. Down the stairs, into walls, into the lockers that the day students used—he just used to push me around a lot."

Remaining silent, Kurt twisted his hands in his lap.

"And it wasn't fun for me," he went on, "because it often reminded me of middle school." He turned to look at Kurt and when he spoke, his words were choppy. "I was bullied a lot in middle school, and—it wasn't very fun. Having Will shove me around was worse."

He was going to say something more, but incredibly upbeat music cut him off.

_Something cool went down as I was walking with a friend of mine,_

_And I, I still remember how she was smelling like the summer time,_

_And oh, how it changed my mind, changed everything, about that, come on girl,_

_It feels so good, loving you,_

_Yeah, it's so good, the way you do the do,_

_It feels so good and I need oxygen, _

_Little bit of heaven, doin' 24-7 again,_

_Yeah, again and again_

"Steven Tyler?" Blaine whispered and raised an eyebrow critically. "Really?"

Kurt shrugged. "He sounds pretty good to me. He actually makes the song bearable."

Blaine slumped back into his seat.

"Not that it means anything, of course," he hurriedly added. "Just a song."

They watched the blonde dance from one end of the stage to the other, repeating the chorus, then moving on to the next set of lyrics, singing in a surprisingly low and rich voice.

_A long hair, a double dare,_

_And I swear, a little bit will do you some good,_

_Say where, I'm goin' there,_

_And I swear, can't get enough of you, oh yeah, yeah_

_Ma bonsoir, excuse moi,_

_Yah ooh la la is gonna do me good,_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah_

_Oh yeah, it feels so good, loving you (loving you),_

_Yeah, it's so good, the way you do the do,_

_It feels so good, yeah I need oxygen,_

_Little bit of heaven doin' 24-7, ah_

Will paused in the song to wink hugely to the boys in the audience. Kurt chewed on his lip and Ms. Lovett chuckled to herself. Blaine crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling that went so high, it almost disappeared.

_It feels so good, loving you, yeah,_

_It's so good, the way you do the do,_

_It feels so good, loving you,_

_It feels so good, making love to you,_

_Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah._

The blonde finished his solo with a dramatic, low bow. He came up with a half grin in his face and a lock of his hair hanging over his eyes.

"Well? Is my voice Nationals-worthy?" he asked the director jokingly, tucking the hair back into place. He chuckled and leaned back on his heels.

Ms. Lovett tapped her pen against her chin in thought. "We'll see. Don't get me wrong, Fitzroy, it was spectacular. But a bit odd for you, isn't it, though? Genre wise? And tempo wise?"

Will shrugged one shoulder. "I'm always open to trying new things."

She nodded, content, and dismissed him from the stage, and he came to sit back in the audience. Next she called James' name over her shoulder and he jumped about a foot in the air. Kurt watched as he shakily stood up and brushed past Will to get into the aisle.

Blaine hummed to himself, smiling. "Saving the best for last, I see."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, his eyes not leaving James.

"You. You're obviously the last one to audition," he clarified. "There's this saying about saving the best for last."

He shook his head. "It's just a random draw. It's not like she based the order on talent, or anything."

"Whatever you say," Blaine mused and sat back to watch the performance.

Up on stage, James had seated himself at the piano, as Kurt expected, and he was testing the pedals. He played the piano every chance he could get and to pass up this chance wouldn't be like him. The process took a minute and it was as if he was stalling for time. Eventually he looked at Ms. Lovett for a sign to start, and he began playing.

_The day's last one-way ticket train pulls in,_

_We smile for the casual closure capturing,_

_There goes the downpour,_

_Here goes my fare thee well,_

Kurt sunk back into his chair. His chest felt hollow and he took frequent, deep breaths. A few seats over, Simon and Will were watching eagerly.

_There's really no way to reach me, there's really no way to reach me,_

_There's really no way to reach me,_

'_Cause I'm already gone,_

The piano melody was simple and fluid but with some catches and bumps occasionally. His voice was softer than the instrumentation. In fact, he was almost mumbling, which made the boys lean forward in their chairs in order to hear. Blaine was the only one who stayed in the back of his chair.

_There's only so many words that we could say,_

_Spoken upon long-distance melody,_

_This is my hello,_

_This is my goodness,_

_There's really no way to reach me, there's really no way to reach me,_

_There's really no way to reach me,_

'_Cause I'm already gone,_

The end of the song was nearing and the melody gradually softened to almost nothing, leaving James' voice by itself. Kurt found himself digging his nails into his palm as he listened, and a shudder zapped up his spine.

_Maybe in five or ten yours and mine will meet again, straighten this whole thing out,_

_Maybe then honesty need not be feared as a friend or an enemy,_

_But this is the distance, and this is my gameface, _

_There's really no way to reach me, there's really no way to reach me,_

_Is there really no way to reach me?_

_Am I already…_

His voice stopped flowing, even though it wasn't obvious, and piano took over, his fingers plucking out the notes smoothly.

_So this is your maverick,_

_This is Vienna._

He finished and stood up from the piano with an awkward bow in an attempt to copy Will. He received a nod from the director and quickly fled the stage. Then Ms. Lovett turned in her seat to smile simply at Kurt.

"You're next," she said happily, eyes sparkling.

That was his cue to stand and he flashed Blaine one last pleading look before heading out to the aisle and making his way to the stairs. As he approached them, he had to step around James, whose head was ducked to stare at the floor. Kurt sighed shortly and blew hair out his eyes.

The spotlight was burning when he stepped into the center. His hands were shaking the slightest bit and he calmed them by clasping them in front of him.

"Go ahead, Kurt. Show us what you've got. Whenever you're ready," Ms. Lovett called to him. It was too dark in the audience to see her.

Kurt swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked up at the AV room, where he knew Adam would be behind the music tracks. He turned around to face the curtains and when the music sounded second later, he started to sing.

_Days can be sunny with never a sigh,_

_Don't need what money can buy,_

_Birds in the trees sing, their day full of song,_

_Why shouldn't we sing along?_

The music in the beginning was slow and simple, but then, it kicked up the tempo and he launched into the beat.

_I'm chipper all the day, happy with my lot,_

_How do I get that way, look at what I've got,_

_I got rhythm, I got music, I got my man, who could ask for anything more?_

_I got daisies in green pastures, I got my man,_

_Who could ask for anything more?_

As the words slipped from his lips effortlessly, Kurt caught a glimpse of Blaine, watching him. He was sitting with his head tilted at an angle, in curiosity or wonder. A gentle smile crossed his face. Kurt nearly stumbled over his own feet when he saw the smile, but caught himself before he could fall, and he continued on.

_Old man trouble, I don't mind him,_

_You won't find him 'round my door,_

_I got starlight, I got sweet dreams,_

_I got my man, who could ask for anything more?_

_Who could ask for anything more?_

Over the course of the song, Kurt performed a routine of intricate spins and twirls across the stage, using his hands and body language to animate the tune. When he stopped spinning for half a second, he found his heart was hammering in his chest, and he pushed through to sing the last few verses.

_Old man trouble, I don't mind him,_

_You won't find him hanging 'round my front or back door,_

_Who could ask for anything more?_

_Who could ask for anything more?_

Kurt was perched at the very edge of the stage the moment the song ended. His toes hung over the edge and if he set just the smallest bit of weight forward, he was sure he would pitch head first. His hands were clasped in front of him, above his heart, and he let his shoulders fall as he released a breath. His skin was covered with goosebumps and he shivered inwardly. It felt odd to have such a reaction to his own singing when he had heard it a million times before.

Blaine was the first to stand up and applaud, single claps in a steady pattern that echoed. Then Simon joined him, as did the other two South boys, though Will was reluctant.

"That was amazing, Mr. Hummel," Ms. Lovett said appreciatively, her pen writing up a storm. "Mrs. Garland would have wept tears of joy, I'm sure." She finished writing and clicked her pen. She gathered her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and turned to find the four boys watching her expectantly. Kurt joined them breathlessly.

"When are we going to know the results?" Blaine asked eagerly.

She held up a patient hand. "Hold your horses, Anderson. I'll have them posted… sometime next week, maybe? I'm not sure. Definitely before Nationals, of course."

"You're going to keep us waiting because you can. You're going to let the anticipation eat away at us. I know it," Will stated flatly.

"And you are absolutely correct in that statement, Mr. Fitzroy," she said. She flashed a white smile and scooted past them. "The results will be out in due time, boys, in due time." With that, she exited the auditorium, leaving them wondering endlessly.

Simon scratched his head. "I hate it when she does that to us."

"I'll say," Will mumbled. He turned to grab his knapsack from his seat and slung it over his shoulder. He stood close by James, talking in a low voice to him. James nodded his head once or twice in reply.

"I loved your audition, Simon," Kurt complimented as he pulled his bag over his shoulder. "I wouldn't be surprised if you got the solo."

He ran a hand through his jet black hair. "I don't know. I don't think I did that well, in all honesty. If I was choosing who got the solo, it would definitely be you. I mean, you were flying everywhere across the stage, and there was so much energy to your performance. I loved it." He half-smiled.

"Thank you," Kurt responded, trying to ignore the heat rushing to his face, "but if neither of us got the solo, Blaine would be next in line." Both boys looked over in unison at Blaine, who was gathering his things and didn't seem to hear. "Again, great audition."

"But not great enough, probably. To be honest, I really didn't try," Simon said and leaned his weight back on his heels. "This was just something to take up free time. Adam wanted me to do it. He wouldn't lay off until I agreed to sign up." He laughed shortly. "But seriously, I'm placing all my bets on you, Kurt." He gave him one last smile and left.

"You never told me you were singing Judy Garland," Blaine mused after collecting his things and came to join Kurt out in the aisle. "It was certainly a surprise."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, keeping a close eye on the blonde and the other dark haired boy, who were both nearing the doors. "A good surprise, or a bad surprise?" he asked tentatively.

"Without a doubt a good one." Blaine's face lit up with a smile.

Kurt smiled at him and turned to face the doors. Will and James were pushing their way out into the hall and Kurt bolted toward them. He caught up with them and nearly stumbled over his feet, catching the door and asking, "William?"

The blonde curiously turned at the sound of his name. "Yes?" he replied, bemused at the sight of Kurt. James had stopped as well and was wringing his hands around the strap of his knapsack, glancing fretfully between the two boys.

"I would like to speak to you," Kurt requested and straightened up. "Alone," he added, and he saw the interested glare flash over both their eyes, the way James took a step forward.

"What for?" Will asked, but took a small step forward. He crossed his arms and raised his chin a fraction.

Kurt froze, and tightened his hand around the edge of the door. His eyes drifted over James, but barely. "Just come back here. You know what I want to talk about," he commanded, flushing, and disappeared inside the auditorium.

When he came back, he found Blaine staring wondrously at him.

"What's that all about?" he asked, concerned, and nodded at the doors. His voice hinted panic.

Kurt swallowed, hard. "I want to get the story from both of you. To hear both sides of it and not just one."

Blaine narrowed his eyes, which flashed with a hint of horror. He parted his lips, ready to say something, when one of the doors creaked open. Will barged in, without James at his side, bag bouncing against his leg, and he approached them. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and his gaze darted from Kurt to Blaine and back again.

"Well?" he demanded of Kurt. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

Kurt took a step back and inhaled deeply. "Boys, sit down."

"Kurt, what's this all about?" Blaine asked. He had that sort of look on his face that said he was wondering if the other boy was serious or not.

"Sit down and I'll tell you." He gestured to the many rows of chairs behind him with a hand that shook ever so slightly.

Will gave a short chuckle, but dropped his bag to the floor and plopped down in the end seat of the row nearest Kurt. He leaned his arms against the armrests and gazed up at him. "Okay," he said contently, "I'm sitting. What in the world do you feel the need to discuss, and why does it involve Mr. Michael Buble and I?"

Blaine grumbled under his breath, most likely something about the reference to the singer, and sat down in the next seat. He rested his chin in his hand and watched Kurt. "What is it, Kurt?"

Kurt pursed his lips and clasped his hands in front of him. "This entire semester, I've been hearing… things about the breakup you two went through at the end of your freshman year, and I've been curious. I've heard the story where Blaine initiated the breakup, and the story where Will did. I'm only interested in who broke up with whom, and for what reason."

Will and Blaine shared a short glance.

"Are you _kidding _me, Hummel?" Will asked incredulously. "Are you really trying to be Dr. Phil and hoping you can fix what happened between us and then maybe everything will be all peachy-keen again?"

Kurt blinked. "Well, not exactly, but—"

"There's no buts, Kurt," Blaine interjected and clenched his hands in his lap. "And there's certainly no way you're getting either of us to talk about what happened, nor will you get us to mend what broke. Some things are just meant to stay broken."

"I only want to clear everything up—"

"And I don't even want to begin to tell that story again," Will mumbled bitterly. "It is such a horrible thing to go back on, and I'd rather not recall any of it."

Blaine nodded in full agreement. "I think it would be best to leave everything alone and not revisit it."

"Can I speak for one second without either of you interrupting me?" Kurt finally burst out, sick of them talking against him.

The blonde and the soloist fell silent. Clearly, they were both surprised by Kurt's outright demand.

Blaine pursed his lips. He clasped his hands in his lap and a smirk played at his lips. "Okay, fine. We apologize for interrupting you, and we'll keep our mouths shut until you're done."

Kurt caught a hint of sarcasm threading through his tone, and resisted the urge to call him out on it. "I want a straight answer. I know you two had a history of dating two years ago, and I only want to know who broke up with whom. That's all. I'm not asking for a lot."

"But you are. You're really asking us to go back on something that hurt both of us," Blaine said, his voice suddenly soft. He glanced at Will from the corner of his eye. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say we don't want to say anything."

Will raised his hand politely. "Actually, I think it would be good for us," he admitted, and registered the look of shock across Blaine's face. "Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that. I think it would be a somewhat smart thing to do to talk it out. At least Kurt would understand what happened. Hell, even I hardly understand what happened."

"He doesn't need to know what happened." Blaine gestured to Kurt with one hand and the conversation instantly butted Kurt out.

"I think he does," the blonde argued. "He deserves to know what went wrong in this damn relationship. He's dating you, and you have this irritated… glare thing on your face whenever you look at me, and he's probably wondering why Wes and I are always at each other's throats. It's only fair."

Blaine set his jaw. "Okay, you're obviously not telling me something, Will."

"Okay, I'll admit it. Maybe I did say something to Hummel after that little practice bout we had a while ago—"

"You did _what_?"

Will looked aghast. "What? It's not like you care!"

"I care now!" Blaine exclaimed, furrowing his brows.

"That's because I just told you!"

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine. If you're going to be like that, then I'll just pick up where I left off and tell everything that happened to us, from beginning to end," Will said promptly, and faced Kurt again. He rested his elbows on his knees. "Okay, so this is my side of the story. This is how everything unfolded."

"And I don't want you to talk, either!" Blaine added hastily and got to his feet.

Will stood up and stared down at him. The height difference was at least two or three inches, at most. "Sit down and be quiet when I'm trying to talk, Anderson," he snapped. "Especially when what I'm trying to talk about deals with us."

A horrid expression washed over Blaine's face, though he made no vocal objections. He sat back down, crossing his legs, and turned his head to stare at the other side of the auditorium.

Will, looking somewhat pleased with himself, sat back down and smiled up at Kurt. "Now, where was I?"

"The beginning. You said you were going to start at the very beginning," Kurt said and his voice cracked. He sat down carefully in the seat in front of the blonde and rested his arms along its back.

The blonde shrugged. "Eh, maybe not the very beginning. I don't think you want to go back over the stupid puppy dog look I had in my eye when I first saw your boyfriend that day of orientation." He gave a shudder. "I don't want to go back over it myself, if I have a choice in the matter."

"Just tell it, for God's sake," Blaine muttered, "or I will."

Will blinked, but sat back. "By all means, oh fearless prep boy. Tell it like it is."

"One more crack, and I'll—"

Kurt stared at him. _"Blaine,_" he said sternly. "I didn't keep both of you here to listen to you argue over who is going to tell it. One of you better start talking right now. I don't care who it is."

Blaine leaned forward in his seat and ignored the haughty smirk smeared across Will's face.

"I'm going to skip straight over orientation and go to the first day because, from what I know, Will already told you that. The first day we really had actual contact. Does that make it better?"

* * *

Blaine fidgeted in his seat, wearing the stiff uniform. The slacks were too crisp and too fitted around the waist for his liking. He missed the comfortable fit of his jeans, loose and soft.

But the slacks were part of the uniform he was required to wear all day, every day. The blazer wasn't much better. It was made from the same fabric of the slacks, navy blue, with red piping along the edges. The tie around his throat nearly constricted him and he reached up to tug at the knot every five seconds. The loafers on his feet felt foreign compared to his usual sneakers that were packed away with the rest of his clothes he hadn't bothered to put in his new closet yet.

So far, he was not enjoying Dalton. He knew no one in the school whatsoever. However, he did meet the Precursor for his wing at orientation, a tall senior named Mark, who was the perfect student and had the looks of a male model. He was sharp with his words and very direct and to the point, the epitome of a teacher's pet.

Blaine found himself scanning the commons for the Precursor in hopes of feeling some security, but he was not there. He figured that since they were three years apart, they would not be seeing each other in the hallways that often, either.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall above the table in the back of the common room. According to the schedule in his hands, the first class of the day started in half an hour. He had thirty minutes to kill before the first day of torture began.

At the word 'academy', he instantly thought of laborious hours of homework and projects and assignments that piled, one on top of the other, until he passed out from exhaustion. With his first class being Geography, he could only wonder what kind of work awaited him.

Beside him, a chair pulled out, and it snapped him out of his reverie.

A boy with a dark buzz cut sat down beside him and flattened his schedule on the table in front of him. His eyes, which were as dark as his hair, scanned the classes and he made disapproving noises at all of them. He found Blaine staring at him oddly.

"What are you looking at?" he quipped and sat up straight.

"Nothing," Blaine muttered. He thought of pointing out that he was already at the table when the boy had sat down, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Are you one of the upperclassmen?" the boy questioned and folded his schedule down the four large crease marks that were already there.

Blaine snorted. "Upperclassman? Do you think I look like an upperclassman?" He was shocked beyond words. He wasn't even fifteen, yet this boy, whom he had never laid eyes on, thought he was older and one of the more experienced boys.

He shrugged. "Don't get smart with me. I was only asking a question," he said and tucked his schedule into his pocket.

Blaine ran his tongue along the fronts of his teeth and got to his feet, pushing in his chair and straightening his blazer. He was never going to get used to the thing.

The boy chuckled and leaned one arm against the back of the chair. "Yeah, you don't look like an upperclassman. You're way too short to be one."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Blaine asked him, his cheeks beginning to flame. He hardly knew this boy, yet he was getting into a dispute with him.

"It means," the boy said and stood up, "you're kinda short."

It was true. Blaine stood at least three inches shorter than the other boy, and he took a step back.

"What does my height have to do with anything?" Blaine asked and crossed his arms over his chest. He kept a close eye on the clock to make sure he wasn't going to be late. It would make a horrible impression if he was tardy on the first day, and he didn't want to see his parents' reactions to that.

The boy gave another shrug and ran a hand over his choppy hair. "Nothing. You just look too short to be seventeen or eighteen."

"What if I just so happened to be eighteen?"

"Then you wouldn't be having a conversation like this with a freshman," the boy said and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Blaine let his shoulders drop. "You're a freshman, too?" he asked in a quiet voice before he could think of something better to say.

The boy snapped his fingers. "I knew it! You definitely looked like one when I saw you," he said delightedly. He stuck out a very tan hand. "My name is Wesley Moore. But you can call me Wes. Pleased to meet you."

Letting a small smile onto his face, Blaine shook hands with him. "Blaine Anderson," he introduced. "I'm glad I actually know somebody now. I hardly know any of these people." He cast a look over the rest of the commons at the other boys in uniforms who looked at ease.

Wes nodded. "Same here. I feel like a tadpole in the ocean right now."

"I hate this school already," Blaine murmured and grabbed his bag. "I only know one person—"

"You met Mark, right?" Wes interjected.

"Of course I did. He practically attacked me with a 'welcome to the Dalton Academy for Boys' speech and he might as well have handed me a brochure and told me to have a nice day," he commented.

Wes snorted with laughter. "He did that to me, too. Anyway. You were saying?"

Blaine nodded and they walked slowly down the hall. He still hadn't gotten used to the idea that all four wings shared the same huge building, and that all their classes were a short walk away in another building.

"Anyways, I only know one person, and that's you. I don't know where I'm going for my classes, which means I'm going to be late the majority of the time—"

"I think freshman can be late for a week without getting detention, or something," Wes said over him again. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"And I hate this uniform. I wish we could just wear jeans and a school t-shirt as a uniform. Or something comfortable that doesn't make us look uptight and snooty," he said and glanced down at himself.

Wes made a face. "Dude, be happy we only have to wear this. I know a few friends who go to a private school, and they all have to keep their hair at a length above their waists, and they have to wear skirts and tall socks and frilly shirts and—"

"Wes? Are your friends girls, by any chance?"

"Yeah, they are. Why?"

Blaine shook his head and sidestepped a group of boys. "Nothing. I'm glad you aren't talking about guys. There would be something seriously wrong if guys had to wear skirts and tall socks." He laughed and covered his mouth.

"Definitely. Hey, where do you think those go to?" Wes asked, and he stopped where he was. He pointed forward, at a pair of doors before them. They were wooden doors made of the same color wood that most of the furniture was made out of. No one was passing through them, and he and Blaine took a few steps closer to them.

"Ah, I see you two have found the doors," came a voice from behind them, and they jumped.

A boy clad in the standard uniform stood behind them, arms clasped behind his back. It was Mark, the North wing Precursor, and Blaine inwardly groaned. Mark strolled up to them and gazed at the doors in thought.

"What do you mean, the doors?" Wes asked him, never looking away from them.

"They're not just any doors, boys," Mark said highly. "They're the doors that join our wing with the South wing."

Blaine pursed his lips. "Why is no one using them?"

"No one ever uses them. We hardly used them last year, and I expect we won't be using them much this year," he reported. "But if you want to try them, go ahead. Give the knob a good turn."

Wes and Blaine shared a long, worried look. Blaine was the first to reach out and grip the metal knob. It was cold to the touch and he felt the engravings in the metal brush against his palm. He yanked it to the side and it did nothing. Trying again, he received the same result.

"They're locked," he concluded lamely and dropped his hand.

Mark chuckled. "They've been locked all summer. The Dean will probably come down later this afternoon and give the Precursors sets of keys to all the doors. He did the same last year for us."

"So, what's the point with the doors? They just connect all the wings?" Wes asked and he clearly was not impressed by a simple pair of doors.

"They are supposed to represent the unity we can bestow upon all the wings, but we prefer to keep them shut and locked," Mark told them and turned on his heel. His shoes made a sharp squeaking noise against the parquet floor. "The other Precursors agree with me and so, they wish to not invade other wings unless it is an absolute emergency or something involving classwork."

Blaine stared at them. "So they're useless."

"Yes, they're useless, and so are the ones that connect us to East down on the other side of the building, but don't tell the Dean that," Mark said.

"Then why in the world are they here?" Wes exclaimed.

Mark, for once, looked hesitant. "Just as an easy way to get between wings if needed. But I have no idea why we would ever want to cut through South. Some nasty people in that wing." He paused. "Now, shouldn't you two be getting off to class? The first bell rings in fifteen minutes."

The two boys mumbled a reply to the Precursor and quickly took off down the hall.

Wes looked over his shoulder at him. "Wow. He's so proper."

"What do you expect? We attend an academy for boys," Blaine said lightly, and he cracked a smile.

* * *

"Wow, I forgot how much of a weird little prick Wesley was back then," Will commented, delighted. The smirk was still on his face and he looked over at Blaine, who wore a hard mask. "What? Even you know it's true."

"Shut up, Will," he sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Kurt, are you sure you want to stay for the entire story?" Will asked. "I mean, it is a very long story, after all. It can get a little boring around the middle."

Kurt nodded. "Continue, please."

The blonde licked his lips. "How about you talk a little more, Blaine? Finish off your first day, and we'll start on mine later."

Kurt bit his lip. "Wait. The thing about the doors, the ones connecting all the wings. What's the deal with that? I use the doors every time I rehearse with Will."

"It's nothing," Blaine said airily. "You're only allowed to use them if you absolutely need to. In the case of practicing for the Spring Show, it's alright. But if you end up going back and forth between wings because you simply want to, you could get into trouble. It's not recommended."

"But of course, no one's ever gotten into serious trouble before," Will chipped in. "The Precursors usually let everyone off with a warning. Especially Simon. I swear, I don't know how many times I've been out of the wing after official curfew and he's let me in when the doors are locked—"

Blaine eyed him oddly. "Since when do you stay out after curfew?"

He tightened his jaw. "It's nothing of your concern."

"_Will."_

"I said, it's none of your business," he said harshly. "Now, finish up your story already. I don't have all the time in the world."

* * *

Blaine scraped into the classroom at the last possible second. He had been so absorbed with things earlier that morning—meeting Wes, finding thedoors that opened to the South wing, trying to find his first class—that the time had slipped away from him.

But now, his eyes raked the room anxiously and the professor waved him in.

The professor was a middle-aged man with glasses hanging from his neck by a chain. He looked particularly young, with a head of brown hair and a pleasant look to his face. He directed Blaine to take any seat that was open; more than half the seats were empty. He scanned the sea of vacant desks—and caught a pair of eyes staring back at him.

The eyes were a mixture of hazel and green and possibly blue, swirled together and wide with curiosity. They almost held a glow and they eerily reminded Blaine of a cat's eyes. Finally, he snapped his head down and started down one of the rows.

As he quickly moved to a seat in the back, he figured he would be put in a seating chart, either in the very front or in the very back, depending on how it was sorted. He ran his hand through his curly hair, which his mother had taken to get trimmed before the semester started, and fidgeted with the cuffs on his shirt.

Blaine set his bag down on the floor under the desk and sat down. The others in the classroom were nearly silent. A small group of four on the other side of the room carried on a conversation in whispers and it was clear they all knew each other. Blaine wished he could do the same, but he had no idea who anyone was.

To keep his hands busy as he waited for the last minute to run itself out, he unearthed his schedule from his already-messy bag. He flattened it out on his desk, smoothing the crinkles, and read over the teachers, courses, and room numbers. He triple checked that he was in the correct room for his first class of the first semester and then he started to relax the tiniest bit.

The boy in front of him turned in his seat. His hair was the whitest blonde, catching the fluorescent light and reflecting it. His skin was fair and pale and clear, nice. His pink lips turned up in half a smile as the same cat eyes scanned Blaine.

"Nice blazer," he said quietly, and his voice was as smooth as silk.

Blaine raised his head and blinked when he found the boy watching him. His words were tangled on his tongue and came out warbled. "Oh, um, thanks. I guess it's nice."

The boy chuckled lightly. "It's called a joke. It's something that is supposed to be funny."

"Then you're not a very good comedian," Blaine said before he could think about a reply.

He feigned wounded feelings, and the smile stayed plastered to his face. "Ouch. I'm hurt."

Blaine had no idea what to say to that, and nothing came to mind. He was all too immersed with the mix of colors of the boy's eyes. They were sharp and very… interesting to study. He found himself tilting his head slightly and he blinked.

"Cat got your tongue?" the blonde boy joked, clearly pleased by Blaine's silence.

"Sure," Blaine blurted and he folded the corners of his schedule before finally crumpling it back up and stowing it away in his bag.

The boy licked his lips. "My name is William. William Fitzroy."

"Blaine Anderson," Blaine introduced and nodded his head until he felt like it was going to fall clean off his shoulders.

Overhead the bell rang and the professor stood at the front of the room with a clipboard in his hands. He started off my introducing himself and the course the boys were taking, and William stayed where he was, not paying the man any attention.

Blaine stared past him at the professor, who was now reading from the clipboard.

"Aren't you supposed to be listening?" he asked, and thought he sounded like he actually wanted to learn something, even if it was their first day and first days were spent getting things together.

"Why should I? I didn't plan on paying any attention in this class, anyway," William said coolly. He said something else, something that Blaine imagined was, "Now I have a good reason to."

"Excuse me, boys," the professor said loudly, drawing Blaine's and William's attentions up to the front of the room. "If you would please…" He gestured to the rest of the students, who were on their feet and had their bags over their shoulders.

Blaine immediately stood up and reached for his bag. His legs suddenly felt wobbly, his knees weak, and he gathered his things. William was quick with his movements and was already halfway across the room by the time Blaine had his bag over his shoulder. Blaine followed the blonde boy and they stood with the others.

The professor called out names, one by one, to set up the seating chart. As he expected, Blaine's name was called first. With his last name starting with the first letter of the alphabet, he had grown into the habit of listening for it.

He sat down at the first desk on the opposite side of the room from where he had been sitting before. It was close to the row of computers. He had been desperately hoping for windows so he had something to stare at if he wanted to space out during class. But all he had were the damn computers.

Another four boys filed into the seats behind him and that completed the first row. The second row was started by William and he took the seat with a sense of pride and enthrallment. He abandoned his bag on the ground and turned in his seat to face Blaine, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow against his desk.

"What wing have you been sorted into?" William questioned in a significantly quieter voice than he had used a moment ago.

"North," Blaine answered. He had nothing to distract him from the boy sitting across from him, and in a sense, he was glad.

Now, he knew two people in this school. Yes, Mark the Precursor was a person, but he didn't count as someone Blaine would want to actually talk to voluntarily.

William made a short sound that appeared as a laugh. "That's too bad."

"What wing are you in?" Blaine asked him.

He tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear, but it only came back forward again and he did not bother to fix it. "South."

Instantly Blaine was reminded of the locked double doors that Mark had told him about earlier. He refrained from mentioning them.

He only nodded and his tongue was tied. He had no earthly idea what else to say. But there was no need to scramble for words because William had started another sentence and Blaine jumped in about halfway through; he vaguely wondered what the first half had been about.

"…from this part of Ohio?" William tilted his head and gazed at Blaine expectantly.

"Um, yeah, I am," Blaine said and absently picked at the brass button at the end of his blazer sleeve.

William's eyes blazed. "Where did you go to middle school?"

"Champ de Foire Junior High. It was a really small school. Not even five hundred people."

Stop. Don't say another word about it. Don't go into detail about it. Please, hope he doesn't ask anything more about the awful school. Don't bring back the memories that haunted him from the very beginning.

A flash of red, a streak of white.

Firey pain struck his knee, then his stomach, then his face, square in the jaw.

Done.

It's over.

They've gone, and he would never tell his parents.

Say it was from an accident during gym class and Dad'll cheerfully tell him to shake it off, and Mom will offer him ice.

He's done.

Don't tell them a single thing.

And don't tell _him, _either. Why would the new boy care?

"Interesting," he hummed, and brought Blaine back to the present. "It's French, isn't it?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah, I think it is. Why do you ask?"

William smiled and flashed a set of pearly white teeth, like a Cheshire cat. He drew lazy circles in the desk with the tip of his finger. "No reason. I speak a little of it, and it sounded familiar," he said airily.

"You speak French?" Blaine repeated. This boy was getting more intriguing by the minute.

"Only a little. But I know enough that if I went to the actual country, I could order food and ask for directions. I think I could survive for a good while." He drummed his nails against the desk.

Blaine couldn't help but chuckle. Whatever was going on with the rest of the class, he wasn't concerned with it at the moment. "Can you say something for me?" he asked, and a bit shyly, he was startled to realize.

William chuckled and he furrowed his brows, as if wondering if he really had to answer it. "What would you like me to say?" he asked.

"I don't know. Anything," Blaine said.

The blonde boy hummed under his breath again before finally uttering in a fluid, musical voice, "Je pense que vous etes mignon."

"What does that mean?" Blaine asked him, baffled by the twist of the words and the syllables.

He smiled warmly. "It means—"

A loud cough came from the front of the room, and both boys turned their heads reluctantly.

"Mr. Fitzroy, Mr. Anderson," the professor said sternly and bored holes through their heads with his stare.

"Sir?" William replied deliberately and repositioned himself in his seat, looking innocent. Behind him, Blaine was too stunned to speak.

"Please pay attention while I go over these first-day protocols. I know they don't mean much to you at all, but please, be quiet," he requested and put his glasses up to his eyes to read one of the papers in his hands.

William smiled. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"And you haven't changed a bit at all," Blaine said, animating his words with the flourish of one hand. "You're still a wisecrack, an ass, and completely rude to all the teachers. Some people would think you'd have matured by now, but you haven't."

Will gave a careless shrug as if to say _I don't really care what anyone thinks of me. Not anymore._

"You speak French?" Kurt questioned after a pregnant pause.

Blaine stared at Kurt, as if asking _how is this relevant to anything we're talking about?_

"Only a little," the blonde said generously. "My mom made me take a few online sessions of it in middle school and then my dad wanted me to take Latin when I enrolled here. I wanted to continue on with French, but Latin is thought to be more beneficial. After all, most languages are based around it."

Kurt threaded his fingers together. "Say something for me."

"Arrêtez de me poser ces questions déjà," he snapped in a harsh tone, the words blending together.

"Désolé. Je voulais seulement voir si vous pouviez," Kurt responded without missing a beat.

Will knitted his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Eh bien, maintenant vous savez. Je pense que nous devons poursuivre. Blaine est de s'endormir sur nous." He jerked a thumb at the boy in the seat beside him.

Blaine sat up ramrod straight and his eyes darted between them. "I know I heard my name somewhere in that jumbled mess. What were you two saying about me?"

"Nothing," Kurt assured him. "We were only going to continue on with the rest of the story. Go on."

Blaine sighed and rubbed his temples. "So after I finished an oh-so-exciting class of Geography with Will, the rest of the first day wasn't very thrilling."

"Until he got to third period," Will added. "Third period was the Warblers. We were just starting class, and—"

"This is my side of the story, if you don't remember," Blaine interjected, making the other boy fall silent. "Anyway, Lovett was directing our choir, even back then, and she was going to start us on the music for the Fall Fest that happened in late September, early October. But before that, I had to go through Latin, second period."

* * *

After the bell rang to end the first class of the morning, Blaine found it a tad difficult to say goodbye to William, who preferred to be called Will, for short. He waved shortly to Blaine before skirting down the hall and disappearing from sight.

Blaine dug his schedule from his bag and spread it open in front of him. His next class was one of his two electives, Latin. It was a requirement to take at least two semesters of a foreign language. If you didn't, you didn't graduate.

Jamming the sheet of paper in his pocket, Blaine adjusted his tie, which was nearly choking him to death, and vowed never again to wear a tie unless he was forced to by school administrators or people of higher authority. He trudged down the hall and dodged taller boys, most likely juniors and seniors. He was almost knocked over by a very small boy with chestnut hair and eyes like a deer.

The boy squeaked a quick apology to Blaine, and slowed down enough to make the turn down the hall, and then he was gone.

Blaine blinked repeatedly, trying to think if that had actually just happened. He decided it had, oddly enough, and continued down the hall.

His Latin class was upstairs, he figured out, and he decided between climbing the stairs and taking one of the two elevators. He stood at the base of the stairs and observed the flow of traffic before deciding, not half a second later, to take the elevator.

There was no one standing outside waiting for it, and he jammed his finger against the only button that was there, the up arrow. It took a few moments, but the button lit up brightly and the elevator gave a cheerful ding. The doors parted shakily and Blaine took his first step in when a hand snagged his shoulder and dragged him back.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" a squeaky voice asked, and he craned his head back to see another, much older boy staring right back at him. He released Blaine and he stumbled forward, clutching his bag to his chest.

The boy that had dragged him back into the hall was as thin as rail, and donned a pair of glasses as big as his entire face. His hair was somewhat long and bangs hung neatly at the right length against his forehead. He carried a thick book in his arms and an overstuffed bag over one shoulder that appeared to weigh him down.

"I was going to take the elevator," Blaine explained and caught his breath.

"Oh, you can't do that!" the boy squeaked again. "These elevators are horrible. I know it's only the first day and all, but I've already heard that these elevators get stuck if you try them. And I wouldn't experiment with them right now, seeing as there are about"—he checked the gaudy watch strapped to his wrist—"four minutes and thirteen seconds left until second period starts."

Blaine merely stared at him. "What?"

"In other words, you need to get to class," the boy said importantly. From his thin, toothpick appearance and the young look in his face, Blaine guessed he was only a freshman as well.

"Yeah, that's what I was planning to do. It's not like I was going to skip," Blaine grumbled and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. He started down the hall past the glasses boy and made a beeline to the large staircase that swirled up.

As he expected, the boy followed.

It was difficult to appreciate the décor that he saw, like the gaping window on the ceiling in the design of a bird cage, or the handful of oil paintings that graced the walls, with the boy jabbering on and on in his ear. The only parts Blaine caught were that his name was Adam something-or-other and that they had Latin together second period.

Blaine rubbed his temples and trudged up the stairs.

He hardly lasted the entire ninety-minute class period with Adam rambling on and on. The only times he shut up for once were if the professor called on him personally or if the entire class was being spoken to. Other than that, he ran his mouth.

Then, before either of them knew it, the ninety minutes were up, and Blaine instantly got to his feet. He snatched his bag and started for the door, hoping to get away from Adam before he caught up to him. But of course, the boy with the glasses was right on his tail.

"If you need any help with homework this semester," Adam said helpfully as they left the room, "just ask. I'll be more than happy to help you with anything."

Blaine waved a hand at him and tried to pull together a smile. He turned down the stairs and took them two at a time. Without even glancing once at his schedule, he knew his next class was choir.

* * *

"When you put it like that, you make Adam sound…" Kurt trailed off, unsure about the boy with the glasses. He picked at his nails.

"Annoying beyond all reason?" Will chipped in helpfully and flashed a smile.

Blaine smacked him in the arm. "Be quiet. He wasn't that bad."

"Well, it sounded like it," the blonde said tartly and shot him a glare. "If I had never met him and was going completely off your description, I would say he was—"

"Guys!" Kurt prompted and they both looked at him. "What happened after that, Blaine?"

Now, Will straightened himself in his seat and a wicked smile crossed his face. "Yes, Blaine. Please continue."

Blaine set his jaw, but swallowed and went on.

* * *

Choir was not as Blaine had expected at all.

Not at all.

He imagined a small room with risers and a glass music stand for the director. The walls would be covered in posters of music notes and music jokes and everything to deal with music and singing and that damn do-re-me pattern that made him constantly think about _The Sound of Music. _There would be a boom box in one corner and a few bulky speakers; the carpet would be thin and threadbare.

But that was not what he saw when he followed a small pack of boys inside.

Inside, past the great double doors made of richly stained wood, was a room so neatly laid out, it could have been a work office, not a boys' choir room. Three sofas made a U formation in the middle of the room, the opening facing toward the long desk on the right of the room. Behind the desk, the wall was practically made of books and he could hardly see the set of shelves.

The walls were paneled with the same wood as the doors and there were a few paintings of old men in suits every so often. Windows covered the back wall and let in generous amounts of light. A rickety old upright piano stood right before the windows, coated with so much dust that Blaine guessed it hadn't been played in years.

The choir director, the woman with the cloud of frizzy black hair, sat behind the desk with glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. She was checking boys off on the clipboard in her hands. Blaine fell into step behind a tall boy with jet black hair and waited.

"Blaine Anderson," he said quietly when he reached the front of the line.

She looked up at him past her glasses. "Blaine, eh?"

"Yes, ma'am," he affirmed and stepped out of the way of a boy of African origins.

"I think I talked to your parents on the day of orientation," she mused and checked his name off the list with the swipe of her pen. "They told me you've been doing choir since middle school."

Blaine nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I have."

"That's good, that's good," she murmured. "Of course, I remember you from the auditions. You were very good."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said politely and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

She carefully pulled her glasses from her nose and folded the arms together, pulled them back, and folded them again. "And to be completely honest with you, Mr. Anderson," she said in a quiet voice, "you're one of the better ones in this group, from what I heard at the auditions. Would you be interested in singing a little for us today?"

Blaine had to stop himself from taking a step back. "Singing? In front of everyone? Why?"

"Just to show off," she said. She laughed richly, and it sounded like someone striking a wind chime. She stood up from her chair and braced her hands against the desk. "Now, you think about that while you go find a seat. Class will start soon." She shooed him off.

Blaine had nothing else to do but turn to the three couches. They were already filled with a handful of boys. He had figured the choir would be very large, not very small. Only six boys sat on the couch to the left, and five to the right, and seven on the one in the back. Blaine swallowed.

"Hey, Blaine! Here, we've saved you a seat!" hissed a boy with choppy black hair. It was Wes, from earlier that morning.

Blaine felt his anxiety melt away as he recognized his friend and he immediately took him up on the open seat. He stowed his bag underneath the large coffee table that sat in the middle of the room and sat back.

"Blaine, this is David," Wes said and gestured to the boy sitting on his other side.

The boy was of African descent, the one Blaine had noticed earlier. He had kind, dark eyes and smooth skin and a strong handshake. He smiled back at Blaine. As it turned out, the three of them were all in the same wing: North.

Blaine settled himself into his seat. Looking around the room, he caught many unfamiliar faces. There were many boys who looked much older than he. Most of them, he was sure, were seniors or juniors. Some of them looked young enough to be his own age. Wes and now David were really the only people he knew, and he was thankful he didn't see Mark among them—

Then he saw a pair of glowing eyes staring straight back at him, and his heart jumped a little.

William Fitzroy was watching him from the other side of the room. He had his hands clasped over his knees, cocking his head to the side with an interested expression. He gave a gentle smile when he saw that Blaine was looking at him.

At that moment, the director stood up from her desk and clapped her hands twice, loudly, and gather their attentions.

"Good afternoon, boys," she declared and came around the desk, "my name is Ms. Lovett and I will be your choir director for the 2008-2009 school year. That is, unless some of you decide to drop the course by Christmas, which I highly do not recommend." She beamed. She started to take a breath to go on when another boy raised his hand. "Yes, Roger?"

"What about our lunch schedule, ma'am?" the older boy asked and pulled his hand down.

Her dark eyes grew attentive. "Oh, of course. How silly of me. I didn't even _think _of lunch…" She went back to the desk and rummaged through a handful of papers before plucking out one and scanning it. "It seems Markus has moved the choir and the drama department's lunch to A."

As soon as the words left her mouth, half the room stood up and murmurs filled the air.

"When you all get back, be ready to sing!" she called over them.

"What's going on?" Blaine wondered, but stood up with the rest. He found his knapsack under table. He let it on his lap and looked over to Wes and David for help.

Wes had a bright smile across his face. "I guess we have the first lunch. Awesome! I'm starved," he exclaimed and clutched his stomach. David merely rolled his eyes and slung his bag over his shoulder.

Blaine had nothing else to do but follow the two boys, who were getting along swimmingly, to the door. He was only stopped when he felt a faint brush against his shoulder and he turned his head.

"Hey, Blaine," William said. He paused. "Would you like to sit with me at lunch?"

For a moment, Blaine was stunned. Here was this boy he had only just met two class periods ago, and now he was asking Blaine if he wanted to sit together at lunch. He realized William was still waiting for an answer and he bobbed his head.

"Sure," he sputtered out.

A Cheshire cat grin grew on his face. "Good. Save us a seat and I'll see you in there."

Blaine tried to pull together a smile of his own, which he was sure looked frantic and anxious, and quickly hurried out of the choir room, feeling his pulse pound against his ears.

* * *

Kurt eyed Will. "You asked him to lunch?"

"Well, of course I did," Will scoffed as if the answer was obvious. "What else was I supposed to do? I liked him the moment I saw him."

Blaine flushed a furious red. "Okay, can we get on with the rest of it?" he asked quickly.

Kurt held up a hand to him. "No, wait. I want to hear what he has to say about it," he said and watched the blonde.

"What _I _have to say about it? What is there to say?" Will asked and picked at his nails. "I wanted to sit with Blaine during lunch and that's all there is to it."

"I want to hear why you did it. Surely there must have been some ulterior motive to it—"

Will laughed. "There was no motive whatsoever. I was simply a boy in love." Then he turned his glare on Blaine. "But you never really did sit with me, and that's certainly something I'll never forget. You were goofing off with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum and never showed up."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"He's right, unfortunately," Blaine sighed remorsefully. "Wes and David dragged me off to the wing so they could finish setting up their room, and we got into the most trouble three freshman could get into on their first day…"

* * *

Blaine left the choir room feeling as though he was floating instead of walking. He had to focus on taking breaths so he wouldn't pass out and he clutched the strap of his knapsack as a buoy.

But what was he doing, having feelings like this? William was only a boy who asked him if they could sit together. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing special about the blonde, nothing at all.

Blaine shook his head to clear it. He promised himself he would never tell a soul, not even his parents, not even the friends he would come to make in due time. Here, he could start everything over. He was a clean slate at this new school, and he would never let things get out of hand like they had.

Abruptly, he was yanked forcefully to the side by a pair of strong hands and he nearly tumbled to the floor. Looking up past the curls that had flown in his face, he found two familiar faces beaming down at him.

"What are you guys doing?" he sputtered questioningly.

"Oh, good. We wanted to catch you before you got to the lunch room," Wes said joyfully.

"And why is that?"

David adjusted his tie, but the wrong way, and it looked odd around his neck. It was clear he had never worn one before. "We were going back to the dorms. We're going to finish setting up our room. Wes and I are sharing a room until one of us gets annoyed enough with the other to leave," he explained.

Blaine stared at them, bewildered. "But I don't think we're allowed to go back there. We have lunch."

"Quit listening to your growling gut and listen to what we're telling you," Wes said and threw his arm around Blaine's shoulders, dragging him forward down the empty hallway. "I'm sure we're perfectly allowed to go back and fix up a few things. If we run into any teachers, we'll just say we forgot something and were heading back to get it."

"So we're going to lie?" he said.

David chuckled. "It's not really lying, per say. It's more of exaggerating the truth, if you will. We did, in fact, forget something. We forgot to add the finishing touches to our room," he said, and followed them.

Blaine swallowed over the lump in his throat and pulled out of Wes' arm, catching a glance of the hallway as he did so. The walls were plastered with the same red, ornate wallpaper, decorated with pastel flowers and vines. Paintings surrounded by gold frames were hung everywhere; and the floor gleamed under their feet, like it had been waxed recently. He could feel his shoes slid against the surface ever so slightly.

"Are we allowed to do any of this?" he asked and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sheesh, you're such a goody-two-shoes," Wes grumbled and jammed his hands in his pockets.

Blaine pursed his lips. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not really." David paused. "You just need to live a little."

"It's our first day, guys. Don't you think we should stay out of harm's way for a while before we get into crazy stuff?" he asked as they passed a large pair of double doors. The faint scent of food wafted from beneath them, and that was how he knew that it was the dining hall.

Wes passed the hall without stopping, or even noticing it was there at all. "Crazy stuff? Man, we've got to get you out there. If this is crazy stuff to you, you're insane."

"I think you're a little insane," Blaine muttered under his breath. Neither of them heard him, thankfully, and he followed the two boys reluctantly down the hall. He said a little louder, "But seriously, shouldn't we be going to lunch?"

"Either you're really hungry or you've got something waiting there for you," David said. "Which is it?"

Blaine hesitated. "I kind of wanted to sit with someone."

Both boys stopped dead in their tracks and Blaine almost ran headlong into Wes.

"Really? Who? Is he in our wing?" Wes asked.

Blaine chewed on the inside of his cheek, anxious at their sudden interest in it. "His name is William. He was in the choir room with us a few minutes ago—"

"Is he that guy with the dark hair on the other side of the room?" Wes interrupted, and was rewarded with a shake of the head. "What about the ginger that looks like the Jolly Green Giant, but, you know, with red hair?"

"It's not either of them," Blaine said. "He's blonde, with, um, the bright eyes—?"

"So _that's _him. He looks so snooty and arrogant and stuff," David said bitterly. "He kept giving me daggers just now. I swear, he looks more like a cat than a human being, if you ask me. Like, he has that feline appearance."

Blaine near laughed out loud at the idea of a "feline appearance", but kept his mouth shut. "Um, I guess that's him."

"I don't even know him, yet I already know I don't like him," Wes mumbled and crossed his arms. "He just looks like he's going to be a lot of trouble, you know?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Why do you want to sit with him, anyway?" David asked precariously, and slowly he started walking again. The initial shock of Blaine wanting to sit with William must have worn off.

Blaine gave a shrug. "He asked me to, and I said yes. He seems pretty nice."

Wes gave a snort of laughter. "Someone who looks like a freaking cat cannot be nice. Cats are supposed to be omens for bad luck and all the bad things that happen in horror movies."

"That's only in horror movies, Wes. He's just a guy," Blaine told him.

"Who looks uncannily like a cat," David added.

They arrived at a pair of glass doors a minute later and Wes pushed them open to step out into the cool September air. He inhaled noisily and exhaled just as loudly, starting down the sidewalk.

"Ah, I love fall," he declared with a small spring in his step. "I wish it would be fall forever."

"Then there wouldn't be any Christmas," Blaine pointed out, casting looks occasionally over his shoulder at the doors. Inwardly, he wondered what William was doing and where he was, if he was in the dining hall, waiting. He felt a pang of guilt and almost doubled back.

Wes faced him and backpedalled, which practically assured him to trip. "Touché, young grasshopper. Touché."

Blaine swelled with a sense of satisfaction. Wes turned back around at the same time David chose to roll his eyes.

The three boys approached another pair of glass doors that led into the spacious dorm building. With one tug, the doors popped open and Wes led the way inside. Blaine had been half expecting for the doors to be locked.

Inside, the smell of wood varnish filled the air, and Blaine had to cover his nose. He wasn't big on cleaning supplies and the odor just about gagged him. He tore his attention away from the smell to see David and Wes heading off to the right down a long hallway, and he quickly followed.

The hall they paced down was layered with the same carpet that was seen throughout the school, and the exact wallpaper covered the walls. The only difference was the low lighting and the doors that lined the walls, each with small gold plates proclaiming room numbers.

"Which one is your room, Blaine?" David asked, not turning around.

"The one at the end." Blaine pointed down the hall far from where they currently were.

Wes fished through his pockets. "No way. You have one of the rooms down at the end?"

"What's the big deal with a room down at the end?"

"Those are supposedly the best rooms in the entire dormitory," David explained importantly. "Usually, only the heads of the wings get them, I think. It's kind of funny to see a freshman get one."

Blaine shrugged sheepishly, not knowing how to respond to that.

"Oh, stop being such a know-it-all," Wes huffed and clutched a golden key in his hand. "You have been spending way too much time with that Mark guy."

David turned a delicate shade of pink. "Have not."

"Then how else would you know as much as a Precursor?" he asked smartly. "And that's what the heads of the wings are called: Precursors."

"Whatever," David sighed and rubbed his face. "Please tell me you've got the key."

"Relax, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou. I've got it right here." Wes waved the small golden key and tossed it in the air, catching it easily.

* * *

"Okay, when does this story start to get exciting? I've got a pile of homework with my name on it that needs to be done by tomorrow," Will interjected rudely.

Blaine bit his tongue. "Fine. Leave. It doesn't matter to me. You already know the rest," he said, his tone severe.

The blonde took this as his time to leave, and he started to get out of his seat, adjusting his uniform.

"You," Kurt said and pointed at him. "Sit down and stop interrupting. I don't want to hear another word out of you until it's your time to talk. Got it?"

Slowly Will sat back down. "Yes, Mom. Want me to take out the trash while I'm at it?"

Kurt ignored him, painfully trying to keep back the urge to punch him right then and there, and he turned his attention back on Blaine. "I'm so sorry Continue, please."

"It would be my pleasure," Blaine said and a smug look crossed his face.

* * *

Wes approached one of the many doors and stopped, fitting the key into the little slot above the handle. He gave it a good twist and the door made a clicking sound.

Then, before he could push it open, a great thud sounded, making the three boys jump.

"What in the world was that?" Blaine breathed, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

Even Wes, fearless as he was, was a tad frightened. "I'm not exactly sure. Probably a kink in the air conditioning, or something. That kind of stuff makes a lot of noise. That's all it is."

"If it's not…" David trailed off uncertainly.

"Relax. We're fine." Wes gained his swagger back as soon as he had lost it and he pushed the door open. "Come on in. Welcome to the Rivers-Moore abode. But please, don't touch the disco ball. I think we've finally gotten it up there for good now."

"Disco ball?" Blaine repeated, wondering if he had heard him right. He followed David and Wes into the room when a bright beam of light shined in his face. Instantly he shielded his eyes with his arm and took a step back.

"See? Disco ball," Wes said simply. He stood in the middle of the room with a tiny remote in his hand, and he pointed it up at the ceiling where a great orb of hundreds of reflective mirror pieces hung. It was rotating. Two spotlights were drilled into the drywall on either side of the sphere and were currently turned on, which bounced off the mirror pieces and sent bright spots of light all over the room.

Blaine peered up at it in awe. "Why do you have a disco ball in your room?"

"Why wouldn't we? I had one in my room before I came here," Wes said, making Blaine's question inferior. He tossed the remote on the already overflowing bureau on the other side of the room and dropped his bag on the floor. He collapsed on one of the two beds, folding his arms behind his head.

"It's a nice addition," David said tastefully and squinted up at it, "but it sure was a bitch to install. You don't know how many times I fell off that damn ladder trying to get it hanging up there. It took even longer to get the wiring and stuff to work."

Wes laughed and his body hummed with the sound. "Oh, right. Remember the first time we took it for a test drive? Wasn't that… What day was that again?"

"I think it was a few days after orientation." David grinned. "That was a disaster."

"What happened?" Blaine questioned.

"We caused a dorm-wide power outage that put the North wing in the dark for an hour. And it shut off half of South's lights, too," Wes told him nonchalantly. He avoided staring directly into the bright lights. "The Dean got onto us big time for it. I thought it was downright hilarious, but he didn't seem to have that good of a sense of humor. Very dry, that one."

"What did he do to you?" Blaine asked, and he felt like that was the only thing coming out of his mouth: questions.

David didn't answer the inquiry and waved a hand at him to invite him further into the room. "Don't be such a stiff, Blaine. Sit down, put up your feet for a little while. We've still got half an hour before we need to be back, and eight minutes more if you include the passing period," he figured.

Blaine pulled his heavy bag from his shoulder. He couldn't remember his bag back in middle school being this heavy. He let it plop down on the floor beside the waste paper basket, one that looked like it had something purple and clumped resting at the bottom. He refrained from asking anything about that.

As he looked around, he realized that their rooms were nearly identical. Under all the extra stuff, they were identical, he corrected himself.

The disco ball hung from the ceiling, posters of the Beatles and other bands covered up the original floral wallpaper, and the floor was already littered here and there with clothes and gum wrappers. The carpet was hardly visible from under all the socks and papers. It wasn't a full blow pig sty, but Blaine guessed it would end up that way in a week.

He crossed the room and moved a hefty dictionary out of the desk chair before sitting down. The desk was unidentifiable under the mass amounts of papers, most of them brochures and pamphlets about the school, from the classes to the boarding to the meals. He looked up at the bulletin board on the wall next to him, which was almost blank. He could hardly believer that it was so vacant. The only things tacked up against the cork were a few photos and in one of them, he recognized Wes.

Only it was a much younger version of Wes, with cropped black hair and a toothy grin and baby fat still in his cheeks. He looked about eight or nine in the photo. A man stood behind him, an arm wrapped around Wes' shoulder. A small boy was sitting atop the man's shoulder, a spitting image of Wes. The backdrop was a playground in the middle of summer, the trees full of leaves and the sun high in the sky.

Blaine gestured to the picture. "Is that your dad and your brother?"

Wes sat up without Blaine needing to address him first. He stared at the photo like he had never seen it in his life before. He tilted his head to the side and a concerned look flashed over his face—but it was so quick that Blaine didn't know if he was imagining it or not.

"Yeah, that's them," Wes answered and the words sounded breathy, tired. He smiled. Then, "Um, what was your question? The one you asked earlier?"

Blaine dropped his hand from the tack board and leaned back in the chair. "Oh, yeah. What did the Dean do to you after you caused the outage? Surely, it wasn't too bad, because you're both still here." He chuckled weakly.

"Since the official term hadn't started yet," David answered and sat on the foot of the other bed, "he couldn't do much to us other than give us a stern look and tell us that if we screwed up the wiring one more time, he would suspend us." He made a _psht _noise. "Like he would ever do that. Not that I'm doubting his administrative abilities or anything, but really? And ruin this record Wes and I have running?"

"What record is that?" Blaine asked, clueless.

"We've never been suspended before in our entire nine years of education, from kindergarten to eighth grade," David said proudly.

Wes raised an eyebrow. "You can speak for yourself on that one, buddy," he said and a grin teased his lips.

Blaine found himself smiling with the two boys and he swiveled in the chair. He knew better than to look up at the disco ball, which was still spinning, and instead he trained his eyes on the posters around the room. He was about to ask who they preferred, the Beatles or the Rolling Stones, when there came a deafening crash that might as well have shaken the floor.

It stopped everything, including the talking between Wes and David, and they widened their eyes fearfully. Blaine gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned bone white. He was too afraid to task what had caused it when there was another explosion, but smaller than the first, and it sounded awful. The sound had it occurred in the room next door, it seemed, and Wes stood up.

"I'm going to go check it out," he declared. "Anyone with me?"

David got to his feet and quickly followed him. Blaine would've rather stayed where he was, but he jumped out of the desk chair and raced after them.

Wes threw open the door and instead of seeing the hallway out in front of them, all they could see was clouds and clouds of smoke.

"Oh, God," David said in a loud whisper. "Did something catch on fire?"

Blaine's heart constricted as soon as he said that and he stretched onto the tips of his toes to see over their shoulders.

Billows of what looked like gray and purple smoke filled the air and it carried a rancid odor with it. It was the only thing the boys could see, and Wes dared to stick his head out into it, but David yanked him back by the collar of his blazer.

"Dude, what are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"I want to know what this stuff is!" Wes replied smartly.

"What if it's toxic? It looks toxic to me."

"It's not toxic, I'm sure of it. If it was toxic, then I think we would be dead by now," he said and picked David's hand off.

Blaine looked past them at the smoke that was starting to seep through the doorway and enter the room in faint wisps. He was going to offer an explanation to keep the two boys from bickering over it, but he couldn't come up with anything logical.

Wes made one last smart remark before hurrying into the hallway, David chasing after him. Blaine didn't know what else to do but go after them, and then he was trapped in a whirl wind of purple-gray smoke that made him cough.

"Don't you think we should go get someone?" he called through the smoke.

In reply, the door of the room to the right of Wes and David's burst open, and a stalky boy with a crop of shaggy blonde hair tumbled out. Huge, bulky chemistry goggles masked his eyes and a heavy white apron swallowed him up. He covered his mouth and broke into a fit of coughing.

Wes and David stopped arguing long enough to take notice of the odd boy and they wrinkled their brows at him.

The smoke was starting to thin by then, though it was still pouring out of the other room in heaps. The boy waved his hands furiously through the air to clear it, hacking up a lung while he was at it, and removed his goggles, which left an angry red outline around his eyes.

"Who are you?" Wes blurted out.

The boy stopped and pushed a chunk of blonde hair from his eyes. He stopped waving his arms around and instead propped his hands on his hips, stowing his goggles in one of the many pockets on the front of his lab coat. With the smoke flow from his room stopping, he didn't have to wave it away.

"I think the better question is, who are you?" he retaliated. "I haven't seen any of you around here before."

Blaine looked back at the others and scanned their faces. Neither of them knew how to reply.

"Oh, I know!" The boy clapped his hands in realization. "You're all freshmen, aren't you?"

David shrugged one shoulder in an attempt to appear older and cool. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The boy pointed at his neck. "I'm pretty sure upperclassmen know how to put on a tie correctly."

Glancing down at his tie, he found it askew, and he hastily straightened it, his face turning a dark shade of red.

"What's with the smoke? Did you burn something?" Wes demanded and stepped up beside David. He leaned to the side in hopes of seeing what was in the boy's room.

Instead of answering, the boy stepped forward with his hand extended. David was about to shake it when he saw that it was covered in some excess of whatever the smoke was made of. As a result, his hand was coated with a dull purple.

"Whoops," he muttered and wiped it on his coat. "My name's Restart."

"Did you just say your name was Restart?" Wes blinked oddly at him and he wrinkled his nose. "What kind of name is that?"

The boy chuckled and tucked the purple hand in his pocket when he found he couldn't wipe the material off. "It's actually Reece Starr, but everyone slurs my name, so I'm known as Restart. And it actually fits me, because I always have to restart a lot of stuff, most being Chem projects…" He gestured to the door, where faint wisps of the smoke slithered out like snakes.

"Reece. Starr," Blaine said slowly. "If you say it quickly, it sounds like 'Reece Tart.' Like a pastry."

"Thank goodness no one calls me that. Besides my brother, of course," Reece said and ran a hand through his hair. He forgot about the purple smog all over his hand and it wiped part of it against his forehead and into his blonde locks. He cursed under his breath.

"You have a brother?" Wes asked.

He nodded. "Ronnie. Maybe you know him?"

Blaine shook his head. "Never met him."

"Ah, well, you'll meet him soon enough," Reece promised. "He's in North, too. Beware."

"Beware? What does that mean?" Wes squeaked and for the first time, he looked terrified. He held himself stiffly and he never moved his eyes from Reece.

Reece shrugged one shoulder and gave this smile that made Wes squirm. "Let's just say you better be very photogenic."

* * *

"I'm sorry for interrupting, and I know I got onto William about interrupting, but I'm going to interrupt anyway," Kurt said suddenly.

Blaine looked at him expectantly. "Okay, what?"

"_Ronnie has a brother?"_

Will let out a short laugh that sounded like a bark. "Of course he has a brother," he said.

"Then why I haven't I seen him around here?" Kurt shot.

"He's graduated already," Blaine answered in a relatively calm voice. "He was a junior when I was a freshman, so he graduated last year. Before you came."

Kurt slumped in his seat. "Oh. Well, that's a shame. I would've liked to have met him…"

Another laugh from Will. "Yeah, no. You don't. He's so… crazy. He was like a modern day Dr. Frankenstein. Only he was a chemist, no a loopy whack job who liked to invent creatures in his basement." He noticed Kurt's stillness. "What? He was."

"In other words," Blaine stepped in, "Reece was very creative. He liked sciences and enjoyed experimenting with chemicals and other things—"

"And that eventually blows up half the North wing in the spring of his senior year," Will finished smugly. "I wasn't there, of course, but I heard about it the moment something exploded. It was quite entertaining, really, because—"

Blaine raised a hand. "Let's not go into detail. It was a simple explosion that was caused by mixing a few wrong chemicals. It's not like he actually wanted to blow up the wing."

"Whatever you say, oh mighty Pocket Prep," he said lightheartedly. He gazed at his nails and brushed them daintily against his shoulder in a way to clean them.

"Anyway…" Blaine sighed. "Yes, Reece is Ronnie's brother. Insane older brother. And he was going to get us in so much trouble. It was worse than when Dex and Leo started that food fight at the beginning of the term this year. Way worse."

* * *

"What's with the smoke?" David asked and leaned to one side to peer past Reece at the open door.

Reece waved a hand at him innocently. "It's nothing, really. Just a few miscalculations and a minor blow up. It's nothing I can't handle."

Then, another thunderous eruption came from within the room. Reece jumped and, throwing his arms over his head, was thrown off balance. He teetered on one leg and half looked over his shoulder. Another wave of smoke came pouring from the doorway.

"Well, I think something's done in there," Blaine murmured. He knew it wasn't the time to make jokes, but it slipped out.

The other boys were too numb to react to the remark, and Reece raced back into the room, scrambling for his goggles and snapping them to his face. David and Wes shared one look before bolting into the room. Blaine lunged forward and followed.

The inside of the room was coated in the purple smog and Blaine nearly inhaled a lungful upon entering. He gave a great cough and covered his mouth with both hands. The thick smoke prevented him from seeing more than a few feet in front of him, but the overhead lights that were turned on helped some.

Muffled versions of the three other boys' voices cut through the smoke and Blaine let them guide him deeper into the room. Twice he banged his knee into something hard, probably a piece of furniture, and once he tripped over what felt like a bag or a load of clothes lying on the floor.

"Wes? David?" he called out weakly. His eyes were beginning to sting and water, and he wondered what kind of gas this was, and if it would physically in any way. He almost turned on his heel and ran out the door.

A tremendous sucking from the corner of the room stopped him. It sounded like an enormous vacuum and he froze where he stood. In a matter of minutes, the smoke cleared to the point where a thin veil of gray.

Blaine waved his hands in front of his face, barely seeing the messy room in front of him. But the chunk of furniture that caught his eye was a gleaming hunk of metal sitting in the corner. Reece stood by it, hand over his nose, the other pressing a button that must've produced the loud sucking noise. The machine looked somewhat familiar.

"Is that… a fume hood?" David gasped.

Reece nodded and gave it a good pat like it was a family pet. "Of course. I'm always prepared in times like this. It's the first thing I installed when I first enrolled here. It's saved my life more than once."

"I'm not going to ask," Wes said and coughed in his hands. "So, this stuff isn't poisonous, is it?"

"Not at all," Reece assured. He only turned off the hood when most of the smoke was gone. A few wisps remained in the air, but other than that, Blaine was able to see and breathe without trouble. "If it was actually deadly, I wouldn't be using it."

"Well, that's a relief."

"I know, right?"

Wes rolled his eyes.

David stepped forward. "Is there anything you need help with? Perhaps, cleaning up…" He cast a disgraced glance at the long metal table that was pushed up against the back wall, under the windows.

It was piled high with flasks, beakers, and test tubes, all with some colored liquid idling at the bottom. There was a gallon of a clear liquid that Blaine wasn't sure of, whether it was water of vinegar or rubbing alcohol. He didn't want to find out. Latex gloves were strewn amongst the glassware, all missing its partner. One of the Bunsen burners was lit and spouted a blue flame that Reece quickly noted and flipped off. It was a mess.

The rest of his room, though, didn't compare; it looked like a chemistry lab had thrown up all over it. Wires were snaking from the closet like spaghetti and stains in the carpet indicated poor coordination and spilled acids. The bed was a twin instead of a full, and was hidden in the opposite corner of the room under blankets and another lab coat. His bureau was stacked with chemistry books of all kinds, and there was an occasional trace of homework or items school related.

The remainder of the room wasn't very personal. Aside from the photo sitting in a frame on the top shelf of Reece's desk, you could never tell it was he who lived here. The photo captured Reece and who Blaine assumed to be his younger brother, Ronnie, engaged in wrestling on someone's front lawn. Blaine felt precariously curious today, and he refrained from prying.

"Oh, nah," Reece said dismissively. "I'll be fine. I think once I get a few things sorted through, I'll have everything under control."

A beaker on the metal table popped loudly and spewed some kind of green liquid. He didn't so much as flinch, though the others leapt three feet in the air.

"Relax, guys," he said calmly and grabbed the beaker between tongs. He scooted past Blaine and disappeared into the bathroom to empty it in the large metal basin that replaced the typical porcelain sink. He came back without the beaker and clapped his hands together. "Nothing to be worried about. I've got it handled."

"It seems you do, Mr. Starr," came a purr from the doorway, and the blonde boy's muscles locked.

He whipped around. "Why, hello, Dean Markus. What brings you to the lovely North wing on such short notice? Why, I didn't even have time to straighten up the place. You'll have to excuse the mess."

The man in the doorway laughed. He donned a thin tweed suit and a pair of scratched glasses peeked out of his breast pocket. Loafers were what he wore on his feet, and his hair was chestnut going on wiry gray. The man walked with an air of significance and his eyes were a hard, murky brown.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Starr," he said gravely and clasped his hands behind his back. "A little birdy told me that someone was conducting a few experiments up here and that they saw smoke. As it is my nature, I had to come investigate. To be honest, I'm not surprised to see you are the one behind it."

Reece scratched the back of his head. "Oh, shucks. I don't know what to say."

"I don't, either, but I know what you can do for me." Not once did he look directly at Blaine, Wes, or David.

"And what is that, sir?" Reece gulped.

Dean Markus flashed a sharp smile. "You can follow me to my office. We'll get your paperwork set up and you'll have a few detentions under your belt before the first week is over. Come along, now."

In the place of laughing, Reece dropped his head and tore off the latex gloves, tossing them on the bureau as he made his way to the door. He let his goggles hang around his neck like a chain but kept his lab coat on, his Dalton uniform peeking out from underneath.

When the man and Reece had disappeared out of the room, Blaine let out a long sigh.

"That was very close," David said, placing a hand over his heart, trying to still its rapid beating.

Wes grinned shakily. "I'll say. I thought we were actually in trouble."

"Oh, and boys?" The Dean poked his head back into the room. The three froze once more. "I understand you're only freshman and it's your first day, but please, stay out of Mr. Starr's business, if you will. I would hate to see you in my office every other week because you got tangled up in his experiments."

They bobbed their heads in understanding.

"And please, get back to whatever class you were in before this predicament occurred," he continued. "You shouldn't even be out of class right now unless you have an excuse."

"We have an excuse," Wes announced randomly.

The Dean raised an eyebrow. "You do? Let me hear it."

All eyes were on Wes, and Blaine leaned back on his heels, wondering how Wes would get himself out of this one.

"We're in choir right now," Wes started off. "I told Ms. Lovett I wanted to come back and get something I needed for my fourth period because, frankly, if I tried to come back and get it in the passing period, I would be late. So she said yes, and Blaine and David here"—he gestured to the other boys, who wanted to shake their heads and disappear—"came with me. She let us all go together. I think it's because she's afraid I would get lost, seeing as I'm only a freshman, and I don't know my way around.

"And then, we happened to run into Reece as he was going through one of his experiments when it exploded. We thought we would be nice and help him out by cleaning up and stuff. That's where you come in, sir," he said and took a gulp of air. "That's all."

Markus studied him for what felt like hours. "I don't believe a single word that came from your mouth, Mr. Moore, but I'm going to let you off the hook. All of you, get back to class before I change my mind and give you detention as well."

"Yes, sir," David and Blaine uttered and watched him vanish from the doorway, leading Reece away down the hall.

When he was sure he had gone for good, David whacked Wes in the shoulder. "Nice going, dude!"

Wes rubbed his shoulder tenderly. "I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or a brutal insult."

"Both!" he exclaimed and rubbed his face. "You nearly got us in trouble for lying like that, man."

"But you're not in trouble, are you?" Wes eagerly said. "Am I right? We're not in trouble, are we? I think not."

Blaine let his head fall back and he took in a long breath. "Let's just get our stuff and go back to the choir room. I'm sure lunch is over by now and class has probably started. What will Ms. Lovett say about that?"

Wes tapped his chin. "She'd say, 'Boys, stop dawdling in the doorway and come sit down,'" he recited in a sugar sweet, high-pitched tone that nearly mimicked that of their director. "'I'm not going to reprimand you, boys, because it's your first day and all. Come, sit.'"

"If she actually says that when we show up," David cracked through laughter, "I'll pay you twenty bucks."

"Thirty if she stands up from her desk and is twirling a lock of hair in her fingers," he added and nudged him in the shoulder.

Blaine moved to the door. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going back to the room. Staying in here makes me feel like I'll get radioactive poisoning, or worse."

"Agreed," the two other boys said in unison, and they trailed Blaine out the door.

* * *

"So…" Kurt trailed off. "You didn't exactly get in trouble."

"But we were on Markus' hit list from the first day," Blaine objected and raised a finger. "He kept an eye on us from there on out."

Will bristled and shifted in his seat. "That wouldn't have happened if you had just decided to not go with them and have lunch with me."

"You're still sore about that?" Blaine asked, riled.

The blonde huffed. "Of course I am. I waited half the lunch period for you before Simon finally offered up half his granola bar to me," he grumbled. To Kurt, he said, "Simon and I knew each other by the first day. We had gone to the same middle school and we knew each other inside and out."

"Did you have a crush on him?" Kurt asked without thinking.

"What makes you say that?" Will sat up, suddenly intrigued with what Kurt had to say.

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. I want to hear your side of the story now."

"My side? All I did was wait hopelessly at the table for him," he said. "There's not much of a story there. I didn't go off and cause a few explosions, like some people did." He lazily glared at Blaine, who refused to look back at him.

"Still. I would like to hear it." Kurt lowered his voice and carefully met his eyes.

Will pursed his lips in defeat. "Fine. I'll tell. But be warned. You might die of boredom."

* * *

"Will, you need to eat something," Simon Dougray said and shoved a granola bar down the back of his blazer.

The blonde leapt up in his chair with the same reaction that it was ice, not a chewy bar, and he fished it out. He slapped it against the table in fury and glared at the boy with jet black hair and eyes the color of grass.

"Shut it, Dougray," he practically growled and forced the bar back into his hands. He rested his elbows against the table and blew a stray lock of blonde hair from his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

Simon chewed neatly on a celery stick and watched his friend curiously.

His eyes looked like celery, too, Will thought with a snicker.

"What's got you down in the dumps, Mr. Grumpy Pants?" Simon teased and took another bite of the stalk in his hand.

"It's nothing you would be concerned about," Will mumbled and locked his eyes on the double doors that opened up to the hallway. They were made from the same wood as the table and just about everything else in the school, they smelled like varnish, and they weren't opening. That was something he was sure of.

Simon rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Fitzroy. You know I can see straight through your little façade. I know you better."

Will took a calming breath and traced circles in the wood of the table with his fingertip.

The two boys were seated at a table near the doors, alone. Simon had a tray in front of him and was eating off it with the attitude of a starving man. Will sat in his chair and kept a close watch on the doors, not daring to get up from the table to get food in the case that he would miss the boy with the curly hair. His stomach growled and he swallowed.

Where was he? Where was Blaine? Blaine Anderson? He had promised to save a seat for Will, and he was nowhere to be seen. The likely of him vanishing from the face of the earth wasn't a likely possibility, and Will had already scanned the entire dining hall for him. He was not here.

Will slumped and tore his eyes away from the door grudgingly.

"Seriously, Will," Simon said again and took a swallow of water. "Tell me what's getting at you. You don't eat when you're frustrated with something, and you keep quiet when you're mad at someone. So, what's up and who's the guy?"

Perking, Will sat up, suddenly alert. "What makes you think it's a guy?"

Simon made a tsk noise with his tongue. His hair was the color of night and was spread tidily over his head, his bangs trimmed in a straight line just above his eyes, which glowed almost in the low lighting of the dining hall. "It's always a guy. It's never _not _been a guy. Now, tell me: who is it?"

The blonde chewed on his lip, a habit he had when his stomach turned from anxiety. "It's that boy in our choir class. The one with the curly hair," he admitted and motioned to his head, mimicking curls.

Simon suddenly became interested and set down his water bottle. "The really short one?"

"Yes, the really short one," Will said and felt his cheeks grow warm. "Wait, he's not that short."

"Please, Will. I saw him when he came into the room," Simon chuckled. "He looks no taller than five-foot-three. He's short. A midget in man world. And you're… what? Five-six?"

Will leaned against the table. "Just about."

"That's sort of funny." A delighted smile appeared on the boy's face as he mulled over the image. "And it's a little cute, if you stuck the two of you side by side—"

"I don't care if it looks cute or not," Will said, placing his hand in the smooth wood, palm down. "He was supposed to be here nearly twenty minutes ago, and he hasn't shown up."

Simon munched on another stalk of celery. "Maybe he's straight. He might have figured out that you play for the not-so-normal team and decided the only way to shake you off was to avoid you."

For a moment, Will considered this, and painfully, he might add. His heart skipped unevenly in his chest, like hiccups. Was that why Blaine wasn't here? Because he was straight and chose to not be seen with Will? Was Will that easy to pick out from the crowd as being… different, in a sense?

Apparently, he was, because Simon asked him about it the first day of their sixth grade year, during choir where they had met. That was a memory that would never be wiped from Will's mind, and it would stay there forever, as much as he tried to erase it by adding new memories.

And he was sort of thankful someone besides his parents knew. He had someone to talk about it with that wasn't a doctor of the sort. It was easy to talk to him. That was, of course, after he had gotten over his little crush on Simon.

The boy's dark hair and bright eyes had captivated him at first glance. He was a moth drawn to a flame, but retreated when he realized Simon was straight. Simon had been outright and blunt that he was not interested in _that_, but in merely being friends. Nothing else.

Will got over it, but was sure he would forever be a sucker for dark looks.

And though he had completely opposite views, Simon accepted him the way he was and accepted nothing else. He found a friend in the blonde and wasn't willing to lose that just because he was gay.

"Simon, use your gaydar. Tell me he's really gay. Tell me Blaine is as gay as… as gay as me," Will mumbled.

The boy raised both eyebrows. "So his name is Blaine? That's cute."

"That's what I thought."

"You know, he might not be gay, Will," he said casually. "He might just have feminine appearance and lifestyle, but that doesn't mean he's gay."

Will peered at him. "Any examples? Like, people in real life."

He shook his head. "Nope."

The blonde sighed. "I know it. The way he looked at me during our first class… It was like he could read me like an open book," he said.

The dark haired boy chuckled. "Well, cute boys have always been your undoing."

"It near broke my heart when he looked at me," the blonde continued. "It was a match made in Geography. I absolutely am sure of it."

"Jeez, you're starting to sound like a Nicholas Sparks book," Simon wailed and pretended to hit himself with a stalk of celery. "You know, where the girl goes through some life-changing move to the beaches of North Carolina, and then she meets the hunky guy who has some mysterious past but is very generous and caring, and then they fall in love but something threatens to break them up, though they always end up together in the end somehow."

"I am not being that bad." Will sat up ramrod straight and hoped his blush was not too evident. But by the way Simon covered his mouth to laugh, he knew it was. "Okay, shut up. You can compare my life right now to a cheesy romance novel all you want, but it's not going to change anything."

Simon blinked and lowered his voice. "Do you think you love him, Will?"

"Love him? No, of course not," he said easily. "I like him, yes, but it'd be nice to know if he is even on the same team. It would be awful for me to fall for him, and for him to have some girlfriend back home."

"That's safe," he said. He slid the granola bar back to him. "Here, eat this. You know you'll be starving the rest of the day if you keep waiting up for him like this. I don't think he's going to show."

Will chewed on his thumb nail and ignored the bar. "How do you know?"

Simon pulled out his phone. "Because we have eight minutes and counting until the bell rings. Face it, Will, he's not showing up. And eat, for God's sake. You're as thin as a rail."

The blonde finally complied and tore the bar open. He stuffed half of it in his mouth and chewed, pushing the other half back to Simon. After he swallowed, he said, "There. Happy?"

Simon smiled. "Very." It was another moment before he added, "It's not for the sake of you not being hungry because I'm a good person. It's for my sake, so I don't have to hear your stomach growl every five seconds."

* * *

Kurt expected to hear more out of him, but the blonde stopped right there and shut his mouth.

"That's all?" Kurt questioned. "That's all you have to tell?"

He chuckled quaintly. "Oh, Kurt, I have much more to tell than that. But as for the rest of that day, nothing else happened. Lunch ended, we all went back to class, choir started, and I didn't look Blaine in the eye for two weeks."

"Two weeks? Why two weeks?"

"I didn't want to make it thirteen days because, honestly, that's not an even number and it makes up a week and a fractional one," Will explained. "And fifteen would go one day over two weeks. So fourteen went well with me."

"I mean," Kurt said, frustrated, "why did you not look at him for two weeks?"

Will shrugged and stood up, brushing off his uniform. "He skipped out on my lunch invite without telling me to do something he found more worthy of his time. It's that simple. Now I must take my leave, gentlemen. Homework and Cambridge's killer History essay awaits me."

Without anyone objecting to him, he scooped up his bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and left the auditorium, no smart remarks or smug look attached. If anything, he looked a little winded, like the breath had been knocked from his lungs.

"So now you know," Blaine said calmly and looked up at Kurt.

"Now I know," he repeated dully, watching the doors where Will had been a second ago. "But I only know the beginning."

"And it only goes downhill from there."

Kurt stiffened. "How does it go downhill?"

Blaine shook his head and slowly got to his feet. "Trust me, Kurt, it goes way downhill. Especially after he gets up the nerve to talk to me after the two weeks," he grumbled. "Then there's confessions, and stupid stories, and then he asks me out, and we're together for six months. Then he has to be a confidant ass to my dad—" He caught himself.

Kurt hesitated. "Will told me about him. Your dad."

Blaine blanched and his eyes widened until they were the size of dinner plates. "He told you about my dad? When?" He sounded flustered and out of breath, blinking rapidly.

"The last time we had a rehearsal," he replied in a small voice. "I'm sorry, Blaine, I'm so, so sorry."

He ran a hand through his hair. He gave a long sigh. "It's not your fault. You had nothing to do with it. You didn't even know me back then."

"I know, but can't I afford to tell you that I'm sorry for all that you went through?" he interrogated. "I mean, he _beat _you, Blaine. Your dad physically hurt you and all I want to do is say I'm sorry. Is that too much?"

Blaine did not reply. He fixed his eyes on a blank spot on the wall and kept quiet.

Kurt swallowed. "Can you tell me now? What happened?"

"Like you mentioned earlier," Blaine said and gestured to the doors, "it's better if Will was here. He tells the fight scene better than I do. Plus, I don't think I could keep myself calm enough to get through it all."

"Will already gave me the gist of it," Kurt said, clipped. "But I want to hear the rest of it from you."

Blaine gave a shrug. "I don't like to go back on that, Kurt. I know you want to understand what makes Will want to punch me in the face, and vice versa, and then me and my dad, but I don't think I can talk about it," he said, and his voice wavered.

Kurt tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. "Blaine—"

"This is my _dad_, Kurt." He took in a long breath. "He was my dad. It's not like I can just… talk about it, easy as that. At one point I loved him, and he betrayed me. He gave me scars that will not go away. It's not that easy for me." He bit his lip. "And I can't talk about Will like that, either. I'd loved him, too, and he broke my heart. It would be impossible to talk about it. About him."

Opening his mouth, Kurt started to talk, but stopped and closed his lips. He clenched his hands in his lap. Quietly, he said, "I'm sorry." He waited a few beats in silence. Then, "And about middle school…"

Blaine merely ducked his head. "I'll tell you later," he muttered bitterly under his breath before briskly walking out into the aisle and to the doors. He disappeared before anything else could be said.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Glass has never been so sharp._


	27. Best Laid Plans

Hello, readers.

I hope this update (and Easter Sunday, for some) finds you all well. There's really nothing else to say at this point, except:

- New Klaine story to be posted within the hour, hopefully.

- Sequel to this story confirmed, but no official date yet.

That's about it.

Oh, and reviews would be lovely.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Glee. But if I did, I would focus on all the characters we already have and not add new ones.

* * *

**Best Laid Plans**

* * *

**There is no class of people so hard to manage in a state, as those who intentions are honest, but who consciences are bewitched. – Napoleon Bonaparte**

* * *

After the final bell, Kurt stalked into the hallway. He had a fistful of papers clutched in his hands, not caring if he ended up ripping them. All he could see was red. He made sure he was away from his classroom, fearing he would see his professor again, and he plopped down on one of the benches that leaned against the wall.

He furiously smoothed out the papers and dropped them in his lap. Red pen markings covered the paper from the top to the bottom: all corrections to what he had apparently written wrong in his Physics paper. They looked like bloody chickens had attacked his paper.

_Well, they might as well have, _Kurt thought glumly as he picked up the first page of many and held it in his hands. _Crouse probably has a horde of chickens in her room in the Teacher's Quarters. I'll bet anything: money, my voice, maybe even Cody's cooking skills._

"I can't believe her. The nerve," he mumbled under his breath, reading over the professor's comments. "'Bad thesis statement'? 'Poor facts and you mixed up Newton's laws'? Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I think anyone would mix up the second and third laws if you were taking a timed paper…"

He pushed the papers into his bag, not bearing to read her other comments. Just the first few were enough to swallow. Kurt shrugged his bag over his shoulder and stood up, sighing.

He had had an awful feeling about the timed paper since the day the professor had told the class about it. He had nervously studied and prepared and crammed for it until he could spout facts like it was nobody's business. But the day of the paper, today, he had gone mind blank. Nothing was there, and he wrote down all he could in eight minutes.

Apparently, it had not been enough to score a decent grade. Now Kurt was awaiting the dreaded email from Burt that would demand why he ended up with a C minus on the damn paper. Because the professor just _had _the poorest of decencies to email the parents of students who got awful grades.

Kurt rubbed his temples soothingly and shut his eyes. He started off down the hall.

For the past few days, he had not talked much to Blaine. He guessed that the other boy was still cross with him for asking about his relationship with Will, not to mention James still being in the picture, clingy as ever.

James was still persistent in talking to Kurt, brewing small talk whenever he could during class or during lunch. He had even come up to the lunch table Kurt and Blaine shared with the others, squeezing between the two boys to get Kurt's opinion on a music piece or help on a section of text from the Literature professor's assignment. He never failed to get a word in, and this frustrated Blaine to no end.

If Blaine had been on the edge about James from the beginning, he was hanging off the cliff by his fingertips. He hardly ever acknowledged the dark haired boy's presence and often fell silent. He always made the point of making excuses, hoping to tear Kurt away from a conversation with James, and it was a constant tug of war.

All Kurt wanted to do was slap both of them in the face and be done with it; he despised the bickering that aroused between the two boys. Sometimes he found himself wishing James had never transferred in the first place, or that he had never auditioned for the Warblers.

Because of him, Blaine had grown quieter over the past days. He was to the point of speaking a maximum of five sentences over the course of a ninety-minute rehearsal and a half-hour lunch period combined. He grew a hard expression whenever he caught a glimpse of James, and Kurt wanted to drop books on his head; he could see why Blaine was acting in a such a way, but there wasn't a need to.

James was not a threat, and would never be a threat.

Now, Kurt had only made it to the choir room doors when he caught a figure heading out the side doors that opened outside. Freezing, he set his jaw.

"James," he said in a voice sharper than he had intended.

The boy whipped around immediately. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Kurt and he smiled smugly. "Hi, Kurt—"

"Don't you dare 'hi' me," Kurt snapped and stormed forward. He was by his side in a moment, pointing a finger at him.

James raised his hands slowly in defense. "What did I do wrong?"

Kurt glared at him. "Don't play dumb with me, James. You know what I'm talking about."

"Honestly, I don't. I think it would be smart of you to tell me," the dark haired boy said, his voice weighed down with a certain haughty color.

"You're very skilled at being in the right place at the wrong time," Kurt said and found his words shaking. He paused to swallow and examined the boy's confused expression. "You annoy me to no ends, James."

James dropped his hands as if to say _That's all? That's what you wanted to tell me? _"It's not like I haven't heard that before."

"You don't understand. If you hadn't gotten attached to me, then I wouldn't be in this position right now! Blaine wouldn't be upset with me!" Kurt balled his fists at his sides and pushed forcefully past him, out the doors.

"What position? Kurt!" James rushed after him, trying to keep up with his harried pace. "Is this about Blaine being jealous?"

"He's not precisely jealous," Kurt snapped. "He just doesn't like you because you like me."

"So he's jealous."

Kurt glared hotly at him, and he slowed his pace a little.

"Oh, come on. It's not my fault. I just happen to be fond of you, and Blaine thinks you're bound to me? That's bullshit," he protested.

Kurt kept his eyes forward. "Well, that's what's happening. And it's your fault. You started everything and it's all your fault!"

James stopped walking for a brief moment. Then he found the feeling in his legs and started up again. "Maybe you're overreacting about everything? Maybe Blaine isn't really upset, but very, very expressive—"

"Shush!" Kurt halted abruptly and turned around to face him; James nearly collided head-on with him. "Maybe _you're _not getting the point. Maybe _you _don't know when to keep your mouth shut."

He tilted his head to the side innocently. "Kurt, please don't be mad. I didn't do anything."

"Oh, I'm not mad, I'm _furious._"

"I can't really see why—"

"Because you're not the one who has to deal with this!"

James gripped his arm to cut into his montage. "Be realistic here, Kurt. Blaine's not mad at you because of _me._"

Kurt dropped his shoulders. "You're right. He's not."

"Really?" Hope flashed across his bright blue eyes.

"No, you're not. He's ticked at me because of _Will_, too," Kurt decided firmly. He picked James' hand off his arm and turned around, promptly stalking away.

James was alarmed. "What—what do you mean, he's ticked at Will?"

"I have a bone to pick with him. More than you can imagine," Kurt called over his shoulder. "Don't worry, you're not going to soak up all the blame."

"Kurt!" James sighed heavily. Throwing his hands over his head, he ran after the other boy. "Kurt, where are you going?"

"South wing," he reported, pushing the familiar pair of doors open. He stepped into North and saw a blur of recognizable faces.

Cody was coming out of the commons with a cookbook propped open in his hands, in the middle of turning a page. He raised his head when he saw Kurt come in and started to smile, when he saw James over Kurt's shoulder.

"What in the world are you doing here?" he shrieked and jumped back over the threshold of the commons. He snapped the book shut and clutched it to his chest.

"Quiet, Michaels," James commanded as he tentatively passed the doors. He wrapped his arms around his torso as he walked and kept pace with the bag bumping against his side.

Kurt looked over his shoulder. "I don't want to hear another peep out of you."

"Wait, Cody, who are you talking to?" Thomas' voice rang out faintly and soon he appeared by the smaller boy. He narrowed his eyes to slits when he saw James there.

"And why are you following me anyway?" Kurt added, staring intently at James.

"You just told me to shut up and now you're asking me questions! You're such a hypocrite sometimes," James said harshly and caught up with him. He chewed on the inside of his lip. "And I'm following you because if you're going to South, then this is the quickest way. I'm not walking around the entire building."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt stepped forward to the doors. He twisted the knob and gave a good pull, but it would not move. His heart fluttered in his chest.

"What's wrong?" James asked, sounding genuinely concerned for once.

"The door's not opening," Kurt reported in a soft voice. He pushed James aside and looked to Cody. "What happened with the doors?"

Cody, leaning against the doorframe, looked up from his cookbook. "Oh, Markus came by today and told Diego that they were locking all the doors that linked the wings. He doesn't want anyone pranking each other and thought this was the best way." He paused. "And he's running random wing inspections starting next week."

"So he locked the doors?" James questioned and his voice went up half an octave.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "He's running inspections? Why?"

"Yes, Sherlock, the doors are locked, and he doesn't have any intentions of opening them back up again. At least, for a while," Cody drawled sneeringly. "And yes, he's running inspections on the wings. To make sure that we're all being safe and not plotting another attack."

"Alright then." Kurt ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. "Does Diego have the key?"

Cody nodded pettily. "Of course he does. But if you think you're going to get him to open the door for you just because you're both too lazy to walk around to the other side of the building, you're sorely mistaken."

"Please? Where is he?" Kurt begged.

"Just go around the building. What's the problem?" Thomas asked crossly.

Kurt heaved a sigh. "At least tell me where Blaine is."

"I thought you wanted to avoid him because he was a little mad at you…?" Cody asked curiously.

"Forget what I said before. I'm not trying to avoid him now."

Thomas scoffed. "You're insane."

"What Thomas means," Cody said over him hastily, "is that Blaine isn't here yet. He's talking to a teacher about finals."

Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, fine. But when he gets back, tell him I need to talk to him. And if he doesn't want to, do anything you can. I don't care if you hog tie him and gag him. Just get him in the same room as me."

And he started down the hallway again and pushed open the doors, cool air washing over his face. As he expected, the click of James' loafers accompanied him. Kurt attempted to keep up a steady pace, and soon he was faced with the entrance to South.

Without hesitating, he pushed the doors open and broke into a brisk walk down the hall. He barely evaded tripping over a pair of lacrosse sticks that were strewn across the floor in front of him and he leapt over them. He heard a clatter behind him, probably as James stumbled, but didn't turn to look.

Kurt kept his bag close to his side and strode boldly into the South commons. As he expected, all eyes flew to him and instantly narrowed. He gave them all a look that said _I'm here, what are you going to do about it? _

And he marched up to the back table. Will and Carson were trading what looked like notes for class, both at opposite ends of the table. Carson was the first one to look up and he snapped his fingers to get the blonde's attention.

"Your duet buddy's here," he mumbled and his eyes lingered on Kurt for a second too long, and it made Kurt wrinkle his nose.

Will set aside his papers, looking up, and leaned his elbows against the table. "What are you doing here, Kurt? We don't have rehearsal today."

"I know that," he said, trying to appear calm, "but I want to run through the song one more time. Just to make sure I know where to come in and everything."

Will gazed at him with skeptical cat eyes, and narrowed them, but stood up from the table and pushed his chair in.

"Alright. Where are we going?" he asked as he made his way around the table, gently running his fingertips along the back of his chair as he passed.

Then James scrambled in behind him. His hair was falling in front of his eyes in a mess and he hastily shoved them back.

"He is going to blame you for everything," he breathed, gesturing to Will. He let his bag fall off his shoulder and drop on the ground by his feet.

Will widened his eyes and his motions were cautious. "Blame me for what?"

"Don't listen to him. Come on. Rehearsal, remember?" Kurt pursed his lips together.

"Where are we going?" he questioned before moving another step forward.

Kurt paused and he felt like he was shrinking in on himself. "The North wing."

Will halted where he was and closed his fingers around the back of the chair. "No way."

"Why not? I've been hauling ass down here every week to rehearse with you and you see how many stares I get from everyone." He gestured blindly over his shoulders to the boys that sat on the other side of the room; they all looked away. "It's about time you showed your face in my territory."

Carson snickered under his breath as Will turned a delicate shade of pink. "Looks like Hummel's got tough side. He's got you on a leash, Will," he jeered.

"Shut it," the blonde snapped at him without turning his head. He took a step closer to Kurt until there were no more than six inches between them. "I know you don't want to rehearse. You just want me over there to talk and that's all," he said in a quieter voice.

"That's my point: that's all I want to do. Talk," Kurt said and leaned back absently.

"And you want to talk about me and Blaine and our long-lost relationship and you want to play Dr. Phil and fix it," he grumbled. "That's not going to happen, Hummel. I don't want to talk about it."

Kurt latched onto his wrist and yanked him out into the hallway. "Well, too bad. Because I want to hear everything and you're going to tell it."

"No way in _hell_," Will barked and slipped his wrist out of Kurt's grasp once they were in the hallway. "If you haven't noticed I don't think Blaine wants to talk about it, either. He's just as scarred by what happened as I am. I think it would be smart to lay off."

Kurt glared at him. "I won't stop pestering you about it until you talk, Will. That's the only way I'm going to 'lay off.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Either you talk or I annoy you for the rest of our high school career. And you know I would do it. Don't doubt me."

Will rubbed his face with both hands. He turned back in the direction of the doors, preparing to go back inside, but made a full circle and dropped his hands.

"Fine," he mumbled. "Take me to your wing and we'll talk. But I'm betting twenty dollars that Wesley will want to sacrifice me over a boiling pot of oil."

* * *

Five minutes later and the only thing Wes was doing was staring two holes in Will's forehead.

"What are you doing here?" He pointed an accusing finger at the blonde.

"I'm Kurt's guest," Will said with an air of smugness to his tone, but also with displeasure. He pressed his lips into a flat line and crossed his arms.

Aside from his obvious dislike of Kurt and everyone in the room, he stood close by him in the doorway of the North common room. His eyes panned the room, finding David and Wes and Cody stretched out on the window seat with books and homework. Diego was at the back table, and Blaine was seated, by himself, on the sofa. Thomas was lounging in an armchair near him.

Wes sputtered and dropped the book in his hands. He stood up from the window seat. "Diego, tell him to get out. He's breaking whatever number rule it is. The one about wing hopping," he said and pointed at him again.

Diego lazily lifted his head from his homework. He spun a pen between his fingers. He looked over Will blandly, unimpressed, and the two boys shared a look. "If he's Kurt's guest, you're going to have to accept that," he said simply.

"But he's in violation of so many rules right now! You have to at least book him for something!"

Will merely rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair for himself. He crossed his legs. "You know, you're always in violation of a lot of rules, too, Wesley. You should stop being a hypocrite; it makes you break out."

Wes curled his lips like a snarling dog but plopped back down on the window seat, making Cody's cookbook jump.

"Being an annoying asshole makes you break out, too," Blaine added under his breath and David snorted.

Will touched his face lightly. "Really. I hadn't noticed," he drawled.

Blaine slammed his textbook shut with a loud, papery _smack. _He stood up and didn't make any more movements. "Why are you here, Will? To torment us more? Because you know we don't want that."

"You heard Blackwood. I'm Kurt's guest." He emphasized the last word. "Why doesn't he tell you?"

Kurt flushed as Will gestured to him. He picked at the strap of his bag and found Blaine's gaze unmoving from his own. "I brought Will here because I want to talk," he said, flustered. "About you and him."

Thomas threw his arms over his face. "Okay, explosion alert. Wait until I leave the room before we set off any nuclear bombs, please." He peeled himself off the chair and made a beeline for the door.

Cody perked as he left and stuffed his cookbook under his arm, trailing after him. He gave Kurt an apologetic glance as he passed.

Sighing, Diego straightened his papers into a neat pile. "If that's what you're going to talk about, I think I would rather be in another room. Yelling and loud discussion does not do well for the success rate of one's studies," he said regally and drifted past Will, out the door. They met sharp eyes for a second.

Wes scrunched his face and knitted his arms over his chest. "I don't see why you all have to be in this room if you're going to talk. If you can't remember, there's the garden out back, or… or the library. Or Kurt's room. Someone's room. Anywhere but here."

"Wes, just stop arguing and leave, please," Blaine said with quiet force.

Wes was taken aback and he looked over his shoulder at David as if to say _is he really doing this to me? _But then he turned back around and sighed, "Fine. But if this entire things ends in blood and guts by the end of this, don't say I didn't warn you."

Kurt blinked. "But you didn't."

Wes hoisted his bag over his shoulder and stalked out of the common room, his chin raised a fraction. David followed shortly after with an embarrassed sigh. He closed the doors behind them and Kurt wished he hadn't.

Closing the doors sealed in the silence, the obvious tension. Kurt felt his tie tighten around his neck and he yanked a little on the knot to get it to let up. Both boys were looking at him now, not glaring at each other.

"Okay, Hummel, what are we going to talk about? I haven't got all day," Will asked and studied his nails. He brought his thumbnail to his lips and nibbled on it.

"You know what I want to talk about, William," Kurt replied without missing a beat. He crossed the room and tossed his bag on the window seat. "Both of you know what I want to talk about. And I'm not going to leave until you do."

Will snorted. "Really? What are you going to do if we don't tell? Threaten to keep us in here?"

"He's being serious, Will," Blaine said in a slightly less tense voice. He had dropped his arms from their crossed position over his chest and had his hands in his pockets now. He made his way around the couch and leaned against the back of it.

"I know he's being serious. There's this little thing called sarcasm that I like to use. Maybe you should learn it. Or maybe I should hold up a sign every time I use it? Just for you?"

Kurt clapped his hands together twice. "Hey! I don't want anyone arguing before we've even started, got it? I want to hear _all _of the story."

Blaine blinked. "All of it?" he asked at the same moment Will questioned, "What story are you talking about?"

Kurt rubbed his temples. "Yes, all of it. And William, what other story is there?"

"Would you stop calling me that?" the blonde suddenly snapped. He didn't look angry, but more displeased.

"What? William? That's your name, isn't it?" Kurt asked, confused. He stepped into the center of the room, between the blonde and Blaine.

Will slowly stood up from his chair. "Yes, that's my name, but I've been going by Will since sophomore year."

"Oh, please tell me there's no story involving you two with sophomore year, too," Kurt sighed fretfully.

Blaine showed a hint of a smile; it was the first smile he had worn all day. "There's nothing else. We didn't talk much in sophomore year."

Will nodded in agreement. "And then look where we are junior year. Right now, we're talking about mistakes that happened years ago."

"It was only two years," Kurt pointed out. "Anyway, I want to hear all of it. From the moment you two started talking to the moment you broke up. All of it." He strode to the coffee table and perched on its edge. He waved his hand at the couch to indicate that they should sit.

Blaine and Will met eyes once in a worried look before heading over to sit. Will sat down smack dab in the middle before Blaine pushed him over to give him more room.

Will leaned his elbows on his knees, staring intently at Kurt. "Alright, what do you want to hear?"

Kurt straightened, swallowing over the lump that had formed in his throat. "I've already heard the first day. I want to hear what happened after that. When you two started talking again."

"There isn't much to talk about there," Blaine mumbled.

Will jabbed him lightly in the ribs. "Oh, come now, Blaine. It was two weeks before I started talking to you again. I could tell it was eating away at you, bit by bit, not having my attention. I did you a favor."

"Well, I kind of wish you hadn't done that favor for me."

"That's certainly not what it seemed like."

"Boys," Kurt prompted, and both of them looked at him. "I know you two would be pleased with bickering nonstop, but I would like to use this time to actually understand a few things."

"And what things?" Blaine asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

Kurt stared at him and pursed his lips. "Why you fell in love with him."

Will snorted. "You've got that part wrong. _I _fell in love with _him _first. He didn't know what was coming," he said with a sense of fulfillment. He leaned back and pulled a pillow into his lap.

"He's right, unfortunately," Blaine sighed. "Will followed me around for the longest time, and he insisted on sitting with me at lunch every day—"

"But only because you ditched me that first time and I felt like we needed to make that up," he interjected hastily.

"—and then things got…" He trailed off. He wrinkled his nose finally. "Messy."

Will rolled his eyes. "It wasn't messy, per say. Just a little…" But he couldn't seem to finish his sentence, either. "Okay, yeah, it was messy. But only in the end."

Kurt had to keep his jaw from dropping. The two boys who sat in front of him, who had had a nasty relationship, were talking about it casually, like it was no big deal. He held up his hands to stop them.

"Okay, I want you to start from the beginning," he said slowly when they had quieted. "I know Will said he didn't talk to you"—he made eye contact with Blaine—"for two weeks. I want to know what happened after that. When you started talking again."

The two boys turned to each other and shared a glance. Blaine was the one who looked away first, wearing an expression that was similar to the one someone would don after losing a staring contest.

"To make a very long and uneventful story short, Will and I became friends, and for the rest of the semester, we were inseparable," he started off, twiddling his thumbs together.

Will gave another snort. "I thought you were going to say that we were attached at the hip instead," he said with humor.

Blaine turned a faint pink. "Be quiet," was all he was able to utter. "Do you want me start?"

"You tell me, quite forcefully, to shut up," Will said, bewildered, "and then you go and ask me a question. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Blaine buried his face in his hands. Through splayed fingers, he glanced up at Kurt. "Are you sure you want to hear this? I mean, we can barely start without getting off topic."

Kurt nodded adamantly. "I've been waiting to hear this. It doesn't help that both of you keep mentioning what happened in freshman year, and it doesn't help that Will already told me a few things. It's peaked my attention."

"Fine," Blaine said in a long breath. "But I assure you won't like it."

"Just get on with it," he mumbled, agitated.

Blaine folded his hands together and the corner of his lips twitched once as he began.

* * *

A hand grabbed Blaine's shoulder and forced him to the side of the hallway. The breath was knocked out of his lungs and he was startled for a moment, blinking. The hand's owner smiled at him pleasantly, eyes bright and luminous.

"William," Blaine sighed and relaxed his grip on the strap of his bag. "Long time, no talk."

The blonde shrugged. "Please, call me Will. I prefer it."

Blaine swallowed thickly. "Alright."

Three weeks into the school year and Blaine felt as out of place in the academy as he had on the very first day. He had his schedule down and knew where his classes were, and he had settled into his dorm nicely, but the uniform made him feel like a cookie cut out, the same as everyone else. He was used to jeans and tee-shirts and scuffed-up tennis shoes instead.

Three weeks into the school year and he had already made a handful of friends, aside from Wes and David. He had been introduced to Cody Michaels, a delicate little boy, in his fourth period class. He had neat brown hair and big eyes that would put Bambi's to shame. Blaine had also met the towering redhead known as Thomas Reid. He was lanky and had no coordination whatsoever, which was discovered after he stumbled with a stapler in his hand and put a staple through his thumb.

Three weeks into the school year and he had barely spoken five minutes to William Fitzroy. After that first day, he received no conversation from the pretty blonde in their Geography class and nothing whatsoever in their Warblers class. The silence left him feeling oddly hollow, as if not hearing Will's colorful voice had left it black and white.

"So listen," Will said, breaking his reverie, "I'm going to forgive you for ditching me at lunch the first day." The way he glanced down at the floor as he spoke, tracing circles in the tile with the tip of his loafer, showed that he was nervous. Which was incredibly unlike him.

"Forgive me?" Blaine repeated.

Will looked up. "Why, of course. You told me we could sit together at lunch and you were a no-show. All I'm doing is saying I forgive you for bailing," he said contently.

"I didn't bail because I didn't want to sit with you," Blaine said and found himself tripping over his words. "I was… I was hung up with a few things."

He chuckled, rich and warm, and the sound made Blaine suck in his breath. "I heard about that. I think everyone heard about that, actually."

Blaine pursed his lips. "Heard about it?"

"Obviously. Gossip about Ronnie Starr's older brother causing an explosion in the North wing was all over the school by the end of the day," he said coolly and leaned his weight against one foot. "And your name was mentioned once or twice, so maybe that was the reason I actually listened." He flashed a grin.

Blaine nodded. "Okay. So you know I didn't ditch you," he said. "Trust me, I was all for going back to the dining hall, but I couldn't shake Wes or David—"

"Oh, it's fine. I believe you." Will placed a pale hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, and when he took it away, he left fire in its place. "Now come on. You're going to make it up to me by sitting with Simon, Carson, and I today for lunch."

"Simon?" he said again and adjusted his bag. Around them, the hallway had emptied, most of the boys headed to their next class or to lunch. The bell rang overhead and Blaine was thankful they had lunch next. They would've been late had they had a regular class.

Will smiled faintly. "He's in my wing and he's in the dorm across the hall from mine," he explained and took a step away, in the direction of the dining hall. "Don't worry, you'll like him."

"And Carson?"

"He's my roommate. I'm sure he won't mind your company," he assured.

Blaine hurried to catch up with him, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly. He stared down at his shoes as they walked. "So, why haven't you talked to me for, like, the last month?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard and he nearly halted. "The lunch thing," he said and pink colored his cheeks.

"That's all? That's kind of silly, don't you think?" Blaine asked.

"I easily hold grudges," Will explained. "It's one of my many flaws."

Without thinking, Blaine snorted and covered his mouth.

Will peered at him from the corner of his cat eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing's funny. You just seem like you wouldn't have any fl—" He caught himself this time and snapped his mouth shut. He felt the heat rush up to his face.

Will clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a smile. He lingered outside the dining hall doors, leaning against them and watching Blaine carefully. "So you don't think I have any flaws, do you?"

Blaine averted his eyes and scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I don't know—I suppose—"

"You, my friend, are sorely mistaken," Will said. "But I will gladly take that as a compliment. Sometimes I do like to think of myself as flawless, just to keep my morale up."

With that, he leaned his weight back and pushed open the doors to the dining hall.

* * *

Will smirked and folded his arms behind his head. "I still remember that day very clearly. It was sunny outside, I had gotten an A on my Latin quiz, and Blaine gave me the highest of compliments."

"Shut up," Blaine said and he became red in the face. "I was only fifteen then. I didn't know what I was getting myself into or what I was doing."

"And how old are you now? Seventeen?" Will asked. "There's only a two year difference. Not much has changed since then."

Blaine shot him a warning glance.

Kurt snapped his fingers. "So that was… a month after you met? What happened after that?"

"Well, Blaine decided to flirt with me—"

"Shut _up._"

"—and we got to know each a little better," Will finished, a smirk teasing his lips. "We used the majority of our free time in Geography to talk about a lot of things, like hobbies and our families. It's usually what people who are new at being friends talk about."

Blaine reached behind him and buried his face in one of the plush couch pillows.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "And how did that go?"

Will grinned sharply. "It went swimmingly," he replied smugly. "And if Blaine isn't too immersed in stuffing his face in a pillow, then I'm sure he'd be glad to tell you."

Blaine waved his hand blindly and that seemed to make Will sit up straighter.

"I guess that means it's my turn," he said happily.

* * *

Will turned around in his seat, but not before checking the clock above the door first. There were eight minutes left before the bell rang and class started. He braced his hands against his desk and turned to face the boy seated next to him.

"So, Blaine," he said, liking the feel of the other boy's name against his lips, "what's your favorite color?"

The boy with dark, curly hair peeked up. His incredibly long lashes nearly covered his brown eyes and the glasses he wore reflected the fluorescent lighting in the room. He stopped writing the daily assignments in the small school planner he had received at orientation.

"What do you mean, what's my favorite color?"

Will chuckled. "I mean what I asked. What color do you like best?"

Blaine shrugged and set down his pen. He picked at the fabric of his uniform. "I think as of right now, it's not red or blue, that's for sure," he mumbled.

"That's a given," Will replied and he crossed his legs. "I used to like red, back in junior high, but it kind of reminds me of blood." He shuddered.

"Bad experience with blood?" Blaine raised an eyebrow curiously.

He tucked hair behind his ear to give his hand something to do. "Sort of. My mother's a doctor at Saint Ann's hospital, but right now she's in Bellefontaine. She was called up last week for a bit of heart surgery."

Blaine wrinkled his nose. "Heart surgery?"

"She's a general doctor, but she specializes in the heart and its several issues." Will sighed. "She's worked all over the country, giving seminars to aspiring doctors and such."

"Then why is she here in Ohio?" Blaine questioned.

"We like it here," Will told him and picked up his pen, balancing it on the back of his hand. "She doesn't go any further north than Lima if she has to, and occasionally she'll visit Columbus if she gets a call."

Blaine nodded. "Sounds like she's popular. And I can see why you don't really like blood. I mean, your mom and all…"

"That," Will said delightedly, "and the fact that my dad likes to hunt every once in a while. I swear, I think I was seven when he brought home a deer head and I nearly fainted. It was awful."

Blaine froze in his desk and his eyes went wide. "He didn't bring it home… bloody and dripping, did he?"

Will let out a short laugh. "Thankfully, no. My mother would have screamed at him if he had. He might've gotten blood on the carpets, or something." He rolled his eyes and recrossed his legs. "Now, tell me something about you."

"What about me? I already told you I don't like red or blue." He slouched in his chair.

"Like…" Will clicked his pen repeatedly in thought. "Family. Brothers? Sisters?"

Blaine covered his face with one hand. "Sister, and a terrible one at that," he replied sadly. "Her name is Sadie, and sometimes I wish she would just go away. She's always getting into my stuff and bugging me, and I can hear her music through the walls at our house, and… She is so annoying."

"Is she older than you? Or is she one of those Jonas Brothers-crazed kid sisters?" He spread his lips into a grin.

"Older." Then he added, "But by, like, a few months. Those few months were just enough, though, to get her into the next grade up. She's a sophomore at Liberty Academy."

"I see."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "And I have a brother, who is in his first year of college. He doesn't come to visit us too much, because he lives in New York. Sadie and I think he's grown out of the fact that he actually has a family." He chuckled weakly. "Do you have any?"

"Any what?" Will had gone a little pale.

"Brothers or sisters."

Will caught his lower lip between his teeth, and Blaine couldn't help but notice how full and pink they were. "I did. My brother was seventeen was he got in a car wreck. That was two years ago."

"Oh, my gosh," Blaine breathed. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't know—"

Will held up his hand. "It's fine. I understand."

Blaine didn't reply and he looked at the wall, somewhere else than Will's face. He didn't want to ask anything about the brother, and he also didn't want to mention how many times he had mentally pushed Sadie in front of the garbage trucks on Friday mornings.

"Favorite band?" Will asked a minute later. He glanced over his shoulder at the clock, which told him four minutes left.

"The Fray?" Blaine replied, and his voice was a little rough. "I don't know. I like a lot of people, so I can't really say I have a favorite band."

The blonde nodded and picked up his pen. He lifted it to his face and balanced it across his nose like a seal balancing a red rubber ball; he scrunched his lips in thought. "Favorite book?"

Blaine snorted. "I don't read much," he admitted, watching him with the pen. "I mean, I read, but not as often as some people."

"Don't laugh, but I like 'Romeo and Juliet,'" Will said. "Something about the whole star-crossed lovers plotline really got me. Shame they had to die in the end."

"I guess." He shrugged and stared down at his loafers. "I thought it was kind of silly, how they kind of fell in love when they met. You have to take the time to know someone and then you can fall in love with someone. It just seems weird."

"Love at first sight?" Will clarified. "That's what got me hooked on the book. The idea of being able to fall in love with someone in an instant was captivating. I wish it was like that in the real world."

Blaine gave another shrug. "But all we get is crazy relationships and people cheating right and left."

Will tilted his head down and the pen rolled down the bridge of his nose. He caught it easily and smiled. "That's right. Society these days is just plain weird."

At that moment, the bell rang overhead and called the professor to the front of the room.

* * *

Will shut his mouth and chewed the inside of his cheek. "There," he said. "That's that part of the story. Hope you're happy."

Kurt stared flatly at him. "So that's all you talked about? 'Romeo and Juliet'?"

"No, we occasionally talked about 'Wuthering Heights,' if that's what you mean."

"That's _not _what I mean," Kurt said, irritated with the blonde. "I mean, did you only talk about books?"

Blaine pulled his face from the pillow in his lap and the grooves in the fabric had left a small impression across his skin. He realized this when Will broke into hysterical laughter. He smacked the other boy to shut him up and leaned his chin in one hand.

"We talked about other things," he said quietly. "I told him about Sadie, and he told me about—" He stopped abruptly.

Kurt stared at him. "About… who?"

"My brother," Will said, and his tone took on a grave air. "My brother was only seventeen when he died. He wasn't driving while intoxicated or on drugs or anything, but a car ran a red light and hit him on the side. There was no way to save him."

Sucking in a breath, Kurt covered his mouth. "I am so sorry."

"It's fine. It's been a few years since it happened. Four, in June," he said briskly. "My mother was the most devastated. She was one of the doctors who tried to resuscitate him, and to have her own son die in her arms was tragic." He paused. "We had to keep her from committing suicide more than once."

"That's so awful, Will," Kurt said. "I-I don't know what to say—"

"You don't have to say a single word," he said, words clipped. It was silent for thirty seconds. "Well, aren't you going to keep interrogating us? Or are we done? Because I'd like to—"

"No, we're not done. We're far from it." Kurt folded his hands tightly in his lap and looked down. "So what happened after that?"

Blaine licked his dry lips. "Will came out to me."

"Do you have to say it with that tone of voice?" the blonde questioned. He looked embarrassed.

"Well, how would you like me to say it?"

"Somewhat less criticizing."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "If you don't like the way I said it, then you should tell this part."

"Me? Why me?" Will snapped.

"You're obviously the narrator. That means you should tell it."

"I am _not _going to tell this part," he said sharply. "I was so immature and stupid when I told you. I hate going back on that."

A smile tugged barely at the corners of Blaine's lips. "It's your story, so you tell it."

Will sat back and knitted his arms over his chest stubbornly. "You tell it. I want to hear what was going on in that little, curly haired head of yours at the time."

Blaine's face turned a deep shade of pink.

"You two are being incredibly childish right now," Kurt snapped at them. "I am not going to sit here and listen to you argue over who is going to tell it. Both of you better make up your minds."

Then Blaine and the blonde glanced at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Will guessed unsurely.

Kurt ran one hand through his hair irritably. "Blaine, start talking."

His voice must have sounded like the ragged edge of a blade because Blaine chewed on a loose hangnail and started speaking.

* * *

"Okay, most embarrassing moment?" Will said with incredible cautiousness, several pauses between the words.

Blaine looked up at him, tearing his eyes away from the map of the Middle East on his desk.

It was late December, the air turning frigid and cold and dark clouds scouring the skies. Snow was a possibility every week, and the boys were thrilled with the idea of being snowed in, not being able to go to class. With the promise of snow, they were also excited for the holiday break coming up in two weeks.

The break was something to look forward to for everyone. For the Warblers, the also had the Winter Festival to prepare for. It was a small concert composed of Christmas tunes that they threw together before leaving for the break, where friends and family came to watch and visit.

Days earlier, Blaine had been offered a solo position for the Winter Festival, something that was only offered to the juniors and seniors and maybe a few sophomores, but only if they had spectacular voices. As expected, Blaine had to audition; there were only four positions and he knew the majority of the seniors wanted them.

Now, pulling his thoughts away from the Festival, Blaine leaned back in his chair. "What?"

"You heard me. Most embarrassing moment," the blonde repeated. His map of the Middle East was sitting on the corner of his desk, completed with labels and even a bit of coloring, circling, and highlighting.

"Why are you asking me that now?" Blaine questioned. He looked nervously over Will's shoulder at the clunky desk sitting by the door, where the professor sat, grading papers.

Will lifted a shoulder innocently. "I don't know. It came into my head, and I just thought I'd ask. You know, since we're continuing that little questionnaire thing."

He wasn't wrong. First period Geography class was used to bounce questions back and forth before the bell and when the professor wasn't looking. It had become sort of a habit between the two boys, each of them asking things like preference on a certain band, or preferred way to spend the weekend.

Blaine chewed on the eraser of his pencil. He kept his voice low; with the other boys in the room talking in soft voices, his would easily be droned out.

"Okay. Most embarrassing moment?" he clarified, and Will nodded. He bit down on the metal wrapping around the eraser. "On the first day of the eighth grade, the football players at my school hung my backpack from the flagpole. Everyone watched when the principal came out to get it down, and it was awful."

Will stiffed a laugh. "That's not much of an embarrassing moment."

"It is when you have the entire eighth grade watching you."

"Okay, maybe it is."

"What's yours?"

Will blinked his eyes, which were a mix of green and brown and glimmered in the fluorescent lighting. "What?"

"What is your most embarrassing moment?"

He flattened his lips into a line so thin it was hardly there. It appeared that this had struck a nerve and the blonde blinked, seeming at loss for words.

Blaine drew circles in the wood patterns on his desk with the tip of his pencil. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I was only asking."

"No, it's fine." Will glanced over his shoulder once before leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He drummed his fingers on his knees almost anxiously. "In the eighth grade, no one talked to me—"

"_That's _your most embarrassing moment?" Blaine interrupted. "I'm sorry, but I know quite a few people who could last without talking to anyone."

"Well, that's them, and not me. I thrive on attention." Will bristled. "And you didn't let me finish my sentence."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Go on."

"I was bullied in middle school because everyone thought I was gay."

Blaine dropped his pencil and furrowed his brows. "What?"

At that moment, the bell rang overhead and Will instantly gained feeling of his limbs. He scooped up his work, stuffed it gracefully into his knapsack, and got to his feet before Blaine had even picked his pencil back up again.

"You're going to be late to your next class if you just sit there staring at me like that," Will said tightly. "And you're going to make me late, too."

Blaine narrowed his eyes, then picked up his bag. He was jamming his map and papers into his bag when Will turned on his heel, striding out of the room. Shrugging his bag over his shoulder, Blaine raced after him into the packed hallway.

"Wait, so people thought you were—" he panted when he had reached the blonde's side.

Will jabbed him in the ribs, hard. He was facing forward, though his eyes were on Blaine. "Don't say a word. If you do, I'll make sure you break an arm when I push you down the stairs."

Blaine wrinkled his nose. "What? You were just about to tell me in the middle of class, where everyone could've heard you. What's the big deal of saying it now?"

"Because there are more people out here than in the classroom," Will said, matter-of-factly. He shook his head. "Go to class. I'll tell you at lunch."

He was about to reply when Will suddenly turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd of boys. He wanted to go get him and grab him by the shoulder, but he knew there was only a little bit of time left between now and when second period.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Blaine hurried down the hall to his Latin class.

Half an hour ticked by, then another half hour, and he thought he would go insane. Latin dragged, and all he wanted to do was find Will and talk to him. He knew he shouldn't have interrupted, should have let him finish. Maybe he could've heard what Will had to say.

Blaine tried not to stare at the clock as the last thirty minutes of class went by. He was fidgeting in his seat by the time the bell rang, and he leapt from his chair, making a beeline to the door.

Pacing down the hall as it started to fill with students, he was grateful that he had the first lunch. He bypassed the choir room and went straight to the lunch room. Blaine pushed open the doors and stayed just inside them, watching for the blonde.

Then he felt a tug at his arm and he whipped his head to the side.

Will had him by the elbow and was dragging him out of the lunch room, down the hall. The corridors were beginning to quiet down as the students found their classes, and the sounds of their footsteps against the parquet floor seemed atrociously loud.

"Will, where are we going?" Blaine demanded, but did not try to pull away.

The blonde made no attempt to reply, only turned him down a hall. They approached a bathroom and Will nudged it open with his shoulder, tugging Blaine with him. Before Blaine had a chance to say a word, Will dropped his bag on the floor carelessly and yanked him into a stall.

Locking the stall, Will ran a hand through his hair. Two bright spots of pink highlighted his cheekbones and his eyes looked tired, weary.

"What the hell is going on?" Blaine finally burst out. His reply was a hand slapped over his mouth.

"Shush," Will said, exasperated. "Do you want everyone in the school to know we're in here? You're being really loud right now."

Blaine removed the boy's hand. "We're in a stall in the bathroom and everyone is in class right now. I don't think anyone is going to hear us."

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Just be a little quieter, will you?"

Not saying another word, Blaine nodded obediently. He shifted awkwardly to set his bag on the floor and when he looked up, he was suddenly aware of how small the bathroom stalls were. Only a few inches of space stood between he and the blonde boy.

"Okay, talk," he said and cleared his throat, pushing the last thought from his mind.

"About?" Will said, and tilted his head to the side.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. Stop trying to avoid it."

"If I wanted to avoid it, I don't think I would've dragged you into a stall that provides absolutely no personal space."

He felt the blood rush to his face. "Just… say what you were going to say. Before class ended."

Will took in a deep breath, folding his hands together. "I asked you what your most embarrassing moment was, and you answered it. You asked me, and I sort of answered," he said, choosing his words carefully. He stared down at their shiny loafers. "In the eighth grade, no one talked to me because I was openly g-gay."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You were—you're—"

"Yes, go ahead and judge me on it. I'm gay, I like guys, and I prefer them over girls. Any way you say it, it's all the same," Will snapped. He paused. "Go ahead. Call me some slanderous name and get it over with." He awkwardly pushed past Blaine and, unlocking the stall, strode into the room.

Silence echoed throughout the bathroom. Faintly the sink dripped and it seemed loud. Blaine flinched at the sound of it. When he spoke, his voice came out in a near whisper.

"I would never judge you on something like that, Will," he said and slowly walked out of the stall, letting the door close behind him. He watched the blonde in the mirror.

Will raised his head, clearly surprised. "What? Why? I'm an outcast. I'm surprised you haven't called me 'fag' and left already. I mean, I'm wasting your lunch to tell you my sexuality," he said. He turned around. "Doesn't that bother you? That I am basically a disgrace to half the scripture in the Bible?"

"It doesn't matter to me." Blaine tucked his hands in his pockets, mostly because he didn't know what else to do with them, but he also didn't want to start chewing on his nails. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Okay, you are definitely not the same guy I met at the beginning of the semester."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked as he idled in front of the sink, watching their reflections.

Will threw his hands over his head. "You look like the kind of posh kid who would turn his nose up at the sign of anything that wasn't deemed 'normal'"—he made air quotes with his fingers—"or 'acceptable.' Where did he go?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but the person you're talking about was never here," he sighed and he let his head fall. His hair shifted forward, his dark curls covering his eyes. "And I'm glad you told me. It makes coming out to you so much easier." He peeked up at the other boy.

The blonde let his jaw drop and he struggled for words. "Wait, you're—you—"

"Yes, I'm gay," Blaine said slowly and reveled in the taste of the words in his mouth. He licked his lips. "I'm gay, and I have been."

"I never pegged you like that…" He gestured to him tiredly, clearly in a state of confusion.

Blaine lifted his shoulders. "I never pegged you as gay, either, until you told me," he said simply. He scooped his bag from the floor, then took a look at his friend, who still had his mouth open. "You know, you should get confused more often. It's kind of funny."

"So you're gay," Will stated again. "You're really gay?"

He nodded his head once. "I don't know why I would say it if it wasn't true."

"You could be messing with me right now. Just to make me feel better," he argued. His posture was slumped, something not Will-like.

"I'm not lying, and I'm not messing with you. I'm telling the honest truth," Blaine told him and made his way to the door. "If you were comfortable enough to tell me that you're gay, I think I should be able to, too."

Will ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up in odd places. "But… but…"

"But what?"

He pinched his lips together and fell silent. "Nothing," he breathed.

"Then come on. I'm sure all your friends are wondering where you are right now," Blaine said and pushed the door open, opening up to the silent hallway.

Will took his bag and adjusted it over his shoulder. He paced to the doorway almost sheepishly. "Right. I forgot that we're in the middle of lunch…"

"And, just to make sure you're not worried or anything," Blaine said quietly, nudging his shoulder kindly, "I won't tell anyone."

"And you have my word, as well," Will said with a stiff nod. He spared what looked like a smile and they walked the remainder of the way to the lunch room in a comfortable silence.

* * *

Will sat quietly. He had crossed his ankles and his hands were tight fists in his lap. He looked up at Kurt curiously and stare was almost enough to make Kurt look away.

"So, as you heard just now, I was afraid of what Blaine would think of me if I told him," Will breathed, and it was the first sound in the room after a long while. "So this proves that I am not a cold person who has a heart of ice. I actually care about what people think of me, believe it or not."

Blaine twined his fingers together, staring at a spot on the floor. He was silent and did not say anything when Kurt looked to him.

"And so," Will went on in a quiet voice, "the weeks went on without anything being completely awkward. There were times when I looked over at him during class and thought, 'Wow. He's… amazing.'" He bit his lower lip.

"And you didn't tell him," Kurt said slowly, and the blonde shook his head in reply. "So…"

"I didn't tell him until about mid-January," Will said carefully.

Blaine chewed the inside of his cheek. "That was when I told him about middle school, and he told me about middle school."

Kurt sat there and stared between the two boys.

"We were both bullied, if you didn't get the hint that was going around for the past ten minutes," the blonde retorted sharply.

"He was the first person I told about everything," Blaine said quietly, almost talking into his hands. "I hadn't even told my mom at the time, or Sadie. But then again, I would never tell Sadie anything."

Kurt licked his lips. "You were bullied."

Blaine dropped his head. He remained silent for a minute, then rubbed his face. Will kept his eyes forward, lips in a flat line, not speaking.

"I was," Blaine finally said. He pulled his face from his hands. "In middle school, I was a laughing stock for being gay. The jocks would wait for me outside my last class so they could throw me in the Dumpsters and destroy my backpack.

"I ate lunch the bathrooms instead of the cafeteria, and when the jocks found me there, I moved to the janitor's closet. It was humiliating," he said scornfully. "There was one incident when I was getting to school late, and I was cornered and… Basically, I was almost killed." His eyes met Kurt's for a brief second.

"The jocks that had been bothering me throughout middle school slammed me in the wall, and punched me so many times I lost count, and they made me bleed."

Kurt felt a quiet rage rise in him. "And you didn't tell your mom?"

"I didn't want her to have to get involved," he defended quickly. His shoulders dropped and he fiddled with his hands. "I didn't want anyone involved. It was my problem, and I wanted to overcome my problem on my own. No one needed to know."

At his side, Will nodded mutely, as if agreeing.

"And you said nothing?" Kurt stated.

"Why would I have?" he asked crossly. "You never told anyone that Karofsky was pushing you around—"

"Until it got bad enough that I needed help!" Kurt tightened his hands in his lap.

Will cleared his throat suddenly and he looked shyly between the boys; the hard look on Blaine's face fell and Kurt's hands loosened.

"So January," he said lamely.

"Mid-January," Blaine corrected shortly. He found Kurt gazing at him oddly. "Will didn't ask me out until then, I think when we were studying," he said, a hint of amusement coloring his face.

"I hated that day." Will looked cross.

"You hate everything. You're just a naturally hateful person," Blaine grumbled. He ignored the glare being shot at him and he looked up at Kurt. "So it's the end of January, we're in the library studying, and he proclaims his undying love for me. Simple as that."

* * *

Blaine let his eyes skim over the book in front of him. "And why did Wylie think it was a good idea to assign this stupid homework packet for 'Romeo and Juliet'? I mean, it's like a freaking tree."

"I have no idea," Will answered and plopped down in the seat across the table from him, crossing his legs and rolling his eyes. "But I'm sure it can't be that bad. It's only a packet, not a death sentence."

"Maybe, but it might as well be," he said uneasily and turned the page in his book.

He let his eyes drift from the words that were blurring together to study the boy sitting across the table from him: Will's blonde hair was dull in the low lighting of the library, but it was neatly combed. His eyes moved as they jumped from sentence to sentence.

Will nibbled on his pink lip, a sign that he was growing anxious, and Blaine saw this immediately. He narrowed his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked absently, pushing his book away from him.

The blonde instantly stopped reading and raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"You look worried," Blaine clarified and leaned back in his chair. "And don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know what you do when you get nervous."

"I'm fine," Will said airily and he straightened his posture. He met Blaine's eyes, then slumped back. "Okay, fine. I'm nervous."

Blaine leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. "Over what? The Winter Festival is over, and we don't have any more concerts until the spring, and we don't have any competitions because we lost Sectionals. What gives?"

The blonde licked his lips carefully and averted his eyes. "I've been thinking, Blaine… About us."

"What about us?" He perked and knitted his brows together.

"You know…" He trailed off and nibbled absently on his thumb nail, another sign of anxiety that Blaine knew. He gave a weak shrug. "Us."

Blaine stared at him until he looked away. "I don't understand."

Finally Will stood up. "There's this stupid thing that I'm going to tell you," he said around chewing on his nail, "and I don't care if you scream at me and leave the room, or never speak to me again, or just sit there and stare me." He paused and smiled at Blaine's confused expression. "I like you, Blaine."

"Like me?" he asked, his voice raising half an octave. His heart jumped into his throat. "Like… how, like me?"

Will began nibbling on his other thumbnail now, looking sheepish. "I think I might be in love with you."

Blaine studied him, a crease forming on his forehead. "What?"

The blonde suddenly looked ashamed and he shook his head, pacing away from the table to a bookshelf to his left. He ran his hand along the edge of it.

"Will," Blaine said, the name a warning. He slowly got to his feet and took a few steps forward. "What do you mean, you're in love with me?"

"I mean, that I…" He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up in different places; he didn't bother to smooth them back down. He turned on his heel to face the other boy, and his eyes were startlingly bright. "I love you, Blaine. I don't know how, or when, or why, this all happened, but I've fallen in love with you."

Blaine stared at him. "You're going insane if you think you're in love with me."

The wrinkled expression on Will's face dropped and he looked bewildered, the same look he had worn weeks ago, when they both had come out to the other. "What? I'm not insane. I'll kiss you right now, if that proves it."

"You don't need to prove anything," Blaine said in a quiet voice. "Because I know you well enough, I can believe that. I believe you."

Will focused his gaze on him. "You're doing it again. You're being weird, Blaine," he said, a half-laugh. "Just when I think you're following a straight line, completely predictable, you just… jump off course. You get lost, and I get lost."

"We'll get lost together, then," he said, and the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

"You're doing it again." Will ducked his head to hide a grin. "You're being weird."

Blaine took another step forward, then another, until he was standing in front of the other boy. "I was born weird."

"That is probably the most cliché line I've ever heard come out of your mouth since the day we met," Will said. He absently reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind his own ear. His face was tinted the lightest shade of pink.

"You're cliché," Blaine remarked and folded his hands in front of him. He was aware of the little space between them.

"You're cute." Will tilted his head to the side.

"You're too tall," he said and scrunched his brows together.

The blonde watched him, amused. "Too tall for what?"

"To kiss you properly. I mean, either you would have to bend down, or I would have to wear heels a lot. I don't think I would be willing to make that sacrifice." He smirked.

Then Will brushed the back of his hand against Blaine's cheek, under his eye; his skin was cool. He leaned forward to press their foreheads together, and Blaine felt his breath wash over his face.

"But I think I'd be willing to bend over once in a while," Will whispered and his eyes fell shut.

At that moment, a horrendous thump came from the other side of the bookshelf, making the two boys spring apart, both red in the face and hearts jumping into their throats.

Wesley Moore stuck his head around the shelf, scrambling to pick up a fallen stack of books in the process.

"Oops," he said sheepishly, seeing the two boys. "I didn't mean to intrude on anything! Go back to whatever you were doing."

"Oh, yeah, right, Moore!" Will snapped and turned furious in a moment's notice. "You were just waiting for the right time to bust in on us, weren't you?"

Wes leaned against the bookshelf with the novels cradled against his chest. "And tell me, William, what time _is _the right time exactly?"

This made Will flush terribly and he raised his chin a fraction.

"That's what I thought."

"Get out of here, Moore," he barked.

Wes rolled his eyes. "It's a public library, William. It's open to the entire school. I think I should be entitled to the same rights as everyone else in this place."

Blaine knitted his hands together. "If you were spying on us, Wes, you just have to admit it. I won't get mad at you."

"What makes you think I was spying on you? I have better things to do with my time than to spy on you two," he scoffed.

"Better things… like hanging around in a library when we both know you don't study?" He cocked his head to the side.

Wes gave another dramatic eye roll. "Whatever. I'm leaving. David'll be glad to know this blonde monstrosity hasn't killed you, Blaine." With that, he plopped all the books in his arms back on the shelf they fell from and stalked out of the library.

Will let out a long breath and placed a hand over his chest. "I swear, when I get my hands on him—"

"Calm down. It's just Wes, not the Spanish Inquisition." Blaine placed a hand on his arm, which made him turn around.

"I know, but still. He was totally spying on us, and you know it," he said stubbornly.

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. "So what if he was spying on us? What does he have to report to everyone? That we were caught in the library together?"

"Yes, but he could completely mess it up and say we were basically having sex on the table, or something worse, and then—_bam. _Rumors." He gave an embarrassed shudder. "Oh, God, why did I even think of that?"

He sighed, a smile spreading over his face, and he dropped his hand. "I don't know. But I'm pretty sure a peck on the cheek doesn't count as sex on the table."

Then he stretched onto the tips of his toes to press his lips lightly against the blonde's cheek. He pulled back and sat back down in his seat, starting in his book to where he had left off.

Will watched him closely and though he wanted to take Blaine's face in his hands and kiss him senseless, he wandered back over to his chair and sat down.

* * *

"Voila," Will said quickly and put his hands on his knees. "Can we be done for today? I don't want to go on—"

"Shush," Blaine said shortly.

Kurt nodded. "Please. I'd like to hear the rest."

Will rubbed his temples. "The rest? There is nothing else. That's it."

"Surely there must be something to report. I mean, you two broke up, didn't you?" Kurt said pointedly, putting his hands on his knees. "And after all, you did tell me about that dinner with Blaine's family. What of that?"

Both boys fell silent, fast. Blaine's eyes were wide, pained, and Will looked outright irritated.

"I don't want to talk about that," he said stubbornly.

Blaine leaned forward. "He's being sensitive about it," he said lowly. "After Will told me he liked me, we sort of…" He hesitated, wrinkling his nose. "Became a couple. Wes and David didn't like it, and Carson and Simon didn't like it. No one liked it, actually. We were happy, but we were outcasts."

"Please stop referring to us as 'outcasts.' I really hate that term." Will glared at him.

"Well, that's what we were!" Blaine snapped. "What else is there?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Um, 'not popular'?"

"Don't say we weren't popular, we were both in the Elites—"

"And there you go again with that Elites crap. I thought you didn't like bringing that up."

"I'm only bringing that up to make a point."

Kurt clapped his hands together, and he felt like he was reprimanding a pair of children, not high schoolers. "Stop arguing. I don't care what you were," he said stiffly. He lowered his hands and looked to Blaine. "Continue."

Blaine let out a long sigh. "Anyway. We were dating, and all that, and then comes the night of the Spring Show. We perform and everything, and then my mom gets the bright idea to invite Will over for dinner, right on the spot." He looked agitated.

"And of course, I said yes," Will piped up. "I mean, why wouldn't I? My boyfriend's mom was asking me to come home with them, so I couldn't exactly say no."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Yes, you could have. Where were your parents?"

"My mom was on an emergency call, and my dad was working on something for his business, assuming my mom was going to be there to pick me up and all." He waved his hand as if dismissing the thought.

Kurt nodded slowly. "So you said yes. And you went back with them to their house for dinner."

"Yes, that's correct," Blaine mumbled. "And from the moment my mom called us down for dinner, it went downhill. And by downhill, I mean, completely downhill."

* * *

Blaine was spread across his bed on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands. An open folder filled with test papers and review packets sat to the side, abandoned. When he shifted positions, a few papers scattered and flew to the floor.

The boy laying on the bed across from him smiled faintly, his pink lips turning up. He moved a hand to brush blonde hair from his eyes, which shined brightly, like a cat's.

"Do your parents really think we're studying?" he whispered, keeping his voice low as if he did not want to break the silence pent up in the room.

Blaine nodded once. "They do."

Will tipped his head forward and graced the other boy's nose with his lips. His smile flattened the slightest bit. "I can't believe it," he said.

"Believe what?" Blaine asked and shut his eyes.

"That your parents would actually believe it when you say 'we're only studying.' I mean, who studies right after a performance on a Friday night?" he chuckled, his breath washing over Blaine's face. "They haven't asked you anything about me?"

Blaine shook his head. He reached out his hand and brushed his fingertips against the contours of the blonde's face, running them along the bridge of his nose, on the natural curves under his eyes. "They think we're best friends."

"And we are," Will whispered. "But I think I love you."

His hand came to a stop and he cupped Will's face. "I love you, too, Will."

The blonde propped himself on his elbows and leaned forward, pressing his lips against the other boy's, slowly yet passionately. He gave a small gasp when Blaine tugged on his lower lip with his teeth, his hand winding in the sleek blonde hair at the back of his neck. Will was mesmerized by the way the other's lips moved against his own, soft and warm and moving in perfect sync.

Blaine pulled back slowly, his lips turned up happily. "We should probably get back to 'studying,'" he said and reluctantly sat up.

"I thought we were," Will remarked in a low voice—almost a purr. But he pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned forward to kiss Blaine once more, though it was more passionate, more urgent.

Blaine placed his hands on either side of the blonde's face to pull him closer, if that was possible, and he traced his tongue against the boy's lower lip. His heart jumped in his chest until it felt like it would jump out at any second, and his skin felt hot.

Then Will broke off and sat back on his heels. His face was tinged pink and he reached across the bed for one of the folders, blinking.

"I think I like studying with you, Blaine," he commented and leaned back against the headboard. He looked tauntingly over the top of the folder at the curly haired boy.

Blaine felt his cheeks catch fire. He licked his lips and was going to reply when he heard a knock at the door. Fearfully, he snagged a sheet of paper and nearly tumbled off the bed trying to grab a pencil from the floor.

"Boys?" came a light, female voice. The door pushed open and a woman with dark, short hair poked her head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt your studying, but dinner is ready."

Blaine sat up straighter than he normally would have and he hoped his face wasn't bright red. He heard the wrinkle in the papers in his hands as he clutched them tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Will carefully hiding a smirk, looking as casual as ever.

"We'll be down in a minute, Mom," Blaine said and focused on not stuttering out his words or making them seem jittery. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his papers.

The woman smiled warmly. "Alright. Be down soon, though. I'm not sure you sister can stand to be downstairs any longer," she sighed.

"Why is that?"

It was routine for Sadie to eat her dinners in her room, as she wasn't very social with the rest of her family. She'd rather eat in her room, where she could listen to music and finish up homework. To hear that she was actually eating dinner downstairs tonight was unheard of. But maybe she was just doing it because Will was here.

Charlene rolled her eyes. "Your father's on another rant—this time over politics and what he heard at the store today—and you know how your sister feels about that," she explained tiredly. "Anyway, be sure to be down soon, boys." She flashed another smile and closed to the door quietly.

As soon as the door shut, Blaine whipped around to face the blonde. "You have to teach me how to do that."

"Teach you how to do what?" Will slid off the bed and set the papers on the comforter. He straightened his shirt.

"To not act like I'm embarrassed all the time," Blaine answered and crawled off the bed.

Will shot him a smug look and wrinkled his nose cutely. "What can I say? It's a gift. Now, we better not keep your family waiting," he said coolly. He pulled Blaine toward him, by the elbows, and kissed him shortly.

Blaine broke off feeling lightheaded and before he knew it, Will was already out the door and starting down the hall. He found the feeling in his legs and hurried off after him.

The scents of warm food and flaky bread wafted up the stairs, filling the house with sweet smells. The two boys took the spiral staircase down to the front room, then to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Charlene stood patiently at the microwave, waiting for a plate of bread to finish heating up.

"Your father will be in in a minute, Blaine," she said as the boys passed her. "He's finishing up work in his office."

Blaine nodded and led Will to the dining room.

Sadie sat on one side of the table with her chin in her hand, staring at the empty plate in front of her. Plates of food were laid out in the middle of the table and steam rose off them. She licked her lips and looked up when Blaine and Will approached the table.

"It's about time," she grumbled and snatched her fork, waving it like a wand through the air. "I was beginning to wonder if you two weren't going to come eat. You know, Mom won't let us eat if everyone isn't present."

"Forgive us, Sadie," Will said with an air of elegance and pulled out a chair for himself. "We're ever so sorry for keeping you from your precious meal." He folded the cloth napkin over his lap and glanced at her across the table.

Sadie jabbed her fork at Blaine, who had left to pour drinks in the kitchen. "See, Blaine? Will here's got the right idea. Sometimes I wish he was my brother instead."

Blaine appeared a moment later with two water glasses, ice tinkling against the sides. "Yeah, right. How would you explain a blonde in a family of brunettes? He's like a needle in a hay stack."

"Gee, thanks, Blaine," Will said blandly and took a water glass from him. "Ever so nice of you."

"For the water or the hay stack comment?"

"Both, I suppose." He leaned across the table to say to Sadie, "But really, good luck explaining me as your brother. I think it would confuse more than one person if I somehow got blonde hair from a generation of dark hair."

"Genetic mutations?" Sadie guessed and stabbed at the air with her fork.

Blaine snorted and sat down in the seat beside Will. "I doubt that would work. It seems pretty unlikely."

"I can dream, can't I?" she said airily.

Just then, the door to the left swung open. Blaine's father, Michael Anderson, was a tall man, with creamy, dark skin that showed hints of aging. Slight wrinkles appeared in faint waves across his forehead and crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, seeing his son and daughter at the table. His hair was dark and kept at a moderate length, cut just above the ears and not showing a bit of gray. He was slim yet muscular, and clutched a rolled newspaper in one hand.

Blaine instantly straightened and folded his hands in his lap, and Sadie hastily dropped the fork. It landed with a twingy clatter on the table and she hurried to quiet it, straightening it with the other silverware. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, which was a change since she had been slouching all evening.

His eyes fell upon Will and the kind crinkles disappeared.

"Hello, William," he said with an air of surprise. "I didn't know you would be joining us this evening."

Charlene passed into the kitchen just then, carrying the bread plate, and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Oh, honey, he came home with us. Don't act surprised," she said mildly.

Michael blinked once, but shook his head and headed into the kitchen. There was a faint twack as he dropped the newspaper on the table, and the clink of glasses as he filled a wineglass. He came back out a moment later and sat down in the chair at the end of the table, the one closest to Blaine.

"I'm not surprised," he answered and took a long sip of the dark liquid in his glass. "I merely thought you were taking him home after the concert."

"Well, you would have known, had you gone to the concert," Charlene sighed as she took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

"You know I had paperwork to deal with. I've got a new client that presented me with a case about a murder," he said firmly.

Sadie cocked his head at him. "What about the last case? The one about the gay guy?"

Michael visibly bristled. "I dropped that case."

"Why?" Charlene asked, taking the words gratefully out of Blaine's mouth.

He smiled faintly. "How would my reputation look if people found out that I willingly took a case on of a gay man?"

Silence echoed around the dining room a few moments.

Then Charlene said, "Okay. Well, I guess we should start dinner, shall we? I bet the boys are hungry." She cast a warm look at Blaine and Will.

Michael rolled his eyes, and said somewhat tightly, "Nevertheless, we're glad you've decided to dine with us tonight, William."

Will forced his numb lips into a smile and tried not to flinch at his full name. Hardly anyone called him by his birth name, besides his parents, and that only happened when he was in trouble for something. He remembered when Blaine used to address him by that, but that was in the first weeks after they'd met.

There was something Will did not like about Blaine's father. There was a certain coldness that accompanied the warm hazel eyes and the smooth voice. He spoke in a such a way that criticized him, or anyone, for that matter.

"Now, that we're all here," Michael said, breaking Will of his reverie, "shall we say grace?" He stretched out his hands in the directions of his children.

Blaine hesitated in taking his father's hand. He shouldn't have felt this way. They said grace every night at dinner. It should be routine for him. But it wasn't. There was some part of him that knew he was betraying his father, in a way.

His family was religious and therefore, they believed that men fell in love with women, and vice versa. Not men with men and women with women. He felt as though he was lying every time he said grace.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Will falter slightly when taking Charlene's hand. But he did anyway. When Blaine felt his hand slip into his own, he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Michael proclaimed the table prayer and finished with a moment of silence before dropping his hands. He opened his eyes and took another slow sip of wine.

"Alright, everyone," Charlene said generously, "dig in. I made enough for everyone."

As soon as she said this, Sadie leaned forward to grab the spoon that sat in the bowl of mashed potatoes and heaped a serving onto her plate. Charlene glowered at her.

"Guests are always first, Sadie," she scolded lightly and her gaze went in Will's direction.

"But you said dig in!" Sadie protested, her hand hovering over the bread plate.

The blonde straightened ever so slightly. "Oh, it's alright, Mrs. Anderson. Sadie's obviously hungry. Why keep her from that?"

Charlene rolled her eyes and gave a short sigh. She didn't say anything more.

With that, everyone assumed it was alright to start filling their plates. Blaine usually didn't eat much around dinner time, so his plate was either one of the small ones or half-full. He saw Will carefully spoon lima beans onto his plate, then a piece of bread, and a small breast of chicken.

No one really talked after food had been distributed. Sadie had her mouth full most of the time, shoveling food in like she had never tasted baked chicken before. Blaine idly picked at his beans and pushed them around in a circle on his plate. Will nibbled slowly on his bread, tearing the crust off bit by bit before starting on the fluffy center.

Charlene took a sip of wine and cleared her throat. "Boys, how have your studies been going lately? Good?"

"Very good, Mrs. Anderson," Will answered before Blaine had even processed the question. There was a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Blaine's the most popular in our Warblers class. He gets all the solos, and not even any of the seniors get solos."

The tips of Blaine's ears turned red.

"Really? Solos?" Michael said over the lip of his wineglass. He had nearly drained it and set it down, empty, on the table. "That's for… what is that for, again? Singing?"

Blaine nodded meekly and kept the spoon in his hand steady. "Yes, Dad. It's choir."

He gave a small snort, then covered his mouth. "I'm sorry, but singing? Blaine, I thought you would choose to do something that would help you prosper when you get older."

"I will prosper," Blaine said, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

"With singing? There's no way," he said flatly. "You won't make it as a singer, Blaine. I mean, with all the money musicians nowadays make, you'll be lucky to even put a down payment on a pack of gum."

Charlene flared pink. "Michael," she said in a sharp tone. "Blaine can do whatever he wants in school. It's his choice." She stirred her beans and added, almost as an afterthought, "And I think our son has a nice voice. He's a good singer."

Blaine wanted to speak out that he didn't like being talked about when he was clearly in the room, but kept his mouth shut. He saw Will bristle a little and keep quiet as well.

Michael waved his hand dismissively. "Blaine, I think you should start to think about doing another elective next year. Instead of choir," he said. He got up out of his chair and left, and soon after the pouring of wine was heard. He came back in and sat down with a glass filled to the brim with dark red.

"Instead of choir? Why?" Blaine couldn't help but ask. He couldn't believe this kind of conversation was going on, with Will here. They never talked about his grades or Dalton or anything unless Blaine wanted to share.

"Because. Choir will get you nowhere in life unless that's what you want to be: a singer." He took a generous gulp and set the glass down; he hadn't even filled a plate and started eating yet.

Blaine set down his fork. "But what if I want to be a singer?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Again, Blaine, musicians don't make too much for a living. If you wanted to be a singer, you would have to stand out in a subway and sing and hope someone likes you," he said. "It won't prosper well for you at all."

"Michael," Charlene said lowly and leaned forward in her chair, "let's let Blaine decide what he wants to do. He doesn't have to start thinking about the future and his life past high school right this second. We can talk about it later."

Blaine took in a good breath. He wanted to leap up and hug his mother right now for saying that. The air was strung with tension. It had gone quiet, and Sadie had stopped scraping the side of her fork against her plate. Instead she stared at her lap.

Michael gave another wave. "Oh, fine. We'll do what you want to do."

Charlene swallowed a small sip of white wine and licked her lips.

After that, no one spoke for thirty minutes straight. The air was filled with the light sounds of metal scraping and tapping against plates.

Blaine had to resist the urge to grab Will's hand under the table several times. He twisted his hands in his lap instead and stared down at his empty plate. His stomach was full and he had a feeling he was going to get sick soon. His body was tense and he felt like he was waiting, just waiting, for fireworks to shoot off from the neighbor's yard or for the fire alarm to go off, or for something to happen that would startle them.

But it was just silence.

Sadie straightened her silverware on her plate in the shape of an X, showing she was finished eating. Usually, when their father wasn't able to make it home on time for dinner, she tapped her fork and knife against the sides of her plate, banged her spoon against her drinking glass, all while she chewed. She needed something to do with her hands, of course. She never meant to cause disruption. However, when Mr. Anderson happened to book it home early on occasion, she was the model child, quiet and not loud and definitely not banging silverware on fine china.

Charlene was typically animate as well. When it was only her and Blaine and Sadie, she talked about random things, such as what she had heard at the store that day while in the checkout line or the recent update on some couple's relationship status in one of her many soap operas, a guilty pleasure of hers. She swallowed her words with another light sip of wine.

The glass in her hand wasn't so much as a fourth empty. Blaine knew his mother wasn't much of a drinker, and she favored water and juice over alcohol. On special occasions, though, she would indulge a little and drink half a glass before calling it quits.

But his father was. He had downed a second glass of wine with a satisfied sigh and folded his hands across his stomach. He had finished eating as well. His eyes contently panned the table, looking from Blaine to Sadie to his wife. Not once did he squint at Will. Finally, he slowly got up from the t able and trudged into the kitchen with his wineglass in tow.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sadie let out a quick breath. It sounded as though she had been holding it in all this time, all thirty minutes.

"May I please go upstairs?" she asked Charlene. It sounded more like a plead than a request.

Charlene shook her head before the last word left Sadie's mouth. "You know you're not dismissed before we clear the table, Sadie."

"Then can we clear the table now?"

"Sadie," she said in a hushed tone, "at least stay for five more minutes."

She fell back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, mumbling something along the lines of, "I hope Dad passes out in five minutes, then."

Then Michael bumbled back into the dining room, plopping back down in his seat, and Sadie sprung from the back of her chair, eyes forward staring at Will. Will gave a small gasp, barely there, as he saw the change in her. He tilted his head to the side and Blaine could tell he was going to question.

"How was work today, Dad?" he blurted right as Will started to open his mouth.

His father raised an eyebrow, surprised, and he should have been. Neither Blaine nor Sadie ever asked about his work. The only time he talked about it, his position at a law firm in the heart of Westerville, was when he had a story to share. Most of them were interesting. If they weren't, they weren't worth sharing.

"It was boring," he replied flatly and took a long sip of wine. He licked his lips and sat back. "But Charlene, dear, you'll never believe what Harry told me today. You'll never believe it at all."

Blaine chewed on the inside of his cheek. Inwardly he sighed in relief. If Will had spoken aloud, he didn't know what he would've done.

He had heard enough to know that Harry was another lawyer who worked on the same floor as his father, that he had a wife and two boys in high school, both a year older than Blaine.

Blaine's mother perked at the sound of her name. "What did he say?"

Michael chuckled, a low hum deep in his throat, and braced his hands against the table. He barely missed knocking over his glass. "Harry told me that his boy, his boy Carter, the blonde one—" He stopped and shook his head. His eyes briefly grazed over Will. "He told me Carter's not right in the head these days."

"What's wrong with him?" Charlene asked quietly, in her feather light voice. By now they would have cleared the table and headed off individually, but they stayed put.

"He said his boy likes other boys," Michael burst out and slapped his palm against the table. It made some of the glassware shake.

Heat instantly flared through Blaine, from his toes to the tips of his hair. He couldn't help but widen his eyes a fraction and take in a breath, holding it in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Will clench his jaw, but did not say a word. Thank goodness.

"Carter?" Charlene repeated and folded the corner of her napkin. "Really? I had no idea."

"You never have any idea, honey," he said lowly and took another swig of wine. "I mean, you wouldn't know because you weren't there. But anyways, I can't believe his son would just choose something like that. It's… it's an abominable lifestyle to choose. And Harry told me Carter's already got himself a—" He paused to shudder. "—a boyfriend. Can you believe that?"

"No, I can't." Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

Michael finished off his glass. "I can't fathom why anyone would choose to like the same sex in a romantic way. It's disgusting, and it's against everything. It's not natural, and it's opening doors to all kinds of crazy behavior amongst the people. It's… it's so awful."

"Actually, it's not awful."

The words came from Will, and he was staring straight across the table at Sadie, who stared right back at him. The expression on her face was terrified, frozen with fear.

Michael blinked, as if he hadn't heard correctly. "I'm sorry. What did you say, William?"

The blonde waited a generous amount of time—too long, in Blaine's opinion—before he turned in his seat to look squarely at Mr. Anderson.

"I said," he spoke deliberately, "it's not an awful thing. To be gay."

Michael curled his lip. "I would prefer if you didn't use that word at my table, or in my household," he growled.

"Then what do you prefer?" Will asked snippily, rage flooding over him. "Homo? Fag?"

"None of them!" he roared, and rose to his feet, this time knocking his glass over. The bit of wine that was left at the bottom trickled out and dripped onto the table. "Stop speaking of such nonsense like you approve of the hideous disease!"

"Disease? That's what it is? A disease?" Will pushed away from the table and started to his feet, almost leaning over Blaine.

"Of course it is! It's an illness, a mental curse!" He rubbed one side of his face, exasperated. "It's a terrible way to live."

Will smirked. "Says you. You've never been in a _gay _relationship before." He sneered the word 'gay' as long as he could, and watched Mr. Anderson's face wrinkle.

"Will, sit down." Blaine finally found his voice and it was a hiss. He tugged at the other boy's sleeve.

Michael smacked his fist on the table, making Blaine jump in his chair. "Shut up, Blaine. I want to hear what your friend as to say about this. Go on, William. Enlighten me." His smile was venomous.

Will swallowed over the lump in his throat and it looked like all the confidence he had donned a moment ago was drained from him. His face looked suddenly pale in the lighting and his eyes were dull, not bright. He bit his lip.

"Being gay is not a sin, contrary to your beliefs," he said carefully. "It's just the same as a man and a woman falling in love and getting married. It's like you and your wife."

Michael gave a disapproved grunt. "Don't you dare compare that to my marriage. I don't want to hear you say that ever again!" he said and his voice rose to a shout.

It was so loud that Sadie shrunk in her seat and she cast a fearful, bewildered glance at Blaine, who sat frozen.

Will let out a laugh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but what you're saying is complete and utter bullshit." He paused as everyone winced. "Yeah, I said it. Your opinions are bullshit. Same-sex relationships aren't the worst thing that could happen to the world. The third World War won't start if gay marriage is legalized, or another plague that could wipe out half the population won't arise. That world would go one as it has been."

Blaine's father was read in the face now. "I can't believe you would defy me in my own house. Under my own roof. Of all things, Christians do not believe in it. It is not in the Bible, and it's certainly not favored in sermons every Sunday."

"That doesn't mean a thing. You can still be a Christian and support same-sex relationships," Will snarled. "And I have the freedom to say anything I want in _your _house. You have no control over me; I'm not your son."

"And I'm glad you're not my son!" he bellowed. "I don't know what I would do if my own son supported hideous diseases like this."

Will leaned back cockily on his heels, and Blaine knew exactly what he was going to say. Part of him wanted Will to just say it, that he was gay and that Blaine was gay and that they were in a relationship, and the other didn't. He couldn't bring himself to yank the blonde back into his seat.

"Oh, I don't just support it. I am a participant," he said smoothly without a trace of nervousness tainting his words. He saw a vein appear on the side of Michael's neck and went on, "That's right. I'm gay. Hear me? _I'm gay._"

"Will," Sadie said quietly in shock. Her brown eyes were shiny.

"I'm sorry to surprise you, Sadie," he said, "but it's the way it is. It's the way I am. And I'm also sorry to say that I'm incredibly in love with your brother." He smiled. "Actually, I'm not sorry."

Simultaneously, everyone sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth. Charlene let her mouth drop open and she looked from her son to Will and back again. Sadie wore an expression that said _wow, this is a surprise, but I sort of kind of suspected it. _Blaine wanted the floor to open up right under him and suck him up, and he wanted to never see the light of day ever again.

Michael's nostrils flared. The words came out, but they were chipped and fragments. "I can't—I don't—William, you can't possibly be—There's no way you're in love with my son—"

"Oh, but I am," Will said with an air of smugness. He placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze. "And your son is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Michael dropped his mouth. "Well, you're out of luck, because my son is not… a homosexual," he said firmly.

"Have you asked him?" Surprisingly, it was Sadie who spoke. She looked ready to stand up, but with one sharp glance from her father, she lost the will to.

"Why would I ever ask him what his sexual preference is?" he roared. "That is the most idiotic question to ever ask anyone!"

Quietly, Charlene leaned across the table and touched Blaine's hand lightly. He jumped at her touch.

"Blaine, can you tell me something?" Her question was lost in the grumbles and the loud smack as Michael threw his chair back, making it slap against the floor. "Are you… in love with Will?"

Blaine bit his lip until he broke skin, tasting the bitter metallic against his tongue. It made him wrinkle his nose and he gave a short nod. He couldn't speak, his throat was closing by the minute and by the end of dinner, he imagined himself suffocating.

Charlene withdrew her hand with a surprised blink. She did not look ashamed or disappointed or angry in the least. But even though it wasn't scolding, Blaine felt like she had just slapped him across the face.

At the end of the table, his father must have not seen him nod, as the heels of his hands were pressed against his eyes. He was muttering under his breath.

Blaine glanced up at Will. The blonde was scared, he knew that much, and his knees were almost knocking together. The hand on Blaine's shoulder shook slightly. Will realized Blaine was watching him and their eyes met.

Suddenly a shattering sound pierced the air and Sadie let out a shriek. Michael had flung his wineglass down at the hardwood floor and it lay in thousands of glittering pieces around his feet. He was breathing hard, staring murderously at Will. His gaze could bore holes through steel.

"I am not going to have this! I'm not going to have this queer ruining my family!" he shouted hoarsely. He slammed his hand down on his plate, grabbing the edge, and flung it to his left, against the window. It cracked in large chunks and there was a deeper shatter as the window pane was split.

"Michael!" Charlene stood up hastily from her chair. "Stop this! Right now!"

He panted. "Honey, this boy—actually, he's not even a boy, he's a demonic creature. This creature is trying to destroy our family. He's trying to force unwanted affection onto our son! I'm not going to stand for this!"

Will picked idly at his lip. "Well, I think you're going to have to. Your chair is sort of on the floor right now."

A split second later and Michael was charging forward, his hands stretched out, teeth clenched together with enough force to shatter them.

Blaine jumped up from his chair, standing between Will and his father. "Dad!" he shouted, and this made the man's movements cease. "Stop, please. You don't need to do this."

"Don't need to do this?" he repeated viciously. "Blaine, I'm sorry, but your friend is going to infect us all. He's plagued with the disease, and he must leave." He took a step forward and placed his palm flat against Blaine's chest.

"Dad," he said, his mouth dry, and he wrapped his hands around his father's wrist. "Don't hurt him, please. Please don't do anything."

Michael gave a forceful shove which sent Blaine tumbling backwards, tripping over two chairs, and he knocked into Will, who placed his hands against his back for balance. Blaine regained his footing and when he did, a stream of pain shot up his ankle. He had twisted it tripping over the two chairs. He leaned his arm against Will's shoulder and took his weight off that foot.

"Why should I?" Michael yelled, taking another deadly step forward, disregarding the chairs laying on the floor. "Why shouldn't I lay a hand on dear old William?"

"Because I love him!"

The words sent chills running up and down his spine and he could hardly believe that it was coming from his mouth. He didn't recognize the voice that said them, all scratchy and pained and begging, but it was his.

Will squeezing his hand brought him back. "Y-you love me?"

Blaine swallowed, unsuccessfully ridding of his dry mouth. "Of course I do," he exhaled.

A painful crack sounded. Michael had picked up one of the empty plates sitting on a placemat and had smashed it against the table, not bringing his eyes away from the two boys. He held a sharp triangle of ceramic in his hand, holding it so tightly that veins on the back of his hand stood out.

"Blaine, get away from him," he growled. "You don't love this boy. You love girls, son, not boys."

But Blaine stood where he was. He clutched Will's hand with enough force to cut off the blonde's circulation. He thought he saw Will wince, but didn't loosen his grip at all.

"No, Dad, I love Will," he choked out. When his father took a lazy step forward, the alcohol clearly affecting him, he took a step back and pulled Will with him. "I love Will, and there isn't a thing you can do about it."

Michael hurled the broken plate at the boys, missing and soaring through the air. It landed with a thunk behind them.

Blaine took another step back, and another, but soon the couch in the living room was prodding him in the back. He cursed inwardly, wishing the living room and dining room were separated by walls, but they were not. All they had to do was step over the threshold and they would be on carpet, not hardwood.

"I refuse to believe my son is gay," Michael spat and advance. "I _refuse_."

"Good luck with that," Will quipped.

He jabbed a finger at the blonde. "You shut the hell up, fag!"

Once again, the confident air was kicked out of Will's lungs and he snapped his mouth shut with the audible click of his teeth.

"Michael!" Charlene had found her voice and was pushing away from the table. She placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and tugged him back. "Stop this right now. I don't want you hurting these two boys, especially since one of them is your son."

He tore easily out of her grip. "Don't tell me what to do! I don't take orders from you!"

She recoiled like he had thrown a hot iron at her and tucked her hands to her chest. When he had whipped around to find Blaine and Will easing away from him, towards the other side of the table where Sadie was sitting, she motioned for her daughter to grab the phone that sat in the kitchen.

"I'm not finished with either of you yet!" he slurred loudly and lunged forward.

He caught the sleeve of Will's shirt and pinned him against the wall, pushing Blaine out of the way. He brought Will's head against the wall again and again until Will let out a whimper.

Blaine scrambled back, sliding against the floor, and winced when the ragged bits of glass snagged against his palm. He hurried picked them out and found blood pooling in his hand. He grabbed the back of a chair and hoisted himself to his feet, but he could not walk. His ankle did not let him.

Michael had fistfuls of Will's shirt and slammed him against the wall repeatedly. Will tried to duck out of his grip, but ended up with his back flat against the windows that looked out over the backyard. He was driven into the window, as he had been against the wall.

Charlene was attempting to pick her husband off the blonde boy, but was failing. He pushed her away every time she came close to him and finally brought the back of his hand against her cheek, sending her backwards, clutching her face.

"Mom!" Sadie shrieked. She was ducked behind the counter in the kitchen, peering over it cautiously.

"Sadie, get the phone!" Charlene commanded and took one hand away from her cheek. "Now! Call the police."

Sadie nodded until it looked like her head was going to fall off her shoulders and searched for the cordless device.

Blaine leaned his weight against the chair, his head dizzy. Everything around him blurred and the voices were muffled as they reached his ears. He shut his eyes for a brief moment and he leaned his forehead against his hands, and then he felt someone shove past him.

Instantly he pulled away from the chair and looked up.

His father stood there with red-rimmed eyes, seething and with a cut on his lip that trickled blood down his chin. At first he didn't seem to see his son, as he had his eyes trained on Will, who was pressed against the opposite wall with his hand covering his arm. Then he found Blaine.

"Get out of my way," he grunted.

Blaine couldn't come up with words quick enough, it seemed, because then Michael swept Sadie's chair off the floor and raised it over his head. Blaine ducked his head under his arms and felt pain shooting up and down his back. Daggers might as well have been digging into his back. He let out a howl of agony.

"Blaine!" Will shouted and his voice was raspy. He scrambled to his feet and when he brought his hand away, red stained his palm and dribbled down his arm.

He grabbed Blaine by the shoulders and yanked him out of the way. Blaine collapsed on the floor where the hardwood met the wall. Will turned back as Michael lifted a wide plate over his head and brought it down. The force was enough to crack the plate in half and bring Will to his knees.

"Sadie!" Charlene cried over the harsh words that Michael spat out. "Where is the damn phone?"

By her words, Sadie was sobbing. She was wringing her hands in the air in front of her face and was stumbling around the island in hopeless pursuit. "I don't know, Mom, I can't find it—"

"Move! I'm finding it!" She skirted around the other side of the table and, refraining from helping her son to his feet, pushed her daughter aside to grab the cordless from the dock that sat on the far corner of the counter. With shaking hands she dialed a number and held the phone to her ear.

As tear burned her eyes and trailed down her face in streams, Sadie pushed away from the counter. Through blurry vision she saw her father lift the leg of a broken chair in the air and bring it down on Will once, twice, three times. She tore away from the sight and dug in a random cabinet.

Her hands came upon something wide and heavy and she grabbed the handle of it. She unearthed the metal frying pan and almost dropped it from its weight. Kicking the cabinet door shut, she staggered into the dining room.

Blaine, lifting his head from his chest, wished he had never opened his eyes. He found Will laying on his back against the hardwood, his arms crossed over his face in defense. Blood drenched one of his sleeves clean through and it made Blaine's stomach churn uncomfortably.

He pushed himself into a sitting position with a yelp, his ankle and his back screaming. He watched as his father grappled for something else to throw, murder prominent in his eyes, and finally he found the mirror hanging on the wall beside the last window, next to the door that led outside.

The mirror was wide and ovular, its edges looking like it was cut with pinking shears, with a silky black ribbon keeping it up on the wall. It had been hanging on that wall since they had moved into the house and it had never been moved except to clean it.

Now, Michael tore the mirror off the wall and snapped the ribbon with a sickening sound. Letting out a gravelly yell, he careened it against the wall. It exploded in a shower of glass and sparkles that caught the light. He raised the largest chunk in his hand.

Blaine had a protest ready on his lips, ready to shout it with as much force as he could muster, but he was lost. His spinning head sent him into oblivion, and he couldn't help but fall back against the wall. When he did, he found the back of his shirt soaked with something wet.

He turned his head in case he got sick right there.

What seemed like miles away, Charlene was screaming into the phone, "Yes, he's hurting my children! Of course I want you to come now!"

Will gave a small groan as he lifted his head, peeling his eyes open. He jolted when he saw Blaine leaning against the wall and pulled himself to his elbows, dragging himself across the floor until he was resting beside the boy. He carefully looped his arm through Blaine's despite the pain it caused him.

Then, with a final, hollow clunk, the shouting stopped. Everything stopped. Except for the heavy breathing that sounded asthmatic.

"Sadie! What in the world did you do?" Charlene, and she dropped the phone. It cracked with a plastic sound.

A great, metal sound echoed as the pan in Sadie's hands dropped to the hardwood. Her hands flew up to her mouth in shock and she stumbled back a few steps. She back away from the body that was sprawled across the floor, away from the pot, away from the two boys cowering against the wall, oozing crimson from visible wounds.

"I-I stopped him from hurting Blaine," she choked out through uncontrollable sobs. "I stopped him from hurting Will. He's not going to hurt them anymore…"

Even with the pain, Blaine opened his eyes. His vision was spotted with black and red, but through that, he saw his sister, pale as if she had seen a ghost. Tears were running down her face freely and she kept shaking her head. It was only when he saw his father across the floor that he understood what she had done to him.

Blaine struggled to quickly sit up. His head spun and he wanted to lay back down, but he crawled to his knees. It was then that he noticed the arm wrapped around his—he glanced down and saw Will holding on to him.

In the bleak light, the blonde looked young. His hair was spotted with red in some places and matted down against his forehead. He was abnormally white and beads of sweat collected at his hairline, his forehead. His pink lips, which had a scrap running horizontally across them, were parted and he was breathing erratically.

"Will," he sputtered out and raised a shuddering hand to the boy's forehead. "Will, please." When the blonde made no movements, he shouted, "Mom!"

Will reached out blindly with his hand and smacked Blaine in the shoulder. "Shut up, dimwit. I'm alive, so stop shouting. It's already loud enough in here without you screaming your head off."

But there was not any other noise. Sadie had quieted her sobs and Charlene had her hands pressed over her face. Her footsteps were heard as she padded closer to them.

The words made Blaine sigh with relief, and it drove a knife into his ribs. He placed his hand over his side where it ached and licked his lips, feeling them already slick. He felt a foreign hand on his back.

"Blaine, don't be afraid," his mother whispered hurriedly. She helped him to his feet and let him lean against her, though it smeared blood against her crisp white top. "Please, don't be afraid. Help is coming. You're going to be alright." To Sadie, she barked, "Don't just stand there. Help Will. We're taking them to the front room."

"When will the ambulances get here?" Sadie stammered out. She cautiously looped Will's arm around her shoulders and pulled him along. Unlike Blaine, he was able to stand, but his left arm hung by his side.

"Soon, I'm sure," Charlene murmured. "Blaine, honey? Can you say anything? Anything at all?"

But Blaine nodded his head. His lips were numb and his head was whirling in circles until ultimately, the black consumed him.

* * *

Kurt sat, unmoving.

The silence of the room pounded against his ears and he blinked, the backs of his eyes prickling ever so slightly.

Will had his hands tight in his lap, his knuckles bone white. His face had turned the same color and he was staring at a blank spot behind Kurt, almost in a daze. He sat perfectly still.

Blaine's face was covered in one hand. He took in a shuddering breath.

"Now, you know." Will covered his mouth with one hand, looking down at the floor.

"I… I'm sorry," Kurt said finally.

The blonde got to his feet in a hurry. His eyes were hard, sharp, blazing with dark green fire. "No, you're not," he said, and his voice was surprisingly weak. "You're not sorry. You just wanted to hear that. Just for your own good. For your own benefit. You don't care."

"Will," Blaine said warningly, the first time he spoke. His lips were flattened into a line.

Kurt licked his lips tediously. "You know that's not—"

"I don't want to hear it!" Will exclaimed and took a hasty step away from the couch. He gripped the back of it until his knuckles turned white. "I don't want to hear you speak, Hummel. You're just self-centered, and you only care about what your boyfriend did with me. You don't care about the other things, what else happened."

Now, Blaine stood up. "Will, stop."

"Please," Kurt added, though he knew it wasn't going to change anything.

"I'm done. Hear me?" Will clenched his teeth. "I'm done with narrating our life with you." He cast a fleeting glance to Blaine, who looked away immediately. "I don't want to tell this story anymore, Kurt. And you shouldn't ask about it. It's none of your business."

"It _is _my business. Blaine is my boyfriend, and I deserve to know what happened with you and him," Kurt said dangerously.

Blaine was the one who spoke. "No, you don't."

Taking a quick breath, Kurt fixed his glare on him. "Blaine, you can't be serious."

The other boy licked his lips and stared at a blank spot on the wall for a long moment, hesitating in his words. "Maybe there are some things that you don't need to know about, Kurt," he said carefully. "And I don't mean to be rude, or—or hateful in any way, but some things are better off untold."

"I can't believe you," Kurt said quietly. "I thought you, of all people, would've wanted me to know about what happened with you and Will."

"Who is still right here," the blonde interjected cheekily.

Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "I know, I know, but you don't tell me everything. I think… I think some things should not be discussed. It's for the better."

"So you're siding against me on this?" Kurt snapped, placing his hands on his hips.

"It's nothing against you, Kurt." His words were slow, cautious. "I just think that what happened in the past should stay in the past."

"Hallelujah," Will muttered under his breath. He drew a circle in the carpet with the toe of his shoe.

Kurt eyed the blonde evilly. "Get out," he commanded.

"Don't worry. I was just on my way," he replied without missing a beat. He mimed tipping a hat as he strolled towards the doors.

Opening one, Kurt heard a soft, worried voice come from the hallway, saying, "Will, what's going on in there? Was there a fight?"

Will took a step back into the room and straightened his tie, chuckling under his breath. "James, did you really stay out here the entire time?" Before the other boy could reply, he continued, "I really don't think any of this is your business."

"But it's _our _business," said a cocky voice. Wes. "Now, what happened?"

Sighing, Blaine judiciously moved around the couch, careful to not make eye contact with Kurt, and went to the doors, swinging the other open. It appeared that Wes, David, and James were guarding the doors, and it looked like they had been for a long time.

"It's nothing," Blaine said and pulled a smile onto his face. "Just a little loud talking."

"A little loud talking my ass," David responded with his arms knitted over his chest.

James bobbed his head. "Agreed."

"Uh-uh. No way. You're not allowed to agree with us on anything," Wes said to the dark haired boy.

He looked bewildered. "But my opinion is the same as yours—"

"Don't care!" Wes pushed into the room, making Will and Blaine move out of the way. "Now what's going on?"

Silence swept across the room. Kurt felt, as he walked to the other side of the room, that his footsteps sounded too loud. He slowly came to stand beside Blaine, but didn't look at him; he was afraid to see his glare.

"I think Blaine and Will need to continue on with their story," he said evenly.

Will made an impatient noise. "That's all that is to you. A story. Judging by your tone of voice, you'd think that this never actually happened to us."

"I only want to know—" Kurt started.

James stepped forward. "And I do, too."

David rolled his eyes as he stepped into the room and shut the doors behind them, sealing them in. "Dude, stay out of this. You don't need to get caught up," he advised.

"I have a right to know, just like Kurt." He met Kurt's eyes; for once, Kurt did not glance away hurriedly. "Will is one of my closest friends and I would like to know what happened in his last relationship."

"Taking notes, are we?" Wes said dully, but with a smirk.

James flushed a vibrant pink and crossed the room with his head ducked. He stood between Will and Kurt, though closer to the latter.

"But that doesn't mean you _need _to know," Will protested.

"But I'd _like _to, so I can know what made you so angry." He stood tall, his chin raised a fraction.

Will softened his glare. "I'm not angry."

"Yeah, because this isn't angry," David said coolly. "Yelling at everyone isn't being angry at all."

Blaine glared at his friend, boring holes into his forehead. Finally David rolled his eyes and swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind him with a bang. Wes looked from the doors to Blaine and was not surprised to see him glaring at him as well.

"Oh, come on," Wes whined and tilted his head. "I'm not the one making all the remarks."

Blaine stayed silent.

"Okay, fine, Mr. Silent Treatment," he said and made his way to the doors. "But if a fight breaks out and someone gets hurt and I'm not here to call an ambulance for you, you'll be sorry." With that, he left the room, leaving the four boys alone.

At first, no one spoke.

Then, "Okay, explain. Now."

Will covered his face with both hands. "James, please leave. I'm begging you from the bottom of my heart. I will never ask anything of you again if you do this for me right now."

"No, I think he should stay," Kurt said quickly. "I mean, he's your best friend. He should be able to stay and listen."

"Listen to what? We're not talking about anything anymore." He let out a short breath.

James narrowed his eyes at the blonde. "Will, be serious here—"

"I am being serious!" the blonde said loudly. "I'm being so freaking serious, it's coming out my ears!"

"Don't be sarcastic—" he started.

Will's face tinted red. "I'm being anything but sarcastic."

"William!" James finally shouted. His voice sounded weak and feeble, and no one had heard him yell before. Physically he looked strained, and he pursed his lips. Quieter, he said, "Please stop interrupting me. It's very rude."

"Why do you think you have to know everything?" The words were slow, snippy. Will took a step forward. "You don't. You're just… you think you need to know all of this, but you don't. Believe it or not, there are some things that don't concern you."

The dark haired boy faltered slightly. "I only want to—"

"I know you want to know!" he exclaimed and threw his hands over his head. "I know, James! But right now, I wish you weren't curious. I wish you didn't want to know."

"But—"

Will huffed. "No buts. God, can you just stop pestering me for one second? You're getting on my last nerve."

"Will," Kurt said warningly. "You don't need to speak to him like that."

The blonde turned to face him and physically, James dropped his shoulders with relief. "I don't think _you _need to speak to _me _like that, Hummel," Will said and took a lazy step forward.

"Stop," Blaine said then and moved between Will and Kurt, holding one hand out. His eyes smoldered. "Will, you need to calm down. I think you need to leave."

Will rolled his eyes, exaggerating the motion. "Oh, _sure, _because I need to follow the orders of you!" He balled his fists at his sides and let out a long sigh. "Fine. If you want me gone, then I'll go. But don't expect anything more from me."

"Never have, never will," Blaine replied coldly and gradually lost the tension in his body.

He yanked once at his tie, loosening it, and stormed to the doors, throwing one open. He stalked out into the hall and was gone from sight.

Only James was left and hesitation covered his face. His eyes flashed between the door and Kurt, and he cast an apologetic look. Then he swiftly left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Blaine hid his face in his hands. "I wish you hadn't done that, Kurt," he said almost inaudibly. "Gotten to Will like that. You get under his skin quite a lot."

"It seems so," Kurt murmured.

"He's going to be mad at you," he whispered.

He shrugged. "I don't really care."

"You know, I think we could all use a break." Blaine ran a hand through his hair.

And Kurt tenderly pulled the other boy into his arms and hugged him.

* * *

That night found Kurt huddled in the front row of the auditorium. It was dark enough outside that if he tried, he could just make out the golden headlights that streaked down the highway a few miles away. The hour was late, and he knew he should be cramming in preparation for one of the pop quizzes that his Physics professor liked to pull on them, but he wasn't.

The auditorium was supposed to be locked by now, courtesy of the janitors, but there were some things that locks could not handle: the pointed end of a bobby pin.

Kurt stared at the bobby pin resting on the armrest beside him. Rachel had once taught him how to pick locks when the choir room at McKinley was locked once and she had forgotten her book bag inside.

"Rule number one," she had said as she unfolded the bobby pin, "is always remember one of these. It'll help you in the long run."

Kurt slipped the hair pin back in the inside pocket of his blazer, and tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Hi stomach growled faintly and he swallowed and ducked his head.

He had skipped dinner that night. There was no way he could face Will after what happened after class. There was no way he could look Blaine in the eye without having a minor panic attack. And there was definitely no way he could talk to James without tripping over his words.

If James had even gone to dinner.

But no, James always went to dinner, even if he never ate anything. He always went on Will's and Carson's requests and never failed to bring a book with him to read when he wasn't talking with the blondes.

Kurt licked his lips and looked up. On the stage, there was one light turned on, the emergency light. It was a small little light that hung down with the rest of the spotlights, but it only turned on at night.

In this dim light, the stage was visible, but barely. The piano seemed to glow with a white light, an angelic hue. The sight made Kurt sigh softly and he untangled his limbs, letting his feet touch the floor.

As he stood and started in the direction of the stairs, he wrapped his arms around his torso and chewed incessantly on his lower lip; soon, he figured, it would start bleeding.

But for now, his lips would have to suffer.

Kurt made his way up the stairs and stared across the stage. It was so silent, so fragile, and if he walked across it, he would certainly shatter it. But he slowly took a breath and carefully put one foot in front of the other until he stood in the center, the emergency light beaming down on him.

Licking his lips, which felt sore now, he stared into the darkness. There was a window on the auditorium doors and through that, he could see into the hallway, which was dimly lit. If anyone would walk by, he would see them. He hoped he wouldn't see anybody.

He parted his lips and, folding his hands together in front of him, began to sing, his voice barely a tremor.

_You don't like it in the shadows,_

_But you won't let me shine a light,_

_I would wash away your troubles,_

_But it seems the more that I hold on,_

_The more that you let go,_

_And I know, you better let somebody love you,_

_Or find yourself, on your own_

Far from the auditorium, on the other side of the campus, a blonde boy folded himself into a chair with his knees tucked to his chest. The television flickered in front of him, the lights flashing in the darkness and casting colors against his face.

The commons were empty, scarce of people, and the lights were turned off, save the small lamp in the far corner of the room. The doors were shut and everyone was tucked away in their rooms, cramming for next-day tests or trying to get sleep.

The television was on mute, the pictures jumping across the screen. The deafening silence made Will want to scream.

But he resisted the urge.

Instead he pulled a pillow into his lap and buried his face in it. No one had bothered him since the afternoon, right after class. Not since Kurt had dragged him out of South to endure questioning.

James had not said a word to him, and so far, he had not come in to tell Will to go to bed, to get some sleep. Carson had not bothered with him, either, knowing that Will would be stubborn in his decision to stay put, here in the commons.

He wanted to scream. To jump, to shout, to run away and never look back. The night of the beating sent shudders ripping up his spine, and he was to the point where he was not even sure it happened in the first place. But there was the scar. That was proof.

Blaine was proof.

Now, he sulked back into the cushions and watched as late-night commercials flickered on.

_Tell me why all the best laid plans fall apart in your hands,_

_And my good intentions never end the way I meant,_

_If we don't talk about the future,_

_Then should I just follow you into the dark,_

_Yeah, and does your silence keep you cold,_

_While the cracks form on my heart_

The soloist, with a pillow clutched to his chest, made his way across the hallway. All was dark and no light peeked from underneath the other doors lined up in the corridor.

Blaine raised one hand and knocked lightly on Kurt's door. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and waited patiently for one minute, then two, then three.

Instantly, he stepped back. Kurt was asleep and wasn't going to answer. The light was off from what Blaine could see, and he sighed shortly.

He turned on his heel and returned to his room.

_Tell me why all the best laid plans fall apart in your hands,_

_And my good intentions never end the way I meant,_

_It seems to me some fine friends have watched you turn your back,_

_It seems you only want the things that you can't have,_

_Tell me why all the best laid plans fall apart in your hands,_

_And my good intentions never end the way I meant_

Kurt let his voice fade into the vast silence. There was nothing more to do than to sit down on the stage and put his head in his hands.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Fire alarms, smoothies, and little fights._


	28. Don't Let It Break Your Heart

Hello, readers.

Okay, to start off, I must express that I really hated writing this chapter. I hate this chapter with a passion, because I can't write arguing scenes very well. I hate writing scenes where people are mad at each other, and from this, you can probably guess what's going to happen.

So yeah. I'm excited for Glee Tuesday, especially with Kurt and his Phantom of the Opera thing and Rachel doing a reprise of Don't Rain on My Parade. That should be good, especially with Whoopi Goldberg starring.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but if I did, I would write a spin-off show about the Warblers and Kurt and Rachel going off to New York.

Reviews would be lovely.

* * *

**Don't Let It Break Your Heart**

* * *

**_There was a time when you let me know / What's really going on below / But now you never show it to me, do you? – Hallelujah, _Leonard Cohen**

* * *

It was nearly seven-fifteen, and no one was ready to start the morning.

The North kitchen was warm and humid with the steam of Wes' expresso machine, which sat on the counter. It was plugged in to a wall outlet and it was set at full blast, spitting out hot liquid into a small ceramic mug. The machine made petite splurting noises as it did so. The sun was peeking above the horizon and the sky was colored with all hues of pink, orange, and yellow.

"I absolutely hate Monday mornings," Diego moaned from his seat at the bar. A cup of coffee sat loosely between his hands. The steam wafted up into his face and he inhaled deeply.

"They suck. I wish they would go away," Ronnie agreed in a low murmur as he stumbled to one of the cabinets and unearthed the blender. He set it not so gently on the island and stuffed the plug into the outlet. The fridge was raided as he searched for fruit and yogurt for a smoothie.

Cody rested his chin on his hand and lazily stirred his coffee with a spoon. "I concur most definitely."

The kitchen fell silent, as no one felt the urge to say anything after that.

Monday mornings were the only time of the day when the kitchen wasn't filled with boys. Most of them slept in on the first day of the school week, leaving the kitchen practically empty. No noise, no nothing.

It happened to be a good thing for Cody because he was free to cook in peace without worrying about people bumping into him and messing up whatever he was making. But this morning, he settled for coffee and a little bit of yogurt, but that was it. He didn't feel motivated enough to whip up something extravagant.

All in all, no one felt motivated to do much of anything. One entire week had passed since Kurt dragged William Fitzroy into North, and that was what kept the boys quiet. Will had never shouted, much less at another boy, and it was enough to silence everything.

And in that week, the wing war had dwindled. Nothing was shot at North, and in return, South went unharmed.

"It's a coincidence," Thomas had claimed earlier. "Kurt must've done something pretty awful to Will to make the whole war stop."

"I don't know. Maybe South is just getting tired of pestering us," Cody had mused. He paused. "But you'd think that South would be out to get now more than ever. I mean, we made Will mad. Shouldn't they be pranking us right now in retaliation?"

Thomas shrugged. "I don't know. But then again, no one really likes Will, not even the rest of his own wing. Well, Carson and James seem to like him. But still."

Needless to say, no one had much of a clue anymore. All that mattered was getting through each week in one piece.

Now, Ronnie dropped a carton of yogurt on the island with a plastic container of strawberries and started spooning a bit of each into the glass blender. His eyes were half shut, which explained why he missed the glass pitcher on the first try and dropped a dollop of yogurt on the counter.

"Ronnie," Wes said loudly to grab his attention, "you spilled some."

The camera boy merely mumbled under his breath and made no attempt to clean it up.

Wes hopped down from his seat beside David and pushed Cody put of the way of one of the cabinets below the counter. He dug through it for a brief moment, then came up with a wide frying pan. Next he pulled a wooden spoon from the silverware drawer and slammed it against the bottom of the pan, creating a noise that startled everyone.

Shrieking, Ronnie dropped the spoon in his hand and his eyes flew wide open. "Dude! What the hell?"

Wes gestured to the smear of yogurt on the counter by pointing his spoon at it. "You spilled a little. I thought you didn't hear me the first time." He set the pan and the spoon by the sink, making a sharp clatter, and stalked back to his seat. He huffed and downed at least half of his drink in one gulp.

"Thanks," Ronnie said sarcastically and pulled out a washcloth to dampen it and wipe up the mess.

"And thanks for using my pan and my spoon," Cody snapped at the other boy and snatched the pan and spoon into his hands. He scanned the bottom to check for dents or blemishes. "It survived Diego hitting it a few good times, but I don't know if it can withstand you…" He glared evilly at Wes, then at Diego, who simply shrugged his shoulders, clearly without regret.

Wes made a face. "You're welcome. Just trying to look out for everyone."

Just then, the doors opened and Thomas strode in, his face bright and glowing. "Good morning, everyone."

Ronnie's hand shot into the air as fast as a rocket, like he was asking a question during class, and it made Thomas stop in his tracks.

"Um, Ronnie," he said hesitantly and pointed to the boy.

Ronnie lowered his hand. "Sorry to put a stop to your happy parade, but one quick thing: why are you so peppy?"

"What do you mean?" The redhead blinked, taking a carton of orange juice from the top shelf of the fridge.

"It's Monday morning, the worst morning of the entire week, and you are so peppy, it's killing me right now," he elaborated and tore the leaves off the strawberry in his hand. Using a knife to chop off the leaves was out of the question, considering he would probably end up chopping off more than just the leaves, and so he picked them off, one by one, by hand. They were arranged in a neat pile on the counter.

Thomas shrugged and poured himself juice and took a long sip. "I don't know. I just am," he said when he had swallowed.

"He probably talked to Marissa last night," David suggested with hardly any volume. Wes, who was sitting beside him, had to lean to the side to hear him, and he chuckled.

"Actually, I did. And it was nice. She was nice. You know I haven't seen her since the break." Thomas blushed as bright as his hair and swallowed the rest of his juice. He choked on it and turned an even darker shade of red.

"Of course," Wes muttered under his breath, the words going straight down and drowning in his coffee.

But Thomas heard him. He slid the carton back into the fridge and his hand clenched the handle of the door. "What is that supposed to mean, Wes?"

He raised his head from his drink. "Nothing at all," he said coolly. "Was it supposed to mean something?"

"It sounded like it meant something. But I don't know. You tell me. You're the one who said it in the first place," Thomas snapped and shut the door with a quick flick of his wrist. He stared, hard, at Wes. "You know, something leads me to believe that you're jealous of me."

Wes snorted and just about choked on his mouthful of coffee. He set down his mug and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He braced both hands against the counter. "And why in the world would I be jealous of you? I'm fine being myself."

"Well, first off, I have a girlfriend," Thomas listed with a cocky ring to his tone that sent Cody and David sharing anxious looks across the kitchen. "And she is everything I could ever want in a girlfriend. Last time I checked, you were sadly single."

Jaw set, Wes leaned his elbows against the counter. "Don't start with that, Reid."

"Why shouldn't I start with that? I mean, it's obviously the most popular topic at the time," he said. "I don't know what else to start with."

The doors pushed open again, and this time, Kurt entered, Blaine following closely on his heels. This attracted the boys' attentions and momentarily, Wes and Thomas stopped mouthing off to each other.

Seeing everyone stare at him made Kurt stop. "Oh, hello," he said in a tiny voice. "What are we doing?"

"Having breakfast," Cody said as he crossed the room to the pantry for a box of cereal. He came out a moment later. "I'm starved."

"And you're eating cereal? In what universe?" Blaine asked and gave Kurt a gentle nudge in the small of his back to get him to take another step forward.

"The same one where Thomas thinks I'm jealous of him," Wes blurted and got to his feet. He snagged his cup from the bar and marched to his expresso machine to fill it again for what seemed like the third or fourth time that morning.

"Well, if I didn't know any better, it sounds like you are." The redhead knitted his arms over his chest and stared crossly at the other boy.

Wes turned on him. "I'm not, okay? Just drop it," he commanded.

"Oh, Wes," he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Are you jealous that I have a girlfriend and you've never had one? Ever?"

Calmly, he wrapped his hands around his mug and turned around to face everyone. David had gone still at the bar; Cody was in the process of pouring cereal into a bowl; Diego was silent, for once; and Kurt and Blaine stood in the doorway, staring.

"Listen to me, Thomas," Wes said smoothly as steam wafted into his face. "I am not jealous of you whatsoever. There is no jealousy here at all. Nope, none at all. I just want you to drop the subject so we can get on with our morning without anyone getting a black eye." He took a sip of coffee and stalked past him, then Kurt and Blaine, to the doors and disappeared.

As he left, the talking followed him out of the room, and no one had the heart to say anything of it.

Then, Diego huffed, "What's his problem?"

"He always has a problem with something," Thomas said and lifted his shoulders.

"Seems like it." Kurt nodded and crossed the kitchen to the table in the back. He pulled out a chair by the windows and sat down. Blaine followed in suit and sat down in the chair across the table from him.

David licked his lips. "Don't be so mean to him, Thomas. You know everything's sort of getting to him all at once."

"What things?" Cody asked quietly and nibbled on a flake of cereal.

"Not being able to go to Nationals, to start," David said uneasily, "and then the whole thing with his mom losing her job and money being tight. I haven't seen him this stressed in a long time."

"I hope he's alright," Blaine murmured to Kurt when the others had gone back to eating and talking amongst themselves. He looked over his shoulder at the doors. "Wes, I mean. He looked pretty pissed when he left."

"I hope he does, too," Kurt said and pulled out a binder from his knapsack, setting it on the table. He grabbed a pen and flipped open the binder to a worksheet. He lifted a textbook out of his bag as well and flipped endlessly to the right page.

Blaine turned back around and leaned forward. "What class is that?" he asked curiously.

There was a moment of delayed reaction. "Physics," Kurt finally answered and peered up at him through his long lashes.

He beamed and sat back in his chair. "I am so glad I took Physics last semester. That class nearly killed my GPA."

"Then would you mind helping me out?"

"Didn't I basically say I failed the class?" Blaine asked and drew circles in the wood table with his finger tip. He chuckled. "I don't think I'd be very helpful to you at all. I'd give you all the wrong answers."

Kurt stared flatly at him. "I am not asking you for answers. I just asked if you would help me understand the material a little better, not cheat," he said, focusing on his work once again. He flipped a page in his textbook.

"I was kidding," Blaine said easily. He reached across the table and slipped the worksheet out of Kurt's grip, oblivious to the glare Kurt gave him. "Which one do you want me to help you with?"

The other boy shook his head and plucked the paper from Blaine's hands. "Never mind. I'll figure it out soon enough."

Blaine waited for more words to follow, but when they didn't, he sighed and looked over his shoulder at the boys, drinking coffee and munching on breakfast.

Ronnie had a carton of milk in his hands and was pouring a good amount into the glass blender in hopes of making a smoothie. Diego was almost asleep, head tucked in his arms, and David looked half tempted to poke him awake. Cody stirred cereal around in his bowl and didn't look up to eating the rest of it.

"How are your rehearsals with Will going?" Blaine asked, changing topics, and turned his body to face Kurt again. His hands twitched, wanting to reach across the table and take one of Kurt's, but he held them tight in his lap.

"Fine," was Kurt's one-word reply as he scribbled down answer after answer. His head bobbed back and forth between looking through the book for answers and studying his worksheet. "Though he canceled the one we were supposed to have last week. Something tells me that he's still mad about…" He looked up from under his lashes again. "You know."

Blaine nodded. "Ah, right." He paused, then, "Do you want to tell me what song you two are singing?" He fiddled with the cuffs of his blazer. Behind them, the group of boys had lowered their conversations and Blaine couldn't help but sit up straighter, more aware of them listening in.

Kurt bit his lip. "You'll find out at the Show," he said and set his pencil down. He slipped the worksheet back into the binder and tucked his pencil behind his ear, then looked at Blaine curiously. "What? What's wrong?"

He pressed his lips together to form a flat line. "Nothing, nothing."

"I've heard that one before, and mostly from me. You can tell me anything. You know that," Kurt said, and a smile ghosted over his lips. He set his hand on the table, palm up, and it was an invitation for Blaine to grasp his hand.

To his surprise, Blaine clutched his mug even tighter and chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at a blank spot on the table.

Kurt withdrew his hand and folded them in his lap.

There was a clod of mumbling in the kitchen, and Kurt looked over his shoulder at his friends. David was whispering something to Diego, who looked like he couldn't care less. David gave up on him and got down from his seat at the bar, heading over to Thomas and Cody.

Both their eyes flickered towards the back table, and Kurt felt his ears start to burn. Thomas nudged David when he caught Kurt watching them and the whispering dropped immediately.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Blaine questioned, though he didn't move his eyes to look at them.

"Probably us," Kurt said shortly and turned away. "Now, what's wrong? I haven't seen you so worried about something since Regionals."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm fine. Really, I am. I'm just tired."

Kurt sat back in his chair and stared at the boy. "Blaine," he said in a warning tone, "whenever you get like this, I know you're hiding something." He paused to lick his lips. "At least, I think that's the case, anyway. I should know you well enough."

Ducking his head, Blaine mumbled something that sounded like, "Sometimes I don't think I know you at all."

"What did you say?" he demanded and sat up.

Blaine exhaled and the steam from his coffee cup billowed up in a cloud of white. "So you're still singing with him? With Will? For the Spring Show?"

"I pulled his name out of the hat," Kurt said, frowning, "which means we're partners. I haven't—or he hasn't—done anything to change that status. I don't see the reason for your huffy mood."

"My_ huffy mood_?" Blaine repeated incredulously. "I should have the right to be huffy. After all, you're singing with my ex-boyfriend. Who, I should recall, yelled at you last week."

Kurt held up his hands in defense. "I think we've covered that more than once, Blaine. And he yelled at you, too."

Blaine pinched his lips into a tight line and took a sour sip of his coffee, not replying.

This gesture made Kurt bite his lip. "Look, I had no choice in the matter. If we were allowed to choose, I would most definitely ask for you, and I did, right before Lovett pulled out the hat. But I can't change what's already been done."

"Simon and Adam did it," Blaine mumbled. He looked up to find Kurt's glare pointed and curious. "Didn't you hear? After Adam joined, Simon was persistent to be his partner. They swapped and put Ronnie with Nick."

"I know what happened," Kurt said bitterly, although he hadn't heard about it at all. But he wasn't going to admit that.

"Then it should be no problem asking Lovett for a change, shouldn't it?" Blaine looked at him from the corner of his eye.

He hesitated. "I am not going to ask for a change, Blaine."

"And why not?" His voice rose a level.

Kurt sat back, with his back touching the chair. "Because it's not necessary."

And that did it.

"Not necessary? He's insane, especially after what happened last week. I don't know why you would want to stay his partner," Blaine grumbled fiercely. "He's awful to be around, and awful to sing with."

"That's not true," Kurt blurted before Blaine could continue. "I know practically everyone, besides Carson and James, hates him—"

"And for the obvious reasons," he interrupted.

"—but he's actually very…" He trailed off, racking his brain for words. Somehow he knew that any word would set Blaine off. "Okay."

Blaine narrowed his eyes at him. "He's very 'okay'?"

"What else is there to say? If I go complimenting him, you're going to flip, so I thought 'okay' would sum up my feelings pretty well," Kurt remarked, and he felt his voice crack. "He's not exactly vile, but he's not exactly my cup of tea, okay?"

Blaine looked over at him and his knuckles were turning white from gripping his mug so tightly. The crack in Kurt's voice had caught the other boys' attentions on the other side of the kitchen and they were all but leaning forward to catch a few words of the conversation.

Ronnie kept flicking the blender on and off, seeing if it would work, and he didn't seem to get why he was getting shushed so noisily for it. Blaine shot them glares to get the message across, and Cody ducked behind the counter.

Kurt snapped his fingers twice in front of Blaine's face. "Hey. Are you even listening to me?"

"No, because I'm trying to keep this whole… thing," he said and gestured to the air around them, "from becoming Dalton's newest gossip."

Kurt didn't spare a glance over his shoulder. "I don't care about them. I care about what we're talking about."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Really. And you also seem to care an awful lot about Will, too, don't you?"

The heat rushing to his face, Kurt braced his hands against the table. "I don't care about Will at all. In fact, I hardly am fond of him. But even having said that, I don't know what you're problem with him is. I know he's your ex, but that doesn't mean I should automatically hate him, too."

"I don't hate him," Blaine said before Kurt had even finished his sentence. He waited a moment, trying to find the right words. "I dislike him heavily."

"So basically, you hate him."

"I told you, I don't hate him!"

Kurt shushed him. "You don't have to yell," he snapped.

Ten seconds passed and neither of them spoke again.

Then, "Kurt, I don't hate him. Don't think that."

Kurt stared at him. "I heard you the first time. No sense in repeating yourself," he said. "Seriously, he's fine. He's not out to get me or trying to ruin my life in every possible way, contrary to popular belief. He's a normal person who happened to date you way back when. There's nothing suspicious about that."

Blaine shook his head. "I still don't like the idea of you singing with him," he stated plainly and fixed his eyes on his hands.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Kurt snapped in retaliation. "Do you want me to go up to Lovett and ask her if I could change partners? To be your partner instead? That won't work out very well. Sure, I am fully capable of asking her, but she won't say yes. We're too close to the Show to make random switches like this."

"I've been asking you to do this since the beginning, but you wouldn't listen to me," Blaine said, and his voice rose another volume level.

Kurt watched him and dropped his shoulders. "Why are you so upset with me singing with him? It's only one song. It's not a marriage proposal."

"It might as well be," Blaine said sharply. "I mean, you spend so much time over in South that you're practically married."

"That's because there's this little thing called 'rehearsal' that we do, see—"

Blaine looked agitated. "Don't get smart with me."

"I wasn't being smart! I was only telling you what's going on. Sometimes I have to use a little sarcasm to get your attention," Kurt defended.

"Whatever. I'm sorry. Go on," he said in a flat tone.

Kurt ran his tongue across the front of his teeth, vexed. "All we do is rehearse. Sometimes, we'll stop and take a break and happen to talk about the weather. When we're done with that, maybe we'll talk about the Warblers, and about exams, how they're freaking us both out. Occasionally, but not too often, we'll start on the wing war, though we don't get very far with that discussion."

Blaine had a peeved expression over his face and he looked like he hadn't heard a word of what Kurt said. "And James? What about him? What's he doing over there while you're flirting your ass off with Will?"

"That's what you think I'm doing while I'm over there? Flirting with Will?" Kurt widened his eyes. "You're sorely mistaken. We'll talk, but that's about it."

"Well, what else would you be doing over there besides flirting with him? Oh, I know. Flirting with _James_. I forgot about that. But how could I? I mean, he's practically stalking you."

Kurt felt the blood rush to his face and he stammered a little before finally coming out with, "James has nothing to do with what we're talking about. We're talking about Will, not him."

"Because you just _love _talking about Will," Blaine said in a mocking tone.

"Don't turn everything I say around on me!" Kurt exclaimed, exasperated.

He shook his head and pushed his coffee mug away from him. It nearly turned over but stopped before it did. "It's hard not to. First, you haven't changed partners, and second, you're still leading James on."

"Leading James on—?" Kurt choked on the words. "I only talk to him."

Blaine pushed away from the table and stood up then. "See, I knew it. You were spending your time over there with him rather than rehearsing."

Kurt ran his hands through his hair. He felt small tilting his head back to stare up at him, so he kept his eyes forward. "So I tell you I'm rehearsing with Will, and you get mad at me. I tell you that James is over there and I may talk to him occasionally, and you get mad at me for _that _and you want me to rehearse with Will. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I don't understand you," Blaine said hastily, looking down at him.

Finally, Kurt looked up at him. "So you think all my time in South is spent flirting with both of them?"

"Well, you don't do anything else, do you?" Blaine asked harshly. It sounded not like a question, but a fierce statement instead.

Now Kurt shot to his feet, his head spinning. He pointed a finger accusingly at the other boy, something he thought he would never do in a million years. "Listen to me, Blaine Anderson," he spoke. "I don't flirt with Will. He can hardly keep up a conversation, and I think that's because he doesn't want you to throw a tantrum over it. He knows when to stop."

Blaine's face colored. "Will knows better, but James doesn't. He doesn't know when enough is enough."

"That's because he's miserable and needs someone to at least show a little sympathy for him. He's not all bright eyes and happy face like he shows off every day. I may not know what he looks like through your eyes, but from my standpoint—"

"Why would you show sympathy for _him_?" Blaine asked furiously.

Kurt set his jaw. "Because he's somewhat of my friend, and I hate seeing him like this! He hasn't—he's not—" He chewed furiously on his lower lip.

Blaine waited and crossed his arms over his chest. "What? What are you going to say?"

Kurt blanched and licked his lips tediously. "I only want to make him feel kind of accepted in this school. He's trying to do well in sports, and he's trying to do well in the Warblers, but all you and everyone else do is hate him. He's not that bad of a person—"

"Yes, he is," Blaine snarled.

"And tell me, how is he a bad person? Considering I'm the only one who really knows him around here. Last time I checked, the last time you had an actual conversation with him was when you were staking me as your property."

Blaine rubbed his temples, frustrated. "That's because I don't _care _to have a conversation with him. He's a lunatic, and he's crazy, and he's trying to get in your head!"

"He's not a lunatic," Kurt answered. "He's upset with himself and misunderstood and I'm trying to help him see that at least one person cares about him—"

"It doesn't work like that when he's in _love _with you," Blaine interrupted and braced his hands on the table. "Contrary to what your current belief is, you're not helping him. You're not. You may think that you're being a good person and helping him through his 'hard times' but you're really letting him think that he actually has a chance with you. You need to leave him alone."

Kurt pinched his lips. "And without anyone, he's a mess. I'm the only one he has."

"I don't care if he's a mess or not! I just want him away from _you_!" Blaine shouted. His voice echoed against the walls. "In fact, I want _both _of them away from you!"

"Well, good luck with that!" Kurt shouted and stepped away from the table. He pushed the chair out of his way. "Because I'm still going to have rehearsals with _Will "_—he saw the way pain streaked across Blaine's face—"when he decides to stop acting childish, and James is still considered my friend, and we're still going to talk. You know, I thought better of you, Blaine. I thought I could trust you."

Blaine licked his lips, his gaze hardand unyielding. "And I thought I could trust you, too! I thought I could trust you to not run off with the first cute guy you see!"

Kurt balled his fists by his side. "I'm not running off with either of them!" he screamed. He didn't turn his head when Ronnie set the blender whirling again on the other side of the kitchen. The boys were slack-jawed as they witnessed the shouting and the screaming back and forth.

"How do I know that?" Blaine shouted. He looked like he wanted to kick something, but he stayed frozen where he stood.

"Because you should know that I'm in love with you; you're the only one I would ever run off with!"

Blaine dropped his stare.

Kurt blinked and turned away from him. He didn't know when they had appeared, but tears burned his eyes like salt in a wound and he reached up to dab them away with his sleeve. A hand grasped his wrist and he snapped his head up, eyes surely rimmed with red. As he expected, it was Blaine holding him.

"Don't touch me. I don't want you to touch me," he barked and tugged his hand away, rubbing his wrist as if he had been chained. "Actually, get away from me."

The look on Blaine's face was distressed. "Kurt—"

Kurt shook his head blindly and wiped his cheek. Tears clogged his vision and words were impossible beyond this point. Even if they were, he wouldn't know what to say first. There were so many things piled on his tongue—swearing at Blaine and anyone who got in the way, shouting at his friends who stood at the kitchen island in silence, complaints to Ronnie to shut off that damn blender, and screams at himself for being so, so stupid to think that any of this would possibly work well.

He wanted to throw anything within reach, whether it was a binder or a book—just to force the frustration away from him. He didn't care who it hit, even if it was Blaine. He didn't want to look at Blaine anymore. Resentment did not fare well with him and he had no idea what to do or what to say or how to act at this point. There was no way to keep the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks or to keep his face from turning an ugly pink.

Sharp replies, Blaine could handle, but not the tears or the red eyes or the pained shouting. Instantly his shoulders dropped and his heart fell with it. He felt hollow inside. Why couldn't Kurt see what he saw, what kind of people both James and Will were? They were cruel figures who only wanted the best for themselves, crushing everything else who happened to stand in their path. And Kurt was standing there without any intentions to move. It was unfathomable why Kurt was so persistent to defend the two boys. What he was saying was right… wasn't it? He knew South better than Kurt did, right?

Suddenly a sharp whirring from behind them sounded and pink erupted from the blender in Ronnie's hands, followed by a loud pop. A wave of yogurt and chunks of fruit flew everywhere across the kitchen. Cody jumped when the concoction covered his face and Thomas shielded himself with his arms. Diego and David both let out yells of frustration mixed with colorful swears.

Ronnie stood in front of the counter, frozen, as the blender emitted a wave of smoke and a small patch of sparks fired from the outlet. Instead of yanking out the cord, he ungracefully scrambled under the sink and came up with a fire extinguisher. He tugged out the plug and aimed the nozzle to spray.

"Ronnie, what in the world—" Diego started, one hand reached out toward the device.

White sprayed across the kitchen in clouds. The foam instantly hid the blender, which had stopped spewing pink smoothie and was now making irritable grinding noises. Cody hid behind the tall redhead to avoid being hit by the foam, but was unsuccessful; he ended up getting a face full of it. Thomas was covered from head to toe with the gunk.

A sudden yell of protest came from the door, and Wes had his face buried in his arms, an empty coffee mug in his hands.

"What are you doing in here?" he yelled over the sound of the blender grinding and whirling and muttered curses. "Markus is on his way here and you guys are acting like a bunch of idiots!"

All motion in the room stopped. Kurt sucked in an audible breath, and a horrified look crossed Diego's face. He snatched the fire extinguisher from Ronnie's hands, which made it squirt one last time, and he stuffed it in the cabinet under the sink. Slamming the door shut, he tore the cord of the blender out of its socket. He snatched his hand away as quickly as he had reached for it, clutching it to his chest; the sparks had caught his skin.

"Wes!" he shouted. "Hit the fire alarm!"

He acted as if he was just asked to step in a firing line. "_What?"_

"We basically have a fire in here! Just do it!"

Without further hesitation, Wes slammed his hand over the little red box on the wall by the oven. A blaring siren cut through the air and the single sprinkler on the ceiling rained water down on all of them. The icy water soaked through their uniforms and made Kurt shiver. The water plastered his hair to his face and through the shower, he glared hotly at Blaine.

"Kurt—" Blaine said again.

Kurt covered his ears with his hands and took a step away from him, putting space between them. Though he did not say a word, that was all it took for Blaine to fall painfully silent, taking a step back as well.

The doors to the kitchen opened at that moment and the Dean curiously stuck his head in. He was clad in a tweed suit and dark loafers, his eyes scanning the room. Seeing the globs of fruit and smears of pink, the clouds of white foam everywhere, and the sprinkler on the ceiling running made him raise an eyebrow. He blinked and stepped cautiously into the room.

"Good morning, boys," he said calmly and looked up at the ceiling, where a bit of pink seemed to have gotten. "I see you're all having a wonderful breakfast. My, I've never thought of sticking… what is that?" He gestured to the pink.

All eyes turned to the boy with the camera.

"A s-smoothie, sir," he stuttered.

Markus nodded. "I've never thought of sticking a smoothie on the ceiling before," he finished and crossed his arms behind his back. "Now, what is the meaning of this mess? I've never seen this much destruction this early in the morning since 1999, when a Chemistry experiment went badly in East…" He faded to leave the boys to their imaginations.

"Well, sir," Diego said confidently, but he wore a look that said he was making things up on he spot, "as you can see, we had a little run-in with the blender. Ronnie here"—he clapped his hands on the boy's shoulders—"accidentally forgot to place the lid back on before he started it up, and it exploded. That's why there is pink everywhere. And next, to explain the sprinkler system going off and the mass amounts of extinguisher foam, the blender had a little issue with the wiring and blew up. Sort of." He gestured to the blender as if he was displaying a watch on the shopping network.

Markus listened to his explanation intently as the other boys gaped at the Precursor in awe.

"We don't really know what caused the sparks, but it grew into bit of a problem. The flame eventually got to the point where we had to break out the trusty old fire extinguisher," Diego continued on, calm as ever. His outlook was completely opposite of that before Markus had showed up. "Ronnie took out the extinguisher to help put out the flame and at the same moment, Wes hit the fire alarm in panic. That would explain the sprinkler system going off and foam all over the floor." He finished without so much as a break in his voice and he held a perfect poker face.

The Dean pursed his lips and avoided stepping in a pile of foam. "I can see that. Next time, be a little more careful with your appliances, boys," he said thoughtfully. "But I'm sorry to say that this will have to serve as one of your inspections."

Diego's mouth dropped to the floor and his serene air vanished. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is our inspection?"

"One of them," he murmured and examined the rest of the kitchen, making eye contact with Kurt and Blaine at the back of the room, both of whom were dripping wet.

"What? Why? I thought we were having an inspection at the end of the semester?" Thomas blurted. "That's the way we always do it. At the end of the eighteen weeks. Last time I checked, we weren't at the end of the eighteen weeks."

Markus sighed heavily. "Normally, it would be at the end of the semester, like always, but under the circumstances of your sudden rivalry with the South wing, it has come to my attention that we need to keep a close eye on both of you. Both wings, that is. With you and the South wing attacking each other with random acts of vandalism, we aren't able to ensure the state of the appliances and the safety of everyone. We've already had to pay for new furniture and appliances once this year…" He trailed off, directing his glare at David and Wes. "So I will personally be performing wing inspections more frequently."

"Oh," was all Diego was able to say. Kurt was sure anything else would have been a jumbled mess of words.

"But what about the thing between all the wings about inspections?" Ronnie chirped curiously. "Where the wing with the best marks gets privileges for the next semester?"

The Dean nodded. "Not to worry, Mr. Starr. I will be checking the other wings at a rate to match yours and South's. West and East will not go without numerous inspections this semester, so you will all be even."

Ronnie nodded silently.

"And since your kitchen is in near shambles at the moment," Markus said sadly and stepped past Thomas and Cody, who were wet and covered in foam from the extinguisher, "I am allowing you all an excuse to arrive to class late if you'll clean up and change. Until next time, boys." He left the kitchen, the doors falling shut behind him.

"Wonderful," Diego proclaimed and covered his face, leaning against the counter. "Just wonderful."

Thomas shrugged. "Hey, at least we get to go to class late," he pointed out.

"But we kind of have to clean all this up," Cody reminded him and switched off the flame on the stovetop that was now flashing orange with hints of blue.

"Good job, Ronnie," Wes muttered, placing his empty coffee mug in the sink.

Ronnie held up his hands in defense. "It was an accident. It could happen to anyone."

David made a noise by sucking in air through his teeth. "Not really. Just you."

The boy appeared like he wanted to say more, but simply sighed and grabbed a wash towel from the drawer to start cleaning up the mess.

"Nice thinking, though. Telling me to hit the fire alarm," Wes mentioned to the Precursor.

"There was a fire," Diego snapped. He shook his head dismissively. "But I feel sick. I haven't done anything this bad in my four years at Dalton."

"Oh, yeah, is that senioritis getting to you yet?" David asked with a joking smile.

He returned with a content sigh. "It is, David. But I can't wait to graduate so I will never have to be around any of you ever again! You all drive me up the wall!" he shouted. "And you're ruining North's chances at beating the other wings in inspections. If you keep this up, we'll be dead last. We'll be behind _West_," he added.

"Well, at least we're not driving you _into _a wall. Be thankful for that," Ronnie muttered, laughing under his breath. Diego swatted him over the head with a dish towel.

In the back of the kitchen, Blaine turned his attention back on Kurt, whose face had gone from flushed and pink to bone white. Red rimmed his eyes from crying and physically he looked exhausted.

"Kurt," he said softly. "Listen to me."

"No," Kurt said, voice trembling. "I'm not going to listen to a word you say. I'm sick of you telling me to stay away from James, and Will, for that matter. They're both somewhat okay people, and you clearly can't see that."

Blaine's jaw set. "That's because they want you. They want what I have."

"Had. What you _had_, Blaine." Kurt strode past him and their shoulders knocked together. The push made Blaine lose his footing momentarily and he whirled around, only to see Kurt stalking towards the doors, through the mess of foam and pink smoothie. Overhead, the sprinkler had finally ceased spraying.

"Kurt? Where are you going? We could use an extra hand," Diego murmured absently as he wiped down the blender. Cody smacked him in the shoulder and he looked up, confused.

Kurt halted where he was, standing in the doorway, frozen where he was.

"I'm…" was all he could utter to the boys cleaning up, watching them with red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks staining his cheeks. Then he covered his mouth hastily to cover a sob that wracked his body, almost as if he was going to get sick on the spot. He wrapped his other arm around his torso and he legs were unsteady beneath him. He half expected to collapse right then and there.

Diego's face went calm and his lips parted enough to gasp quietly, and he realized his mistake. "Oh, my god. Kurt, I'm sorry."

Cody dropped the wash rag he had been handed. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, gleaming and the color of a rabbit's fur. "Kurt…"

"Kurt—" The name slipped through Blaine's lips a moment after Cody said it and before he realized what he was doing, his legs carried him around the counter; he was oblivious to the stares he received from the others. Cody was too busy gawking at Kurt, who held back another heaving sob.

But it wasn't heard. Kurt's ears were filled with the shouting, so much shouting, and the crying the rushing thud of his pulse. His heart raced in his chest and he shook his head, which only made him dizzier than he had been.

"Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Blaine stopped where he was. Desperately he wanted to rush to the other boy's aid, to hold him against his chest and apologize until the words sounded funny, foreign, in his mouth, until the tears ceased. But he could not move. He was rooted to the spot.

Tearing his eyes away from the floor, Kurt lifted his head and swallowed roughly. He had half a mind to run back to the table by the windows to fetch his knapsack, though he did not want to face Blaine. He didn't want to look at him, touch him, speak to him—nothing of the sort.

And so, he dashed out of the kitchen.

The corridors were empty as he raced forward, as everyone was in first period. After turning into the dorm hallway, he slowed to a walk, clutching his chest, sobs ripping like claws at his throat. His eyes grew watery again and his vision was blurry from tears. The wall was a guide for him as he proceeded to walk. He ran his hand against it, occasionally brushing the doors of the rooms of others.

Finally he looked up when he discovered he was at the end of the hall. On his left stood his own room, and on the right, Blaine's room. He fled to the left and slammed himself behind the door.

* * *

Everything had gone silent enough to hear a pin drop.

Blaine was on the verge of crumpling to the floor, and he gripped the corner of the island to keep steady. His head pounded like a drum, his pulse in his ears, and he could hardly see straight.

"What the hell, dude?" Wes burst out in confusion. He tossed his rag on the counter and abandoned cleaning up, leaving the others to wipe up. "What in the world was that?"

"You heard what happened. You were right there," Blaine replied weakly.

"Yeah, I know, I heard everything, but that doesn't give you an excuse to yell at him like that." He crossed his arms and stared, hard, at Blaine, willing him to look up. "What for?"

Blaine shook his head. "Did you hear what he was saying to me? I had as good of a right to yell as he did! He was defending Will and James!"

David winced. "Well, you did accuse him of cheating on you with them. It levels out the playing field, if you ask me."

"I didn't _ask _you," he snapped at him and pushed away from the counter in a quick motion.

Though the snap was directed specifically at David, Cody hid behind his hands.

Blaine let out a long sigh and leaned against the wall.

"This isn't like you," Diego muttered unexpectedly. "And I know I shouldn't be saying this, considering I don't know you as well as the others do. But what I do know is you don't get worked up over things like this."

Thomas nodded. "You haven't yelled like this since your meltdown with Will."

Pointing at him, Blaine ground his teeth. "That," he said, "was because that jerk deserved it."

"Breaking up with you for good reasons didn't mean you had to yell so loud that Markus could've heard it in his office. He definitely didn't deserve you throwing things at him. You threw an encyclopedia at him, Blaine. It left a bruise on his shoulder for a month," David quipped without looking up from scrubbing the granite. He kept his lips in a tight line as he tossed a chunk of fruit into the sink. He added, "I mean, if you had to hit him, you should've hit him with a vase or something—"

"We're not talking about my breakup that happened two years ago!" Blaine said so loudly, it made Cody jump, and he took a step forward. "We're talking about the present! Like, what just happened right now!"

No one had the courage to say a word to him.

"You were being mean to Kurt," Cody mentioned quietly after a few minutes passed. He crept to the door, looking out into the hall, as if he was expecting Kurt to reappear any moment. He pulled away from the door. "I'm going to see how he's doing."

And he disappeared into the hallway.

As soon as he left and the sound of his petite footsteps faded, Blaine trudged to the table and yanked one of the empty chairs down, using as much force as he could muster. It slapped against the floor with a loud crack. In a rage, he reached for something else, anything he could get his hands on, but Wes' hand was on his shoulder, pulling him back, and he was back to reality.

"Calm down, man," Wes commanded and stood in front of him. He placed his hands on either side of his face, which stopped Blaine. "You need to stay calm, okay? That poor chair didn't do anything to you."

"And neither did James," David muttered and rinsed his hands under the faucet.

Somehow, over the rushing of the faucet, Blaine protested, "He had _everything _to do with it! He's the cause of it all! He's why Kurt is so angry with me right now! Kurt favors that goody-two-shoes piano player over me."

Thomas made a _tsk _noise with his tongue. "James isn't the cause, Blaine, no matter how he acts. Kurt isn't restricted to staying on your side forever. You forget that they're friends, and friends stay friends."

"Will and I were friends once. Look what happened," Blaine shot back.

"You happened to be _very _good friends back then," Wes snickered under his breath and received an elbow to the stomach.

Blaine covered his hands with his face and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was expected to throw something else or make a snappy remark, but instead, he pulled out another kitchen chair and fell into it. Seeing Kurt with tears running down his cheeks was a blow, and hearing his high shrieks was another, and he questioned how much longer he could hold on.

* * *

"Kurt?"

A rap on the door.

Hearing this, Kurt only burrowed his head deeper in his arms. He sat at his desk, head against the tabletop.

"Kurt? Please, open the door."

Another rap.

Kurt nudged a few books out of the way and covered his ears to push away the sound of his friend's voice.

"Kurt? I'm begging you. Talk to me, please."

On the next rap, Kurt yelled hoarsely, "It's open," and hid his face again.

The door pushed open and Cody slipped inside. He shut the door quietly behind him and sighed tiredly at the sight of Kurt at his desk in the corner of his room. He idled awkwardly by the desk.

"Kurt?" he said. When he didn't receive any reply immediately, he placed a small hand on his back and said, "Please talk to me about this. I'm sorry for what happened."

"It's not your fault. It's all my fault," Kurt remarked lazily at him and pulled his head halfway out of his arms. "I'm just trying to be a good person, okay? I try to be a good boyfriend, but that doesn't work out because he thinks I'm cheating on him with his ex and James. I try to be a good friend, but James obviously wants more and draws me in like a dog on a leash. And Will doesn't seem to care. Everything I do is criticized by everyone, and I don't know what to do anymore!" He buried his face once more.

Cody patted his shoulder gently. "It's not your fault, Kurt. Both you and Blaine are a little wound up from everything going on. We've got final exams coming up soon, along with the Spring Show, and Nationals at the end of the month. That's enough to drive people insane. In fact, I've skipped a day between washing my hair just so I have enough time to do everything. You're not the only one."

Kurt smiled the tiniest bit and brought his head up all the way. He leaned back in his chair. "And don't forget the stupid love triangle thing. It's the center point in the twisted plot that is my life," he drawled. "I thought this kind of thing only happened in movies and books?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cody shook his head slowly. He clasped his hands over his knees and was quiet as he thought to himself. For a little while Kurt figured he had left. But when he turned around in his swivel chair, he found Cody still there, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"You have to understand what I'm dealing with here, Cody," Kurt said, unsettled by the other boy's silence. "Blaine is so mad at me for trying to be a good person. I'm being fair to Will because we're partners and all we're doing is rehearsing, and Blaine acts like I'm hooking up with him. And if I do so much as mention James at all, Blaine assumes that I'm hooking up with him, too. I'm not. He's my friend, and he's depressed, and all I want to do is help him. That's all."

Cody peeked at him. "Is he happy?"

Kurt licked his dry lips, which had begun to chap slightly. He nodded. "From what I can see. He's joined the baseball team, and he's singing more in class, and I heard him play in the choir room after the final bell the other day. He's so much… brighter now. It's like I stuck a lamp in his ears and it's shining through his eyes."

"He likes being around you."

"I think that's a little more than obvious. He told me he was in_ love _with me_,_ Cody. I think he likes more than just being around me," he mumbled.

Cody shook his head again. "Well, yeah, he likes being around you because he's in love with you. But it looks like you make him feel better. Emotionally, I mean. Is he still cutting?"

Kurt nodded frigidly, as the word made him stiffen. He despised seeing the red lines streak across James' pale wrists. Seeing them made him wince and he wanted to cover them in all the world's bandages and make them heal, no matter how long it took.

"You make him feel better like that. Being around you is positive to him," Cody said softly. "You make him feel better."

Kurt nodded again. "But I don't want him to get the wrong message by being around him so much. I don't want him to assume I like him the way he likes me."

Cody swung his legs back and forth. "Did you tell him you like him, but not in that way? And that you're with Blaine?" he asked curiously.

"I do, but he won't listen." Kurt groaned in frustration. "I don't know anything anymore. All I know is that Blaine is mad at me, James is in love with me, and I can't keep my head straight. I can't keep the two most important people in my life at the moment from wanting to kill each other."

The room went silent, as Cody did not reply right away. He sat there with his lip caught between his teeth at the edge of the bed, watching Kurt bury his face in his hands.

"I know what you could do," he suggested. When Kurt showed the slightest amount of interest, he said, "You could take a shower and clean up a little. Maybe you'll feel better then. Markus did say we had an excuse to get to class late."

Kurt studied him with tired eyes for what seemed like an eternity before he got to his feet.

He trudged to the bathroom and shut himself inside, flicking on the light. He blinked, adjusting to the brightness, and stripped away his uniform, which was wet with water and a little bit of foam. The shower welcomed him graciously, and he spent fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes under the hot spray until he couldn't feel it against his skin anymore.

Cody knocking on the door jolted him and he heard the small voice call out, "Kurt, are you done yet? We've missed half of first period already, and I don't think Markus said we were excused for that long."

Turning off the faucet with a loud squeal, Kurt dried off with one of the towels on the rack and pulled on his robe. The heat from the water made his limbs supple and loose and he started to feel a little better. His eyes had stopped burning from countless tears and he could swallow without tension in his throat.

He started to dress again and towel dried his hair, combing it carefully. He found that his hands shook and he clenched his teeth.

Coming out of the bathroom, he found Cody sitting on the foot of his bed, looking down at his shoes. He instantly looked up when Kurt came into the room. Automatically, Kurt felt the backs of his eyes prickle.

"Kurt…" Cody said, painfully somber. "Come on. We'll go get your bag and I'll walk you to first period. Maybe get you something to eat, too."

With his head down, Kurt allowed himself to be led out of the room and into the hallway. He had expected to see Wes and David and Thomas pacing outside his room like mad dogs, but they were not there.

Talking was kept to a minimum. Cody only cleared his throat once as if he wanted to speak, though he didn't. He looped his arm through Kurt's and kept him on his feet.

Kurt knew they were nearing the kitchen without having to look up. He recognized the smell of dish soap and the balmy feel of hot water in the air. He only looked up when Cody held the door open for him.

Wes was leaning over the counters, scrubbing with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Thomas had the sink's spray nozzle in one hand and was washing out the sink. Diego slowly rubbed circles in the granite of the island, which only made the smoothie mess worse. David was wiping off the cabinets, and Ronnie was downing coffee like water.

Kurt tried not to notice Blaine's absence.

No one said a word as Kurt trudged to the back to grab his knapsack. Surprisingly, it had not been impacted by the blender explosion and he tucked everything away, pulling the bag over his shoulder.

Wordlessly he nodded to Cody and went out the door.

"You still look like a mess," he mumbled and started down the hall.

Cody caught up with him. He was abnormally quiet. "I know."

"Why didn't you go clean up?"

"Because I wanted to stay with you."

Kurt nearly stopped in his tracks. "Why did you want to do that?"

Cody kept his eyes forward and offered a faint shrug. "You're my friend, Kurt. And friends are there for other friends in times of need."

"I wasn't in need," Kurt snapped and pushed through the doors that opened up to the main hallway of North. It was barren, eerie.

He nodded. "I think you were. I think you still are."

Kurt rolled his eyes and slipped outside. The air was a reasonable temperature, the sun casting golden rays across the grounds. A light breeze flickered through the trees. He sucked in as much air as possible; the kitchen had felt stuffy to him.

"Kurt, listen to me," Cody said and pushed his pink-matted hair from his face. "I know you're upset—"

"I'm more than upset. I'm devastated," Kurt told him and picked up his pace. In the main hallway of the school building, all was silent. An eager fluttering started in his stomach, and he realized he was late to most of first period.

"And I didn't want you to get mad at me for doing so much as talking to you, but Markus gave us all passes," Cody finished in a flurry. He dug through his blazer pocket and picked a pink slip from a wad. "He came back after you left to give them to us."

Kurt stared at the pass like it was foreign. He finally took it after he decided standing there wasn't going to do anything. "Thank you."

And he strode off down the nearest hallway, leaving Cody standing at the door.

* * *

If having to endure the last twenty minutes of first period was awful, Kurt figured that the rest of the day would be no better. He had hardly made it through his first class without breaking down and he was thankful no one cared enough to ask him.

After the bell rang, he meandered into the hallway, hitching his bag strap up. His stomach felt empty and he realized he hadn't grabbed anything to eat on the way out of the kitchen this morning. He almost wanted to double back to grab something, but he couldn't risk running into anyone.

So, as he approached the curving stairwell, he turned back. He didn't care that he was going to be late for second period.

He walked down several hallways, some he didn't know even existed, until he heard the bell rang. It didn't faze him, and he kept walking. When he found himself lingering in front of a pair of thick double doors, he heard Adam Harvey's nagging voice in his head.

Kurt walked into the library without hesitation.

Inside, the air made him cough. It was filled with dust and smelled like old pages, old books, old ink. There was one English class there, seated at a few of the round tables at the center of the large room. It was a freshman English class, Kurt figured, because they all looked up at the same time with wide-eyed expressions.

He paid them no attention and headed back to the fiction shelves. He lost himself in the maze of shelves that were a foot taller than him and he set his bag down on the floor. He already had books from the library piled up on his dresser that he hadn't even read yet, but he sometimes caught himself finding more interesting books than what he already had.

The book he pulled off the top shelf was light and bound in leather. He didn't bother reading the title before plopping down in the corner by his bag and cracking it open. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of dust and the book looked like it hadn't been open in months. The print was tiny and he squinted to read.

"_When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury…"_

Kurt sighed. He knew 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by heart already, but read down the rest of the page. He read two more pages, then three more pages, and then the rest of the chapter. The words blurred past his eyes and he was barely making sense of them before moving onto the next sentence.

There was a certain feel to crouching in the back of the library, reading a book without the intention to check it out, while he knew he was supposed to be in his second period. The murmurs of the freshmen provided background noise and halfway through the book, he was flipping pages instead of reading.

He reached the end of the book, skimming the last page.

"_He turned out the light, and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning."_

Kurt closed the book and the spine made a crackling noise. He set the book down on the floor by him and curled his knees to his chest. The shadows of the bookshelves cast figures on the floor and he stared at the carpet until he heard his phone vibrate in his bag.

Lazily, he pulled it out, but his hands shook in fear of who it would be from.

_Please tell me you're in second period, Kurt. I don't want you skipping. –Cody_

He pursed his lips at the message and his thumb hovered over the screen. Before he click anything, another message from his friend made his phone vibrate.

_At least reply so I know you're alive, for Pete's sake. _

Kurt tapped out a quick message of 'I'm fine' and deleted the others without a second thought, then glanced at the time. He had thirty minutes left until lunch. Lunch.

He ducked his head to his chest and covered it with his arms. He did not want to go to lunch at all. There would be his friends, and they would all either be asking questions or scarily silent. He didn't know which was worse.

Licking his lips, Kurt propped his chin against his knees. His mind drifted back to the way the kitchen had looked splattered in pink, the way Blaine had looked at him with a sense of distrust, the way Cody had looked close to tears.

He did not need to think about it at all.

Kurt leapt up from his spot on the floor and his legs felt unsteady underneath him. He placed the book back where it belonged on the shelf and grabbed the one on the shelf below. He pried open the cover and began reading.

"_Enter Sampson and Gregory with swords and bucklers of the house of Capulet."_

That was all he needed to read before he snapped it shut and flung it down on the ground.

"Hey, watch it. That's school property, you know."

Kurt jumped around, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He let out his breath when he saw a lean blonde staring down at the thrown copy of 'Romeo and Juliet', wrinkling his nose distastefully.

"God, what are you doing in here?" he asked and tried to even his breathing.

Carson looked up, surprised. "I'm not God, though I've heard the resemblance is startling. But I can't seem to understand why. I mean, he's depicted as a brown haired man with a scraggly beard. Do I look like a brown haired man with a scraggly beard to you?"

Kurt rubbed his face. In any other circumstance, he would've allowed himself to laugh. "_Carson, _what are you doing here?"

He held up the red pass in his hand and picked up the book that Kurt had thrown on the floor, turning it over in his hand. "Relax, you don't need to get so violent, Hummel. I'm only here to check out a book for class," he explained. He held out the book to Kurt. "And I think you dropped this one."

Flushing, Kurt swiped the book back and jammed it on a random shelf.

"So, what's got your knickers in a twist, Judy Garland?" Carson wondered as he picked the shelves casually.

"I'm fine," Kurt answered automatically.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said with a scolding tone. "Methinks the lady should not be telling lies right now."

"And methinks the idiot should stop badgering me about it," Kurt remarked. "And if you're going to quote something, quote it correctly."

Carson looked over at him with a sense of satisfaction lighting up his blue eyes; they were blue, but not as vibrant as James'. They were softer, almost like a robin's egg. "So I'm right about you lying?"

"Yes, I'm lying," Kurt admitted in a flat tone. "Happy now?"

"Maybe," he hummed under his breath. He took a book from the shelf, glanced over the cover, and replaced it. "What are you lying about, though, is the better question." He looked over at Kurt expectantly.

Kurt took a step back until he was pressed against the bookshelf. "No way. I'm not telling you a thing."

"Oh, come on. We know each other to some circumstances," Carson said.

"That doesn't mean I have to be open with you about things."

Carson made a face. "Calm down, sheesh. I don't want to know _everything _about you. I didn't want to know that much about you. I only want to know why you look sick."

Kurt blanched and he absently touched his face. "I look sick to you?"

The blonde nodded and nonchalantly plucked another book off the top shelf. He scanned the back of it and pursed his lips.

"Oh, my," Kurt sighed. He blinked tiredly.

"So," Carson said and set his pass on a shelf. He stretched on the tip of his toes to reach another book on a high shelf. He held the first one in one hand and reached with the other. "What's with you and the library today? Cat fight?"

"What are you talking about?" Kurt pressed his fingertips to his temples, starting to suffer from a headache. He wished he had grabbed painkillers from his bathroom before he left, but at the time, he didn't imagine himself being in pain later.

"You basically threw Shakespeare's work into the ground a few minutes ago. If he were alive to see you do that, he would probably not appreciate that, now, would he?" Carson pulled the book he was searching for off the shelf and collected the plastic pass. He leaned lightly against the shelf and watched Kurt.

Kurt blinked and lost his train of thought momentarily. "Oh, that. That was nothing."

"I don't think you throw books into the ground for nothing," he quipped. "I'll have you know that 'Romeo and Juliet' is one of my favorites."

"Then I apologize for displeasing you," Kurt sneered and trudged back to his bag. He wanted to sit down on the floor, but he did not want to have to look up at the other boy. He stayed standing and nudged his bag with his foot.

Carson smoothly turned the corner, looking around the bookshelf at him. "Seriously, though. What's gotten you so upset to the point where you have to throw great works of literature on the floor like that? Enlighten me."

Kurt had a sharp reply ready on his tongue, but stopped. What came out was completely different. "Blaine and I had a fight."

Carson's face dropped and for a second he looked vulnerable. His manicured eyebrows rose and he appeared ashamed for asking. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Why are you sorry? I thought, since you're the best friend of Blaine's ex, that you would hate my guts and not show any kind of emotion towards me other than hate," Kurt snapped. "I don't expect you to be sorry for me."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Carson looked away for a brief moment. In that time, Kurt thought he looked almost like Will: blonde hair falling in front of his face, expression distant. "I mean, we're on some sort of terms, here. It may not be the best of terms, but it's certainly better than what Blaine and I are on. _Definitely _better than what Blaine and Will are on." He gave a shudder.

Kurt bit his lip. "But what does being on good terms have to do with anything?" he asked.

He let out a short sigh and absently played with the tape holding down the barcode on the back of the book in his hands. "Well, it means that I can trust you in most instances and it means you can trust me," he said, but his face wrinkled, as if talking about it pained him.

Kurt crossed his arms. "Go on."

"And, since we're on somewhat steady terms, we can tell each other things that won't be gossiped about. Like, for example, when we came back from the break. I told you about James and his… issues." He swallowed back the words. "I obviously care about him like a friend should, and I trusted you enough with that information. But it looks like it didn't last very long," he added.

"Why not?" Kurt furrowed his brows.

"I found out you told Will what I had told you about James, because Will spent nearly twenty minutes banging on James' door after your first rehearsal," Carson said. "He was really upset with that. About not knowing about it sooner, about James not telling him. The whole thing was a surprise. James was really upset for me telling you. He had wanted it to be a secret."

"But he knows someone else would have found out sooner or later," Kurt protested.

Carson held up his hands. "I know, I know. It doesn't make sense to me, either," he said. "But look. James and his stuff is old news, and we can only wait to see what he'll do next."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "You say that like he'll actually do something else."

"Well, it's true. He's depressed and he obviously has his own control over himself," he said solemnly. "He can do whatever he wants and, knowing him, he'll probably do something."

Dropping his eyes, Kurt blinked.

"But that's beside the point," Carson said and shook his head. "I want to know what happened that made you fight with Blaine."

Kurt swallowed thickly. He could hear the clock on the wall ticking loudly and he knew that at any second, the bell to release them would ring. "Why do you need to know?"

"Do I have to explain the whole terms thing again? Or have you got it?"

"No, I suppose not." He stiffened. "If I tell you, will you promise to keep it a secret? Between us."

Carson let out a short laugh. "Are we seven now, or what?"

"I'm asking you a serious question, Carson," Kurt said through clenched teeth.

"And I'll agree to keep it a secret. I was only commenting on it, that's all." He nodded and the humor dropped. "I promise."

Kurt stared flatly at him, unamused.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? I said I would promise, and you know I'll keep it," he said. "If you want me to do something more permanent, like swear over a Bible, good luck finding one, because I don't think the librarian—"

"It was over Will," Kurt blurted and he saw the curiosity wash over the blonde's face. "The fight. We fought over Will."

Carson narrowed his eyes to slits and his hands tightened around the book and the hall pass. "So are you in love with Will now? Is that it?"

"Shut up!" Kurt dared enough to smack him in the arm. "Forget it. You'll hear about it soon enough. I swear, the boys at this school gossip just as bad as girls do."

The blonde pretended to fluff his hair. "Well, you know." He flashed Kurt a knowing smile.

"Carson," Kurt said and the boy raised an eyebrow. "Don't… don't tell anyone about this, okay? Especially Will and James."

"About the fight? My lips are sealed," he said firmly. "But if people start asking why we were together in the library, I'll have no choice but to tell them of our budding romance, bonding over books."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "That's one way to come out," he mumbled halfheartedly.

Carson snickered, but stopped. "And what you said a minute ago. About me not telling Will _and _James. I know you fought over Will, but how is James involved in this?"

Kurt's face went red, he was sure, and he let his eyes wander instead of making contact with Carson.

He got the idea and let his head fall. He licked his lips and said, "Ah. I get it. I won't say a word." He let a few seconds of silence pass. Then, "You know, whatever you said to Will last week—"

"How is he?" Kurt blurted before he could think.

Carson shrugged pettily. "He came back to the wing in a rage, basically threw a few things, broke a vase, then pushed everyone out of the commons and locked himself in," he said airily. "I found him the next morning sleeping on the couch. He was late for first."

Kurt nodded, his chest growing tight.

"But whatever you said to him," he went on, "please say it again. I've never seen Will be so quiet in his entire life. He wouldn't even tell me the reason behind smashing the school's vase." He sighed and shook his head.

"But James told you, didn't he?"

Carson shook his head again. "Nope. Which was surprising, because I thought he would've told me what happened, but no dice," he sighed. He narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do to him?"

Kurt flushed. "I didn't do anything to him. Will was the one who yelled at him, not me."

"Will yelled at him? Wow. He's really off the deep end now," Carson repeated in awe, and he slowly inched back. "Listen, I would love to stand here all day and talk about what an asshole Will is and, frankly, what an asshole everyone is being, but I have class to get back to. If I don't get back soon, my professor will assume I'm dead." He shrugged.

Waving a hand at him, Kurt nodded. "Go ahead."

The blonde gave him what looked like somewhat of a smile and vanished into the maze of bookshelves.

Kurt breathed a sigh and rested his hand over his heart. He found it suddenly jumping in his chest.

"And one more thing," Carson added and stuck his head around the corner a second time. "I never got the answer to this one: why have you been here all this time? Don't you have class right now?"

"I was only checking out a book." Kurt reached up and pulled 'Romeo and Juliet', the same one he had thrown, from the shelf. He gave it a short wave. "Same as you."

* * *

When the bell rang to dismiss second period, Kurt did not move from his corner of the library. He had lunch next and he didn't think he could bear the reactions of his friends. But if he didn't show, Cody would be frustrated for him skipping.

Nonetheless, he stayed put.

The freshman class that had been in there when he'd come in was long gone now and he half expected another English class to come in at any minute. But the longer he sat there, he found his expectation dropping.

When he looked up at the clock for the time, he saw that it was nearly one-thirty. Lunch was over and choir was thirty minutes in. Thinking of the class made his heart jump into his throat.

He couldn't help but imagine everyone's expressions: Cody would obviously be worried, as would the rest that were in the kitchen, and Carson would sit silently, not giving an explanation to why he was missing. James would search the other side of the room for him more than once, hoping it was a trick of the light and Kurt was really there.

And Blaine. Kurt had a feeling Blaine was skipping, too.

* * *

Kurt was still in the library when the bell to end third period rang an hour later and he didn't jump when it sounded. He had been counting down the seconds, watching the large clock on the wall.

So far, he had not been disturbed. Carson had been the first person to notice him. Not even the librarian said a word to him when she passed by with a cart, placing books on random shelves and adjusting them. He pulled his knees to his chest to let her pass and then she was gone.

He didn't want to get up and go to his last class. He wanted to block out everything and simply sit. But he knew that if he didn't go, he would miss what they were doing in class. He couldn't remember what class he had and he shook his head, frustrated.

Somehow, he got to his feet. The view looked larger, taller, than the one from the floor and it almost made him dizzy. He grabbed his bag and numbly shrugged it over his shoulder. The shelves seemed to grow taller, like trees, as he navigated his way through and ended up at the double doors.

The librarian made no gestures to him and didn't speak. He just walked out into the hall.

From the lack of students in the halls, he guessed there was maybe one minute or less before the late bell to fourth rang. He counted the seconds with each step he took. He got to thirty-five when the bell rang. In other instances, he would have been sprinting to get to his class. Actually, he would already be in his seat. He was never late.

Though he was today. He gave a short sigh and continued walking.

* * *

Kurt didn't know how he found himself in the North common room.

He had walked down nearly every hall in the school for the past hour or so, but he couldn't be sure; he hadn't been keeping good track of the time. It had done him well, and he had spent most of the walk staring at paintings that were hung on the walls of old men in tacky suits, and studying the plaques on the sports trophies that sat in the big case at the front of the school by the main office.

He had walked past the library twice since he'd left and neither time did he go in. The lights inside had been dimmed and he assumed the librarian was either lazy or there was a class in there watching a slideshow.

And not once over his hour was he stopped by a professor. He assumed it was because of the pink slip that was clutched in his hand and they thought he was going to class. They didn't see that it was a pass for first period, at the beginning of the day, not a pass for fourth.

Kurt folded the little pink slip over and over in his hand until a neat crease formed down the middle. It looked close to ripping but that didn't make him any more careful.

Now, he closed the doors to the large room and sat down on the long couch, tossing his bag on the coffee table. He sat back and pulled at the knot of his tie. He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, flat and a crème color. There was about twenty minutes left in the school day and he was counting down by the second.

He sat up and rested his elbows against his knees. It was quiet enough in the room to pound against his ears and he heard his heart beat clearly. It sounded like someone slamming a hammer slowly against a wall and he covered his ears.

There was no sense in checking his phone. He had turned it off earlier and he was afraid to see how many missed calls and text messages he had. Nothing on television ever interested him, save for the few wedding shows that played on TLC. He had a feeling that they wouldn't be on at three in the afternoon.

Then he spied a black cord snaking out of the cabinet under the television. It was the cord that connected the controller to the Xbox console. Kurt perked and tilted his head in thought.

Without thinking, he stood up and flipped the cabinet door open, staring at the device in wonder. He pressed the largest button and it glowed green. He sat back on his heels, satisfied, and grabbed the controller. He turned the TV on and switched sources, thinking it was similar to the way a DVD player worked. Soon, he had the screen glowing with Call of Duty.

He had never played video games before, not even when Finn had begged on his knees. They were a waste of time to him and he didn't understand the point of sitting in front of a TV for hours on end, playing games that would never matter outside the virtual world.

Kurt hit a few buttons. The controller was bulky and foreign in his hands. If Wes and David could play nonstop for five and a half hours when they were supposed to be studying, couldn't he? Surely it wasn't that hard to figure out.

Before he knew it, his thumbs were working at the buttons with methodical clicks and he stared intently at the screen. Colors flashed and after five minutes, he had to pause the game and rub his eyes. He started back again.

Half an hour later, the doors swung open and it hardly fazed Kurt. He was leaning forward with the controller glued in his hands, not taking his eyes from the screen to look over his shoulder. Classes must have let out and everyone was coming back.

"Kurt?" questioned a petite voice. "Oh, Kurt, what are you doing?"

But Kurt didn't stop to respond. He kept clicking away, though he noticed a figure sit down next to him on the couch. The boy reached over and took the controller from Kurt's hands.

Kurt snapped his head to the right, blinking rapidly. "What was that for? I was in the middle of a game."

Cody sighed and shook his head in a disappointed manner. "Kurt, what are you doing?"

"I'm playing Call of Duty," Kurt said regally and the words tasted funny. He never thought he would admit to something like this.

"And why are you doing that? You _never _play video games," he asked and stared down at the controller like it was a rotten piece of garbage.

Kurt leaned back and pulled a pillow into his lap. He stared at the screen, which still said the game was paused. He had to refrain from yanking the controller out of Cody's hands. "Because I was bored."

"Kurt, did you skip your classes today?" He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Why would I do that?" Kurt replied airily and made no eye contact.

Cody pursed his lips. "Because I know you. Something like this would devastate you to the point of no return, and the only way you could possibly retaliate to something like this is to defy the system." He paused, then added, "Plus, there's no way you could get down here from the second floor and be five levels into the game already."

"You're making me sound like a delinquent."

"Well…" He trailed off and licked his lips.

Just then, Wes and David entered the room. They saw the screen lit up with the video game and raced over. Wes skidded to a halt when he saw it was Kurt sitting in the middle of the couch and David slammed into him.

"Whoa," David breathed.

"Kurt," Wes said softly in disbelief, "are you really playing…?"

"Please say it's true…"

"Please, oh please say you're playing…"

Kurt looked up at them lazily. "Shut your mouths. Flies will nest. And yes, I'm playing Call of Du—"

"No way!" Wes cheered and plopped down on one side of him. "Now you can totally join our Call of Duty marathons!"

David scooted Cody out of the way to sit on Kurt's other side. "This is going to be _sweet._"

Cody stood up, huffing, and clutched the controller in his hands. "Sorry to disappoint you, fellas, but Kurt isn't going to get hooked on this game. He's only playing it because he feels the need to attach to something else after"—he stopped himself—"after this morning. It's like someone who overeats when they're emotional."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "No, I think he just wants to play."

"Wes is right, Cody," Kurt said innocently. "I only want to play."

"What's going on?" Thomas asked and appeared at Cody's side. He eyed the controller in the small boy's hand. "Dude, are you really getting into video games? I thought you had a ban against video games, or something?"

Cody hurled the controller at David and whipped to face the redhead. "I am not getting attached to video games, alright? It was Kurt's fault and—" He cut off abruptly and his face turned bright red. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean it."

"It's fine. It's apparently my fault all the time. I'm used to it," Kurt said indifferently. He watched as David hit a button and resumed the current game.

David nudged him with his elbow. "You're only on level five? How long have you been playing?"

"About half an hour."

"You've got a lot to learn, my friend," Wes commented happily. "But don't worry. We'll show you the ropes. You'll know everything you need to know by sundown today."

Kurt nodded, but did not reply. He merely flattened his lips and let the two boys take over the game.

The next voice that spoke came from behind them, near the doors. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Hey, guys. Listen, do you know where Kurt is?"

Blaine.

Kurt swallowed past the lump in his throat and he sunk down on the couch, hiding himself, hoping he would blend right into the fabric and never be seen.

Cody's eyes barely flickered down to Kurt before he looked back at Blaine. He crossed his arms over his tiny chest. "No, I haven't seen him today. I don't know where he is."

Blaine sighed. "Well, he's not in his room, I don't think. I knocked on his door for… awhile after we cleaned up this morning, and he didn't answer."

"Why do you want to know?" Thomas asked, and Kurt wanted to punch him in the face for saying that. He balled his fists at his sides and closed his eyes. Thank goodness Wes and David were too absorbed by the game to speak, much less notice Blaine's presence.

"I kind of wanted to talk to him," Blaine mumbled quietly, and Kurt could tell he was either running a hand through his hair or rubbing the back of his neck.

Finally, Kurt got up from the couch and ducked his head. He wrapped his arms around his torso and edged around Cody. "Okay, I'm going to go see what I missed in class today—"

Blaine took one step to the side to stand in front of him. His eyes were wide and a pale brown, his skin looking sickly white. He kept his hands to himself and clutched the strap of his bag. "Kurt."

"What?" Kurt asked, but it came out like a snap. He saw Blaine flinch ever so slightly.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stood there, staring at Kurt with a solemn look on his face.

"If you're not going to speak to me, then close your mouth. It's not very attractive," Kurt muttered bitterly. "And if you're going to just stare at me like some sort of deranged owl, then take a picture. It'll last longer."

With that, he brushed past him to the doors.

Blaine gained the feeling in his lips. He turned and said loudly over his shoulder, "That's so cliché!"

Kurt stopped in the doorway and gripped the door until his knuckles turned bone white. "You're so cliché!"

With that kind of response, he felt like bursting into laughter. It was the kind he heard in stereotypical high school movies, and he couldn't believe he had said it. He ducked into the hallway and vanished.

Blaine gritted his teeth. He was silent for an entire level of Call of Duty. Then, when David had reached level seven, he said, "I'm trying to choose my words carefully so that I don't end up sounding stupid."

"The only way you could sound stupid is to ask Kurt, 'Hey, what's wrong?' and expect a legit answer," Thomas told him simply and sat down in one of the armchairs. He pulled out his binder and started working on a homework sheet.

"That's what I was trying to avoid," Blaine sighed. He took a seat in the second armchair and picked at his lip. He eyed Cody. "What did he mean, he said he was going to see what he missed in class?"

The small boy stiffened and did not look Blaine in the eye. "There are some very liable resources that lead me to believe that, after he cleaned up from this morning, he may have skipped the entire day of school."

"He skipped class?" he repeated in awe. "Kurt never skips class. He's the one who recommends _not _skipping it."

"I know, I know," Cody said hurriedly.

"And what sources did you hear that from?"

He looked sheepish. "Me. But only because I know him well enough. I know that he never skips for anything, unless it's a dire situation or something."

"When have there been any dire situations?" Blaine fired.

Cody glared at him. "Stop being so demanding. I'm only telling you what I think I know. It's based off my knowledge of Kurt, okay? I think he knows better than to skip, but this morning really got him, Blaine."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Wes murmured, eyes fixed, unmoving, on the screen. Even though he wasn't playing it, he was still mesmerized by it.

"If you hadn't noticed," Blaine said, aggravated, "that's what I was trying to do. But he is so intent on not listening to a word I say."

Thomas twirled his pen between his fingers. "And he has a right to not listen to you."

He stared at the redhead, concerned.

"I mean," Thomas went on without looking up at Blaine, "if I had been in Kurt's position, I wouldn't talk to you for the rest of the week. Maybe even a month, if I decided to."

"Well, it's Kurt. He doesn't hold grudges," Blaine said steadfastly. "He wouldn't give me the silent treatment for a month."

"You're right. He can't even be quiet for a day. I mean, he did call you cliché just now, after all," David chipped in.

Cody bumped his shoulder. "You're not helping with the situation here."

David sat back and pulled his attention away from the game. "Sorry. I was only trying to be the lighter side of the conversation," he said. When he wasn't looking, Wes stole the controller.

"He has a point. He's the comic relief," Thomas said. "He's like… Juliet's nurse from 'Romeo and Juliet.'"

"Are you calling me an old lady, Reid?" David asked skeptically.

He waved his hand at him. "Not at all. I'm only making a comparison. And I may say, you are a fine—"

"Why, yes. I am fine," David said coolly, "but I would rather not hear the rest of that sentence."

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Look," Blaine said over them, "all I want to do is talk to him. Maybe we can…" He lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' manner. "Come to some agreement?"

Cody let out a short snort. "I'm sorry, but you sound too business-like, not like you just broke up with him."

"We didn't break up," Blaine said automatically, the beginning of his sentence tagging onto the end of Cody's without a break, and he found everyone's eyes on him. "We're taking a break. That's all."

Wes shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, man. It seems he thinks you're broken up. I mean, from all the sulky body language and skipping Warblers class to avoid you, and then not wanting to do so much as look you in the eye, that's my guess."

Blaine sunk down in his chair and rubbed his face soothingly.

* * *

Kurt headed through the empty halls to his first period class. He had left his bag in the commons and now he felt bare without it. He was constantly wrapping his fingers around thin air as if the strap was there to grasp.

He received his work and a fourth of the review packet from his first class, the professor giving him a doubtful look. He high tailed it out before the professor could give him anymore dirty looks.

Next, he went to his second period, a communications class, to grab the final review. It was a blow off class and that was the sole reason he had signed up for it in the beginning. He wanted to not be completely stressed out his first year at Dalton, and he picked Communications to help.

But it only added another hour of work, judging by the size of the packet.

His third period was the Warblers. If anything was going on, Wes or David or Cody or Thomas would make the effort to tell him about it.

It was as Kurt came out of his final class, Physics, that he heard the footsteps at the end of the hall. He hesitated and studied the packets in his hands instead of looking up.

"Kurt? Where have you been all day?"

Without having to look up, Kurt knew the voice by heart.

He smiled, forced, and brought his head up. "Hi, James."

The dark haired boy paced down the hall toward him, a fair smile across his face, dark curls falling above his ears. "I was starting to wonder about you today," he said.

"Why is that?" Kurt busied his hands by flipping over his packets. He didn't notice that his Physics work weighed nearly a pound, or so it seemed.

"I didn't see you in the halls today, and you weren't at lunch," James listed. "And, oh yeah, I didn't see you in Warblers class today."

Kurt lifted one shoulder and started down the hall, tucking his papers to his chest. "I was feeling sick today. I didn't want to get out of bed."

"And here you are," James murmured and matched his pace. He chewed his lower lip and kept his eyes forward, not looking at Kurt. "Is anything wrong?"

"I'm sick, if that's what you mean."

He shook his head. "No, not like that. You just look so out of it right now. You don't look happy. I know you just said you're sick and all, but… I don't know. There's something missing, I guess. I don't know what it is. You're just different."

Kurt swallowed thickly. "I'm fine. I'm sure it's just being sick that's taking a toll on me. I'll be better by tomorrow, probably."

"I hope so," he said, yet he did not sound convinced. "You know you can tell me anything, Kurt. If there's anything bothering you, you know you can always talk to me."

_But what if I don't want to talk to you? _Kurt wanted to blurt out. He kept his mouth buttoned shut as they approached the landing of the main staircase. It looked out over the hallway and he could see the choir room from this point. He started down the curving staircase.

"I know I can," Kurt said finally and clutched the papers tighter to his chest, if that was possible. He could practically feel the edges of the paper slicing into his hands.

James spared a smile and ran his hand along the banister. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

Kurt stared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Because yes, I know there's something wrong. You make it obvious," James continued.

"So, you're a piano master, a singer, and now a psychic," Kurt listed. "Is there anything else that I should know about? Are you a secret spy, or a master thief?"

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours."

This reduced Kurt to silence and he couldn't think of anything to say to save his life. After they reached the first floor, he stuttered, "It's not something I would like to talk about right now."

James nodded slowly and his blue eyes blazed, almost like fire, hot and flickering. He watched Kurt and sounded disappointed when he spoke. "Alright. But if you ever want to talk—"

"I have your number," Kurt finished for him and smiled a little bit. He felt an uncomfortable stabbing in his stomach, similar to swallowing knives, point down. "Or I could always just climb in through your window, like the time you snuck out. Whatever works for you."

James chuckled and covered his mouth. "I hope you feel better, Kurt. I'll see you later."

"Aren't you going back to the dorms?" Kurt asked when the boy passed him, going the opposite direction.

"No. I have a voice lesson with Lovett," he reported dully and started to backpedal slowly so as to not trip. "Should be fun."

"Good luck with that," Kurt said quietly and gave a small wave.

The dark haired boy gave him one last smile, the fire still flickering, before pulling the doors to the choir room open. Instead of going in, he hung outside, then cast Kurt a curious look.

"What?" Kurt asked and he tried to keep his voice soft.

James' eyebrows rose curiously. "I think I may have something that would make you feel better."

"Oh, James," Kurt sighed, "all I need is bed rest and medicine. That's all I need."

He pulled away from the doors and strode towards him. He gently wrapped his hand around Kurt's wrist and tugged him down the hall to the choir room. He did not say a single word.

"I don't like where this is going," Kurt warned him, trying to keep all the papers tucked to his chest.

"Relax," he said, drawing out the word. "It's nothing bad, trust me."

"_James_," Kurt said firmly as he was led into the room, "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I'm going back to my dorm and I'm going to finish the homework I missed today."

James wore a smug look and pulled him into the room, then closed the doors and leaned against them. Kurt stared at him cautiously.

"Where is Lovett?" he asked and started to shuffle papers in his hands. "I thought you told me you had a voice lesson."

He nodded. "I do, but it's at four-fifteen. And…" He checked the clock on the wall at the back of the room. "We've got ten minutes."

"_You've _got ten minutes. I'm going back," Kurt corrected. He tried to open one of the doors, but it didn't work as well as it should have, what with James guarding them like a hound.

"Please, Kurt? You haven't even heard what my idea is," James pleaded and cocked his head to the side.

Kurt dropped his head and sighed. He took a step away from the doors. "Alright. What's your idea?"

He bit his lip to keep back a large smile. "Singing."

"No," Kurt said immediately. "I'm not in the mood for singing."

"You're a Warbler, Kurt. You're supposed to want to sing," he pointed out.

He took a slow breath. "I'll sing when I'm feeling better. I'm sick right now, James, which means I don't want to. I'm too tired and I just don't want to. It's nothing against you, of course. I'm just not up to it."

The dark haired boy dropped the joyous expression on his face and he slowly pulled away from the door. "Alright," he said in a terribly soft voice. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Kurt assured him automatically and turned one of the knobs. He swallowed thickly.

_But it is your fault, James, _he wanted to blurt as he stepped into the hallway._ It's your fault that Blaine hates me now. It's you and Will that did it. If you hadn't decided you loved me, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. Blaine wouldn't have gotten upset with me over you, and our fight wouldn't have been as big. It wouldn't have broken my heart._

Kurt shut the doors and waited a moment. A minute passed before he heard a low hum on the other side of the doors, James warming up. He went up the scale fluidly and Kurt licked his lips, looking down at his shoes. He listened for another minute, two minutes, starting back to North.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Two visitors decide to pop in at Dalton, which brings up certain problems that were better off left in the dust._


	29. Field Trip

_Hello, readers._

_Sorry for the late update, but things have gotten out of hand recently and they show no signs of letting up, really. I had my band banquet last night, in which my heels killed my feet, someone wore the same dress as me, and I probably gained like ten pounds from the slice of cheesecake I ate. I know cheesecake can't make you gain ten pounds, but because I'm officially on a "diet" (according to my parents, I am to eat nothing but fruits and veggies and meat - no carbs or desserts) it felt like I gained ten pounds._

_Also, my band's spring concert on Tuesday is going to make me FREAKING MISS THE GLEE SEASON FINALE. I hate my life right now so much. But on the bright side, eight days of school left for me, and I will no longer be a sophomore! _

_Band auditions for next year are Monday night and I'm freaking out. Exams are the last week of school and I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out and I'm freaking out._

_So there. There's my life in a nutshell for all of you lovely readers._

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but if I did, I would move it to Thursday night so I could see the season finale because that is the only day that I have where I'm not up at school doing something.

Reviews would be lovely.

* * *

**Field Trip**

* * *

**Nobody says you must laugh, but a sense of humor can help you overlook the unattractive, tolerate the unpleasant, cope with the unexpected, and smile through the day. –Ann Landers**

* * *

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, Rach."

"Oh, shush. This is a very good idea. I know it." She beamed confidently and kept her bag close to her side.

The other girl rolled her eyes. "What if we get caught? What's your plan for that, huh?"

"We're not going to get caught, Mercedes," Rachel Berry assured patiently, straightening the hat atop her head. "It's Saturday. Everyone is supposed to be out for the weekend."

Mercedes huffed. "Supposed to. But that doesn't mean they will be. In this kind of situation, there's usually someone waiting right around the corner for us," she mumbled.

The two girls had come up with the plan to drive the two hours from Lima to Westerville in hopes of seeing Kurt, hoping to surprise him with their visit. Though Mercedes had reminded Rachel several times about the promise they made during Spring Break to not go near the private school, Rachel ignored her and dragged her along.

They had parked Rachel's small car in Dalton's parking lot, far away in the back corner, where hopefully, it would not be spotted as easily as if it had been parked in the outright front. They crept across the grounds like mice, on the lookout for a familiar boy with a manicured crop of brown hair and murky blue eyes.

But so far, they hadn't seen hide nor hair of their friend.

"Where do you suppose we go in?" Rachel asked, stopping on the sidewalk. She looked between the two buildings, both of equal size. "I can't tell which one is for what."

"Well, from what Kurt told me, one of them is their dorm building, and the other is where they have classes and stuff. That's what he told me," Mercedes explained simply, and put her hands on her hips. "I think we should go through that one." She gestured to the building on their left, the smaller of the two with several sets of windows and flowers planted beneath them.

Rachel squinted. "What makes you say we should start there?"

Mercedes shrugged. "Again, just a guess. We're never going to find him if we don't start looking," she said and started off.

Rachel had no choice but to follow her.

The first set of doors they came to were double doors, made of glass. Through the glass, they could see faint light coming from lamps set inside on tables. Rachel cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her face to the glass to peer through.

"Let's go in," she decided eventually and pulled on the handle. To her upmost surprise, the door fell open, and she took a cautious step inside. Mercedes was close on her heels and she kept looking over her shoulder, checking for anyone who might catch them.

Inside, the hallway was as ornate as the two girls had ever seen. The walls were decorated with lovely, floral wallpapers and oil paintings of historic figures most likely dealing with the school's history, along with other kinds of wall hangings. The floor beneath their feet shone from fresh wax and displayed a parquet design. Tables made of rich, smooth wood stood against the walls, holding up lamps and small bowls of potpourri and delicate vases. The only doors they saw were a pair on their left, and a pair on their right, but farther down the hall.

"What a school. What I wouldn't give to be a boy right now," Mercedes breathed in awe and couldn't help but glance around, taking in the elegant sights.

Rachel nodded numbly. "This is amazing. I wish McKinley was like this," she said fingered one of the potted plants sitting beside a table.

"There's a reason why this is a private school and McKinley isn't. Private schools are lavish and awesome, and public schools just… public schools," she told her with a shudder.

"Though I don't think even McKinley has sports equipment lying on the floor, unless it's the locker room," Rachel pointed out oddly and nudged a long lacrosse stick with her toe, pushing it away from her. Creases formed in her forehead as she wondered, and she stepped away from it.

Mercedes eyed the stick, and discovered a pair of tennis shoes under the table nearby, hidden behind a tall vase. "This is obviously the dorm building. I guess we're looking in the right place, then," she said. "Now, come on. Kurt's bound to be somewhere in this place."

Rachel took a few steps forward and her shoes clicked loudly against the floor. She perked and stopped, bending down to yank them off her feet after receiving a nervous glance from Mercedes.

"Sorry," she hissed apologetically and clutched them to her chest, walking across the slick floor in tights. She had the urge to put the shoes back on, feeling disgusted with walking across the floor practically barefoot.

They had only reached the first pair of doors, which proved to be the kitchen after peering inside and finding it oddly empty, when Rachel stood ramrod straight.

"What's wrong?" Mercedes questioned, closing the door to the kitchen quietly.

A voice behind them purred, "Why, hello, ladies. What may I help you with today?"

Mercedes gave Rachel a mean glare. "And you said we weren't going to get caught."

* * *

"Come on, Kurt. You've got to come to the game today," Cody begged, practically on his knees with his hands folded in prayer position.

Kurt pursed his lips and stirred his coffee delicately. "I don't know, Cody…"

"Oh, come _on_." Cody stared flatly at him. "If you're only going to act like this, then why else did you stay this weekend? If you weren't going to watch me play, what else were you going to do?" he asked.

"I was going to study," he said in a small voice.

The petite boy made a short noise. "Oh, yeah, right. Don't start with that again. You've been using that excuse for the last two weeks for anything. If Wes wants you to look over a song for fun, you tell him you have homework. When David asks you to join in on Call of Duty when Wes can't, you tell him you have to study." He sighed irritably. "Some time or another you have to finish studying and face the music."

"I don't have to go to your game. Not everything's about you, you know," Kurt muttered and pushed his coffee away. One more sip, and his stomach was threatening to toss up what he'd eaten so far that day, which wasn't much at all.

"I could say the same to you." Cody stood on the other side of the counter and picked absently at his banana. He found Kurt raising his brows questioningly at him. "Well, I could. I'm sorry about your falling out with Blaine and everything, but maybe you two weren't meant to be, as they say."

"How can you even say that?" Kurt shot.

Cody chewed his lip, almost guilty. "The way you can moan and gripe about you and Blaine not being together anymore. If you can complain about it, so can I. But you can only whine for so long about it until it gets old."

Kurt was left scrambling for words; he had never seen this hot-tempered side of Cody before. "You're my friend. You're supposed to help me through things like this," he argued.

"But not when you play the damsel in distress constantly. You pull that card out for more than a week and people will stop caring about it, Kurt." Cody paused, almost as if he was backtracking, making sure he had really said what had come out of his mouth. "And that includes me. Either drop the sour attitude, or find another friend—or therapist, as I should say—who will listen to your problems."

Kurt stood up from his seat at the bar and dumped his untouched coffee down the drain. He let the mug clatter in the sink, not caring in the least if it chipped. "You're not a therapist to me, Cody. You're my best friend—"

"Ahh!" Cody said abruptly and held up his hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

"Oh, I have an idea!" he burst out sarcastically. He paced across the kitchen to the pantry and dug through the shelves for a granola bar. He came out with the bar, and also a jar of peanut butter. He ripped the paper off the granola forcefully, cocking the peanut butter jar under one arm. He always overate when it came to the day of a game, Kurt came to learn. "Why don't you run off to that blondie? The one you spend most of your time with?"

Kurt shook his head, repulsed. "Will? Why him?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're over there most every day, every week after school? And for a good hour or so, I might add," he said and took a frustrated bite out of his bar. He slammed the peanut butter down on the counter and wrenched open the lid, snagging a spoon from the drawer and digging in.

Feeling the blood go straight to his face, Kurt stammered. "He's not—I would never—We're only duet partners—"

"Or better yet, why not James? He's always following you around like a lost puppy. I'm sure he'd appreciate all the attention," he sneered through a mouthful. He stuck the spoon in the peanut butter and jammed the last part of the bar in his mouth.

"He's—he's—" Kurt stuttered, unable to force out a complete sentence. His face was surely bright red by now and it became hard to swallow. He tugged at the knot of his tie.

"He's what, Kurt?" Cody asked after he'd swallowed and crumpled the foil wrapper into a small ball in his fist. He was breathing slightly harder now, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Behind Cody, the door clicked open, and Kurt blanched, freezing where he was.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Blaine mumbled contritely and slipped into the kitchen. He quietly shut the door behind him and moved to the counter where the coffee pot bubbled and boiled. He took a mug from the cabinet above and filled it.

"You're not interrupting," Cody said rigidly and didn't turn to look at Blaine.

Kurt defaulted to leaning against the counter, trying to appear casual, but his lips were still stretched tightly in a flat line, and his knuckles turned bone white as he clutched the edge of the granite. Cody stared anywhere other than Kurt or Blaine.

"Are you excited for the game today, Cody?" Blaine asked harmlessly, stirring a handful of sugar packets into his drink.

Cody merely nodded once and wore a strained smile. "Of course I am. It's our first North versus South game today. I don't know why I wouldn't be."

Blaine nodded his head in understanding and took a slow sip of his coffee. His eyes skirted over the lip of the mug at Kurt before darting away to land on the clock on the wall. He swallowed uneasily.

"When do the playoff games start again?" he asked to fill up the silence.

Cody crossed his arms over his chest. "The weekend before Nationals," he reported, his lips a thin line. "And when are the, um, fencing finals?"

Blaine opened his mouth to answer when the kitchen door swung open. Cody whipped around, and Kurt lifted his head.

There in the doorway stood Will, leaning nonchalantly against the frame, like he himself was a member of North. He had the usual smirk plastered to his face, his blonde hair gleaming in the light. His eyes swept the room, stopping on Kurt, and suddenly, Kurt felt bare and exposed. He held his breath until Will dropped his gaze and smiled.

"Fencing finals happen to be the same weekend as baseball playoffs, Michaels," he answered Cody. He lazily looked over Blaine, who stared down at his coffee and pretended Will wasn't in the room. "Should be a fun weekend, shouldn't it?"

"What did you come here for, Will? Last time I checked, students who aren't Precursors can't wing hop." Kurt finally found his voice.

Will smiled maliciously. "Right you are, Kurt. But right now, it's not a typical school day, so therefore, I can wing hop all I want. Sure, it's not recommended, but it's completely tolerable," he said airily. "And maybe I'm here just because I miss the company of my duet partner—" He looked longingly at him.

Kurt flushed bright pink and he bit his tongue sharply. There was something about the smirk on the blonde's face that made Kurt want to punch him.

"Cut to the chase, Will," Blaine said, eerily calm, and blew steam from his mug.

"Oh, alright. If you say so," the blonde said. "It seems that I've found myself two lucky ladies who happened to have stumbled into the South wing. They're most definitely not from that private girls' school who went with us to Regionals, I can tell you that." He pushed open the other door. "And apparently, they seem to have a very strong relation to Kurt, considering they were jabbering his name the entire way down here."

Kurt heard the pop as his jaw dropped. Mercedes Jones and Rachel Berry idled in the hallway awkwardly, hands twisted together in front of them. They both looked embarrassed and raised their heads when the door opened.

"Kurt!" Rachel shrieked and raced forward. She nearly knocked Will off his feet as she passed him, and Cody squealed and jumped out of her way. She locked her arms around Kurt's neck.

"What in the world are you doing here, Rachel?" Kurt sputtered out questioningly as he hugged her back. "I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you, but why are you—"

"Oh, relax, boy. Don't get your underwear in such a twist," Mercedes said with a laugh. She gave Will a dirty look as she scooted past him. He replied with his own wrinkled nose and narrowed his cat eyes, but backed off on the remarks bubbling on his lips and leaned his weight against the oven.

Kurt pulled away hurriedly from the brunette, suddenly flaring. "I thought I told you two to not make a field trip here!" he scolded. "Both of you promised me you wouldn't!"

Rachel beamed and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Maybe we had our fingers crossed…"

"Ugh," Kurt sighed and covered his face with his hands. "Not to be mean but what do you want?"

"Just to see you. Why else would we have taken two hours to drive down here?" Mercedes answered him. She nudged Cody and pulled him into a warm hug, and he had to stretch onto the tips of his toes to claps his hands at the back of her neck. "Hey, short stuff. How's it going?"

Cody pulled back, flat-faced. "One, it's not 'short stuff', and two, it's going pretty well," he said, then looked over at Kurt. "Well, sort of, I guess."

Mercedes was alarmed by this. "What does that mean? Does that mean—"

"Yes, it means things aren't going as well as they should be, but it's all okay," Kurt said hastily to interrupt her babbling. "Why don't we go out into the hallway and talk instead—"

But Rachel seemed to not have heard him, or she was simply ignoring him, and had already crossed the room before he could finish his request. She waltzed up to Will and stuck out a friendly hand.

"Rachel Berry," she greeted, chipper. "Broadway star and the current leader of the New Directions at William McKinley High. You are?"

Will was struck by her outright attitude, but he shook her hand anyway. "William Fitzroy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Berry." He flashed a grin that made Kurt want to knock out every single one of his teeth.

"Likewise," she said regally and tossed her hair over her shoulder in her trademark move. She did not seem the least bit intimidated by his height; he stood nearly eight inches over her and she had to tilt her had back slightly to look up at him.

"Broadway star, eh?" he said, clearly intrigued.

Rachel was about to happily elaborate on the subject when Blaine mumbled, "She's not on Broadway, Will. She's just a fanatic."

"Hello to you, too, Blaine. Good to see you again," she said, bittersweet. It was obvious she was irritated with him for interrupting.

"Right back at you." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and went back to timidly sipping at his coffee.

Rachel huffed lightly and turned back to Will, interested in striking up another conversation with him. "Are you in the Warblers as well, Mr. Fitzroy?" she asked attentively.

"Please, call me Will. And yes, I'm in the Warblers." His eyes drifted slowly over her shoulder to Kurt. "In fact, Kurt and I are singing a duet for a concert in the coming week or so."

"Really," Rachel said, aghast. She turned around. "Mercedes, did you know about this concert?"

The other girl shrugged her shoulders sadly and her outrageously large earrings bobbed with the motion. She stared at Kurt expectantly. "No, Rach, I'm afraid he hasn't said a word to me about it."

"Okay!" Kurt burst out and clapped his hands together. "Why don't we go outside and catch up? Cody, don't you need to get ready for your game?"

The short boy refused to make eye contact with him. "You're only saying that to get me out of the room," he said pointedly. He paused. "But yes, I do." He turned on his heel and promptly stalked out of the kitchen, the doors swinging behind him.

"Game?" Mercedes inquired.

"Baseball," Will answered right away. "We have a big rivalry between my wing and Kurt's. It's an important game." He didn't add Blaine's name. In fact, he acted like the other boy wasn't even in the room anymore, but Blaine didn't speak out against it; he appeared content with standing off to the side of the conversation and watching.

Mercedes nodded in understanding. "And what time does this game start?" She met Rachel's eyes. "If it's not too late, do you want to stay?"

"Of course!" Rachel said excitedly and bounced on her feet. When she jumped, she was almost Will's height. "Oh, we would love to stay and watch this game. Most definitely."

Will chuckled at her bubbly enthusiasm. "You're certainly welcome to stay, then. It starts in about an hour and a half, down at the baseball diamonds. I'm sure Kurt will show you the way."

"Great! And will we be seeing you on the field as well?" she asked and twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers.

"He doesn't play baseball," Blaine muttered sourly into his drink. Kurt thought he saw the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

"You're such a wet blanket, Blaine," Will said with mock displeasure.

Blaine curled his lip distastefully. "As always, it seems."

"Alright, girls," Kurt said and looped his arm through Mercedes', pulling her toward the door. "I think it's time we catch up and leave these two to themselves. Rachel, come on."

Rachel batted her eyelashes and wore a benign smile. "We'll see you later, William," she said kindly and let Kurt drag her to the doors.

"Goodbye, Rachel, Mercedes," he said, his voice syrupy sweet for extra measure.

Kurt gave him a look that said _you're over doing it, stop _and pushed into the hallway. As he left with the girls, he heard a soft snippet of what Blaine was saying to the blonde:

"Why do you have to be such a suck up?"

"I'm not a suck up. I'm being polite," Will answered, his voice growing fainter as Kurt moved down the hall.

"Then stop being polite. Frankly, it's getting on my last nerve. And get out of here; this isn't even your wing."

Kurt hauled Mercedes and Rachel a distance down the hall before finally letting go of their arms. First he directed his stare at the petite soloist.

"What were you doing back there?" he asked, utterly baffled.

She blinked at him. "What do you mean? I was being nice and putting forth a good impression. It comes naturally to me when meeting a new person."

"You know what I mean! You were flirting with Will!" he exclaimed. He waited a moment before he added fiercely, "And don't be getting any ideas, Berry. He plays for my team."

Rachel widened her eyes, shocked. "Oh, well—"

"And he's Blaine's ex," he mentioned.

"That's Blaine's ex? The one you were telling us about? Man, I can see why Blaine dated him…" Mercedes said, craning her neck to look back at the kitchen doors. She saw Kurt's piercing stare. "I mean, he's okay-looking. Not my type."

Rachel crossed her arms. "You don't have to be so theatrical about the whole thing. I was only making conversation," she told Kurt stiffly.

"Well, you don't have to barge into my private boys' school, completely unannounced, and expect me to be okay with it!" he said, his voice as taut as a strung arrow. "And you don't have to flirt with the first cute guy you see!"

"Calm down, boy," Mercedes said and stepped between them, as Rachel had advanced a few steps on him. "And you too, Ms. Priss. I don't want to see either of you go at it right now."

"I won't get mad as long as Kurt promises to do the same," she said pointedly and raised her chin defiantly.

"Why should I promise anything to you?" he snapped. "You promised me a million times you wouldn't come here, and yet, here you are, in the flesh." He waved a hand at her. "Are you trying to get me in trouble?"

Rachel's brow crumpled. "It's the weekend, Kurt, I'm sure it's perfectly okay for us to be here—"

"No, it's not!" He threw his hands over his head. "I'm sorry, but it is never a good time for you to show up here. I could get in serious trouble if the Dean catches me with two girls. One, it would result in suspension or something worse, and two, it would be a little awkward, in the case that he knows my background and…" He trailed off, flushed,, and waved his hands. "You know what I mean."

Mercedes put her hand on his arm. "Kurt—"

"And are you trying to add to my stress levels? Because it's working very well," he interrupted her, and she removed her hand. "As if I didn't already have enough on my plate. You two just _have_ to show up here right now, of all times." He turned away from them and ran his hands through his hair.

Staring at him, Mercedes was bewildered. "What in the world has gotten into you? You never let yourself get this upset. What's wrong?"

Kurt dropped his hands to his sides with an exasperated exhale of breath. "I'm just… not having a good month, it seems."

Rachel and Mercedes shared a suspicious look, and they listened as Kurt launched into an explanation that consisted of several sighs, gasps, and pauses between words. Kurt jumped from scene to scene, telling them what had gone on since they returned from the break. He ran over the idea of the Spring Show, and the drawing from the hat, and being paired up with Will to sing. His voice caught as he talked about the dispute between he and Blaine, and he quickly skipped through the gory details.

"So Blaine thinks you were cheating on him with that blonde prep boy back there? The one Rachel was flirting with?" Mercedes repeated in awe; Rachel held her lips tightly. "Man, how stupid can that boy be? Sure, he has a pretty face, I'll give him that one gladly, but I thought he was smarter than that."

Kurt rubbed his face. "Please, stop. Honestly, I don't care about it all that much anymore."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, you don't care about it? I thought you loved him?"

"Well, maybe I don't anymore," he said sharply, the words tasting funny on his tongue. "I don't know, okay? It's hard for me to love him when he thinks I'm cheating on him with not one, but two, guys."

Rachel widened her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "He thinks you're with…"

"James," Kurt said shortly, and he felt his stomach flip as he said the dark haired boy's name.

She couldn't help but stamp her foot against the floor. "I can't believe him! Why would he even think of such a thing? You're so loyal, Kurt, and I just can't fathom why he would act that way."

"He's had this suspicion since the beginning when James transferred," Kurt explained, less than thrilled. "It's been a war zone since January, and I hope it will all end soon, but something tells me that is not the case."

Mercedes nibbled on one of her long nails. "Wow, Kurt. I'm so sorry," she said concerned. Then she dropped the pity look and pursed her lips, placing her hands on her hips. "Alright, I'm ready to kick some ass. Who's first? James, Blondie or Blaine?"

"As much as it would make me feel better, I don't think that's the best idea," Kurt said to her with the briefest of smiles. "But thank you for the offer. Now I have a good idea of who really cares about me."

"Now, Kurt," Rachel started in a motherly tone and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I think Blaine cares for you a great deal. He just has a funny way of showing it. That's all."

Kurt snorted. "Yes, because envy and being overprotective is most certainly a funny way of showing it."

"And breaking up with you," Mercedes added under her breath. "Don't forget that."

"Oh. Well. He didn't exactly break up with me, per say…" Kurt said sheepishly. "I sort of broke up with him."

"What?" both girls shrieked at the same time.

"Before you get all wound up over it," Kurt said quickly and held up his hands in defense, "I have my reasons. Again, he was being too obsessive over the fact that I might've been cheating on him, which I wasn't. And I'm not going to, I might add. And he was sort of getting on my nerves about it all."

Mercedes closed her eyes, then opened them again. "I can't believe you really broke up with him, Kurt," she said.

"Hey, you would break up with him if you had been in my position," he said defensively. "He didn't trust me when I told him the truth, and he got mad. He didn't believe me."

"That says a lot about his character," Rachel murmured disappointedly.

"Exactly."

"What are you going to do about him?" Mercedes pestered curiously. "Are you two going to make up and get back together soon?"

Kurt scratched his brows and he scowled. "I'm not sure, Mercedes."

Rachel stepped forward and she blanched. "Are you going to get back together with him _at all_?"

"I don't know! I don't know what the hell I'm going to do, alright?" he said loudly and clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

The girls swallowed and suddenly looked flustered. They ceased with the questions immediately.

Kurt rubbed his temples. "Look, I'm sorry I'm being so harsh to you right now. I don't know what's going to happen in the future. I'm only trying to make it through what's going on now. After all, I've got final exams to start studying for, and the Spring Show to prepare for, and Nationals…" he said, trying to lower his voice to a volume quieter.

"You're really a mess, aren't you?" Rachel said almost inaudibly.

Without saying another word, she folded Kurt into a meaningful hug, and he stood there for a moment, debating whether she was really hugging him or not. She hardly gave out hugs on a whim. He finally placed his arms around her. Mercedes wrapped her arms around the both of them, which made Rachel giggle. Kurt smiled a bit.

"We should probably be going," he mused and pulled out of the group embrace.

"Going where?" Mercedes asked.

Kurt walked past them, playing with the cuffs of his dress shirt that peeked out from under his school sweater. "The baseball game, of course. Didn't you say you were going to stay for a little while?"

* * *

An hour later, the playing field was alive with energy and excitement. Kurt brought Mercedes and Rachel with him to the diamond, and the entire walk, the girls stayed behind to chatter under their breaths, discussing something that drove Kurt insane with wonder. He assumed it dealt with he and Blaine, and in result, he didn't pry.

The three sets of bleachers surrounding the second playing field, where the North vs. South game was taking place, were nearly full. Most of the occupants were from the other sports: lacrosse, track, field, and basketball. Kurt recognized only one or two of them, at most, and flushed at the thought of hardly knowing anyone, though he had been attending Dalton since last fall.

He made his way around the middle set of bleachers with his hands in his pants pockets and sat down on the oddly vacant first row. As Rachel and Mercedes followed him and sat down, a hush swept over the young spectators seated behind them. Kurt desperately ignored the silence. Honestly, it was like they had never seen two breathing, living females in their age range in their lives. He rolled his eyes.

Then a low whistle came from behind them in the bleachers, and Kurt, as well as Rachel and Mercedes, turned around in their seats. Kurt groaned and shook his head.

Will lowered his fingers from his mouth and moved past the boys in front of him to sit beside Rachel, shoulders pressed together. Pink spread across Rachel's cheeks and she straightened self-consciously.

"Hello," Will greeted and folded his hands together. He looked at the girls delightedly. "Ladies, I'm glad to see you stayed to watch."

"Was that whistle really necessary, Will?" Kurt asked rigidly before the girls could reply. He couldn't help but turn around to put his back to the field, his forehead creasing with his question.

The blonde wore a _why not? _face. "It didn't hurt anyone, did it?"

"Physically, no. My ears are just fine, I'm sure. But I think I may have lost a few brain cells."

"Ouch," he said, inhaling quickly through his teeth. "That was a hit to my self-esteem. What a way to treat your duet partner."

Kurt ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. "This duet is strictly business, Will, not something to joke about, and I expect you should act the same."

Will leaned forward with his elbows propped against his knees. "Oh, Kurt," he sighed, but never finished the thought.

"Don't you have someone else to bother?" Kurt inquired. He leaned back to stay out of the boy's personal space, and to keep him out of his own. "Like Carson. Where is he? And what about James? I'm sure he could use a little pre-game encouragement from you."

"Why me? Why not you? You're his best friend," Will said smartly, though his voice cracked a little. His eyes were hard.

Kurt chewed on his lip and resisted the urge to get up and leave. If he left, Rachel and Mercedes would have to deal with him, and he wasn't sure he was okay with that. Turning back forward, he distracted himself by attempting to find Cody in the mess on the field, also tuning out Rachel as she chattered on to Will about glee club.

North was fielding first, apparently, because the diamond was dotted with red and white uniforms. The pants were blinding white, the shirts ruby red with white accents. Those were the colors for North, he reminded himself, and he had seen several boys wear pins with those hues. Dalton had never been adamant about forcing each wing to don some piece or accessory with the colors, but a handful did it anyway, mostly out of tradition.

Kurt made a mental reminder to make himself a pin when he had the time. Another to add to his collection.

His eyes scanned the diamond and found a few boys that were in his classes. Some of them, he never figured to be the sporty type. But they appeared well-suited to the uniform, as if the outfit was made especially for them. Kurt rested his hands on his knees and found a small figure dressed in black gear striding up to the pitcher's mound.

Without having to squint, it was clear it was Cody underneath the bulky gear. The boy pulled the helmet from his head. He let it dangle in his hand at his side, leaning his weight on one foot as he talked to the pitcher, a tall boy with freckles and brown hair. Cody's lips curved as he smiled and laughed at something the pitcher said, and they shared some sort of special handshake.

Cody started back to the plate when he saw Kurt eagerly watching, and he raced up to the fence.

"You came," he said lamely, threading his fingers through the chain link fence.

Kurt spared a smile. "Of course I did. I could never miss my best friend's game," he said happily.

The small boy spared a smile.

Behind him, the man Kurt recalled as the assistant coach walked onto the field. Instantly the boys tossing balls back and forth stopped and they rolled the balls to the sidelines, where they were picked up. Cody had on an apologetic expression and he hurried to the plate, ready to play.

The assistant coach joined him behind the plate, donning a black chest guard and a helmet and protective leg gear. He waved a hand in the direction of the dugout to his left and a lean boy dressed in emerald green approached the plate with an air of confidence, twirling a bat in his hands.

The game started off on a good note. The first three pitches shot forward, and the cocky batter was out; he retreated, baffled. The next two batters followed in his footsteps and struck out. Before Kurt knew it, the teams were heading back to the dugouts to switch positions.

Kurt crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder at Will, feeling a bit arrogant. "I thought South was supposed to be good in sports," he said innocently.

Will grimaced. "It's only the first inning. Stop acting like it's the top of the ninth."

The teams reemerged and green took over the field. The last figure that stepped onto the diamond was thin and lanky, and he tugged the cap farther down over his eyes. He kept his head down to watch his feet while he walked, and he flexed his hand uncomfortably in his glove. Ordinarily, Kurt would've mistaken for any other boy, but the contrast of his dark hair against the green of his uniform top made him recognizable.

Rachel sat up straighter and squinted through the fence at the boy. Once she realized who he was, she ducked her head and started to whisper to Mercedes, who listened intently.

"James has been doing quite well," Will commented, clearly pleased with his friend. "I came to a few of his practices, and he's actually a decent pitcher. Not that I'm surprised, of course."

"Now is the time you should be quiet, Will," Kurt said through clenched teeth. He resisted turning around again. He knew the blonde was mocking him silent, and he shrugged it off.

Out on the field, James had thrown five pitches already, and four of them were strikes. The first pitch was the ball, and it had gone astray from course, diving low and hitting the dirt right on the corner of the plate. Now, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and prepared to wind up once more.

Kurt let his eyes drift over the pitcher. In the bright green uniform, he was out of place. Kurt was so accustomed to him wearing dark shades of clothing aside from the navy uniform, so the green was odd. Looking past the vibrant color, James was thinner, leaner, than he had been all year. He was as thin as a light pole, maybe even skinnier. He physically resembled an ill patient from a hospital, with pale skin and smudges of purple permanently under his eyes.

A pang struck Kurt in the stomach as the last thought reminded him of his father when the heart attack had happened. His father had been as pale as the sheets in the bed, bruises ringing his eyes and his collarbones starting to become more apparent through his skin. If it was possible, James looked worse. How he could throw pitches and run around the bases without dropping to his knees, Kurt couldn't begin to wonder.

He shook his head to clear the thought and he moved his sights around the field. By that time, the third batter was up at the plate, with two strikes and zero balls. The crowd had gone silent as they waited for the last pitch to leave James' hand. In a white blur, it shot toward home plate and hit the catcher's glove with a loud _smack._

The umpire let out a low call and a smile broke across James' face. Green scattered from the field, and the North batter sulked back to his dugout.

Kurt felt a tap on his shoulder. For a moment he didn't turn around. Will was the last person he wanted any smart remarks from. He only turned his head when he felt another tap, and he just about lost his breath.

"What's the score?" Blaine asked and leaned forward in anticipation. Instead of looking at Kurt, his eyes were trained on the field.

Will was no longer in his seat beside Rachel. Instead, he was up on the top row of the bleachers, talking with Simon and Carson. If Rachel had objected to him moving, she didn't say a word. And with Blaine appearing in the bleachers, Kurt thought she would've said something, like a greeting or such. But she was too busy talking to Mercedes in a low voice, eyes flitting between Kurt and Blaine.

"No one's scored yet," he said and absently licked his lips.

Blaine sat back, somewhat content. He folded his hands in his lap and did not speak another word.

For the rest of the game, which was eight more gruelingly long innings, Kurt kept his mouth shut. He only opened it to comment on what Rachel or Mercedes said to him. A few times they asked him who was batting and what the score was, and so on. They were careful about what they said with Blaine in the row behind them, and Kurt was incredibly grateful.

Three times Rachel struck up a conversation with the soloist. The first one was over glee club and what his opinions were on her solo for an upcoming concert at McKinley. She went on to describe how she was underappreciated in the group, using her hands to animate her words. As she rambled on, Mercedes mocked her by making talking gestures with her hand.

The second one was general topics, like classes and homework and family. Rachel was in over her head talking about her dads and how her mother had given her up at a young age. She went on to describe Ms. Corcoran, turning slightly angered near the end. Mercedes jabbed her in the ribs and she stopped right there.

Kurt winced inwardly when Blaine told her his mom was working, Sadie was still in school, and that his dad was out of town for a business trip.

The third conversation Rachel struck up with him, Kurt didn't hear much of. Rachel kept her voice low and in furious whispers, her lips to Blaine's ear and her hand cupped around her mouth. Kurt had a feeling that she was talking to him about the breakup. Blaine replied in short, low murmurs. He didn't sound very enthusiastic and eventually, Rachel left him alone.

By the end of the game, South had three runs over North, Will's obnoxious ego had expanded significantly, and Kurt was feeling sick to his stomach. He waited until the rest of the crowd and Blaine left, who gave him a polite wave goodbye, to stretch out across the seat. He covered his eyes.

"For a heartbroken dude," Mercedes said, watching the soloist leave, "he's pretty cheerful."

"He waved at me," Kurt said and refused to take his hands away from his face, despite Rachel tugging on his wrists. "He _waved goodbye to me. _How does he think I'm supposed to deal with that?"

"Relax. He's just trying to be nice."

Kurt bolted up, which shocked Rachel. "He is not 'just trying to be nice,' Mercedes. He's trying to get into my head now that we're not together, and he knows what he does to me with every little thing he does, from wave at me to even looking in my general direction."

Rachel raised a manicured eyebrow. "I think you're overreacting."

"I think I'm not."

"I think you are," Mercedes agreed. She patted his knee comfortingly. "He's being polite. He knows you're hurting and maybe he wants to be friends."

Kurt puckered his lips in thought. "If he knows I'm hurting, then he wouldn't have waved at me. He wouldn't be this nice to me. I mean, he should want to glue my face to a boxing dummy and punch it until the stuffing comes out!"

"Maybe—" Rachel started.

"Maybe we're overthinking it," Mercedes said. "It's just a freaking wave, Kurt. A simple gesture. I mean, Rachel, how many times did you wave to Finn in the hallway during a time that you were broken up with him?" She looked to the brunette for support.

Rachel went beet red. "Do you want the real answer or one that I've concocted in an attempt to make Kurt feel better?"

Sighing, Kurt let himself fall back onto the bench.

* * *

A wave of relief washed over Kurt as he walked Mercedes and Rachel out to Rachel's tiny car, which was parked in the back of the lot, twenty minutes later. He gave them credit for wanting to hide the vehicle, but all he wanted to was go inside and sleep, not walk all over the lot.

"Be careful. Go the speed limit. Don't flip off the cops," he said as they loaded up and started the engine.

Rachel laughed. "Yes, Mom. And do you want me to pick up some milk while I'm out?"

Kurt smiled and the motion was almost foreign to him. He hadn't genuinely smiled for a while. "Call me when you get back to Lima."

"We'll do that," Mercedes promised. She clicked her seatbelt into place and fluffed her hair in the visor mirror. She folded it back up and rested her arm along the door with the window rolled down. "Take care of yourself. Got it? I don't want anything else happening to you."

"I'll try my best," he said and pushed hair from his eyes. It felt greasy under his fingers and the first thing he needed to do, he thought, was to take a shower. "And give my love to everyone back at McKinley. Especially Finn. I'm sure he's anxious about my well-being, since I haven't gotten in contact with him since Spring Break. And my dad must be even worse."

That was another thing on his list: call Burt.

Rachel smiled toothily. "Roger that. Call us if you need anything else, or just want to talk. You know we'd be happy to hear from you."

Kurt nodded and stepped back so she could back the car out of the spot. He watched as the car zipped through the nearly empty parking lot, Mercedes waving from the window. She rolled up when Rachel swatted her arm. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started back to the dorms.

From where he was, he had a good view of the sports fields. The football field, with the track, was hidden by clumps of trees and the garden, but he could see bits of it. A distance from the field stood the small patch of green used for soccer and fencing, and the two baseball diamonds. Boys still lingered at the diamonds, though the game was long over.

Kurt pushed open the door and entered the hall. As he did so, he heard ruckus coming from the commons, music playing. Kurt curiously peeked his head in and saw Cody and the North team, snacking on chips and drinking soda, all looking quite somber.

He ducked out of sight and disappeared down the hall, feeling intrusive.

The hallway leading to the dorms was empty, silent, and dark. Kurt flipped on lamps as he went and gradually, the space was filled with golden light. He made it to his room and, shutting the door behind him, pulled his tie loose. He slipped it off and hung it on the hanger in his closet, where his blazer hung. Removing his shirt, he shut himself in the bathroom and started the water.

For just about twenty minutes, he stood under the hot spray and let it scald his skin, turning it pink. He rubbed shampoo through his hair until his fingertips were numb and all he could smell was peppermint. When he decided he was finished, he wrenched off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel on the vanity.

He wrapped a towel around his dripping hair and dried off. The air in his room was colder than the air in the bathroom and he shivered trying to fish a pair of pajamas out of the drawer of his bureau. He went back to the bathroom and shut the door to seal the hot air in.

Steam rose up and fogged the mirror. Kurt removed the towel from his hair and ran his fingers through it, feeling the split ends. Both towels were hung over the bar in the shower and he pulled on his pajamas, which happened to be a pair of sleep pants that went down to his shins and an old shirt of Finn's. The shirt still smelled like his step-brother.

Kurt leaned over the vanity to smear his hand across the mirror to see himself. He brushed through his hair until he had parted it correctly, then reached for the dryer, and set it on high. It took five minutes to get his hair dry and he smoothed cream through it.

Then, with his hand outstretched, he drew circles and small pictures on the foggy mirror. He drew hearts and triangles and anything he could think of before the mirror was filled with numerous scribbles.

He stood back, satisfied with such a small thing. His fingertips were the textures of raisins from the excess water and he chewed on one of his nails.

Kurt rinsed his face with soap and water, and the cold water made some of the pictures fade. He patted his face dry and was about to apply a handful of cream when he heard his phone chiming from his pants pocket. He retrieved it and hit the green button without checking to see who it was, placing it on the vanity beside him on speaker.

"Hello?" he said and carefully placed cream on his forehead.

"Hey, kiddo," came a gruff voice.

Kurt stopped. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. Who else would it be?"

"I don't know," he said. "What's going on?"

He could hear the shrug Burt was giving. "Nothing much. I just wanted to call and ask how you were doing. I mean, we haven't seen you for a while. Carole's been asking me to call for a week straight now and I finally gave in." He chortled. "And I wanted to ask how you are, too. Not just her."

"Well, I'm fine," Kurt answered and squirted another cream into the palm of his hand. "How is Carole? Is she doing well?"

"She's doing alright. She's doing well with her Pampered Chef thing, and she's already looking into details for some party..." He paused to chuckle. "But I think she's still suffering from you leaving," he admitted. "She's gotten so used to you being home all the time, and now that you don't come home on the weekends…"

Kurt waited him for him to finished, though he never did. He sighed. "Dad, you know I would come home every weekend if I could. But gas actually costs money and the commute from here to Lima and back every weekend would rack up a good chunk of my bank account," he explained.

"Every other weekend," Burt grunted. "You could come home twice a month, just so we can see you."

Kurt sighed again and searched his vanity for another bottle of lotion. He found it and squirted some in his hands. "Even if it's cut down from every week to every other week, it would still drain me. I sort of have to half a little cash to pay for the little things."

Burt _hmph_ed on the other end. "And what are these little things?"

"You know…" But nothing came to mind and he left his sentence hanging.

"Actually, I don't know," Burt said. "What could you possibly pay for down there? Carole and I've already paid for you tuition and your boarding, so you don't need to spend a good dime on that—"

Kurt squirted another handful of lotion until the room reeked of it. "And I completely appreciate that, Dad. You and Carole have taken care of me so well, what with you skipping your honeymoon to send me to Dalton, and then your medical bills and the medication…" He faded. "It's more than enough."

"Well, we do what we can to make you happy," he said. "But really, I don't think it would be much of a problem to come see us once in a while, Kurt. You live two hours away. It's not like you moved to California."

Kurt dawdled on the last word, his mind going absently to James. He shook his head. He was talking with his _father_, not _James. _He snapped out of it, only to hear Burt rambling on.

"…but still, if you need gas money, I can always give you some—"

"No, Dad. I'm fine with money," Kurt interjected.

"Then do you not want to come home, or what?"

Kurt shrugged. He pulled out the small chair that hid in the corner of the room and plopped down. "It's not that I don't want to come home. It's just—"

On the other end, there was a great crash, one that made Kurt jump and look at the phone. "Dad?"

For the next minute, he waited anxiously without a quick reply. He grabbed the phone and checked to make sure the call hadn't ended, and it hadn't. He was dazed.

"Sorry, kiddo," Burt grumbled when he finally came back on, "there were a few things that fell off on the shelf in the shop, but nothing big. I swear, that new assistant kid doesn't have the least bit of common sense."

"New assistant?" Kurt repeated and raised his eyebrows. The mirror had cleared of fog by now and he examined his reflection: his cheeks were pink and his hair was coifed to perfection.

"Yeah, we had to hire one after you left for Dalton," Burt reported and he held the phone away from him to cough loudly. "Sorry. After you left, things got a bit busy and I didn't have much of a choice other than to hire someone else."

Kurt pinched the hem of his shirt between his fingers. He had always helped his dad with the shop. At the idea of being replaced, in a sense, he felt a surge of anger course through him, but he quickly swallowed it.

"What about Finn? Surely he can help you after school," he said.

"Ha, good one. Finn won't help me anymore," he chuckled halfheartedly. "He's so into football right now, even though the season's over. He's convinced he'll get recruited for Ohio to play. It's his new dream."

"Recruited? But the recruiters don't come in the spring," Kurt pointed out.

Burt gave a chuckle. "You tell him that. Carole's already tried knocking some sense into that kid, but he's so set on making sure he's in the best shape for next fall."

"So he's training now?"

"Yep. He's running in the mornings and after school and sometimes in the middle of the night. And he's taking my diet stuff and adding protein. Do you know how many times I've gone downstairs at five in the morning for work to see him fiddling with a handful of hardboiled eggs and the blender?" he asked. "The kid's insane."

Kurt shook his head. "It's Finn, Dad. He always has these big dreams that he never thinks through."

"That's true," he mumbled. "Hold on."

He disappeared from the phone and it sounded like he set it down on a table. In that time, Kurt listened as he and someone else, most likely the new assistant, banged around the shop, the metal magnified in the speakers. Kurt assumed they were cleaning the shelves because he recognized the heavy metal sounds that belonged to the tool chests.

"Sorry," Burt said a few minutes later when he had finished. "And another thing: that kid doesn't have one speck of organization."

Kurt couldn't help but snort. "And you do?"

"Hey, I'm working on it. But it was a whole lot better when you were helping me out," he said.

Kurt dropped his head, chin touching his chest. "Again, Dad, I'm not coming back home permanently."

"Don't go there. I wasn't asking you that," Burt defended. "But if you ever feel like you miss your friends, I don't think enrolling you back at McKinley would be much of a problem."

"I'm not coming home for good, Dad," Kurt said firmly. "That's my final decision. I like it here at Dalton. I like the classes, and I like the people here. The food is better than what was served at McKinley, and it's cleaner, and it's better in all sense of the word, Dad." He added, "And I'm happy."

Burt let out a long sigh. "I guess that's what matters, isn't it? That you're happy?"

"It does," Kurt agreed, though it felt like he was lying through his teeth.

_I'm not any happier here than I was at home, _he wanted to suddenly admit. _Dalton is nice and everything, but I don't fit in as well as everyone else does. I don't fit the uniform. I miss my friends. I miss you and Carole and, hell, even Finn. I miss my old glee club and Mr. Schue and I wouldn't mind giving up my current whack-job director in exchange, even though we are going to Nationals soon. I would give it all up._

But not a word of it came out of his mouth. He stayed quiet.

_But would I give Blaine up for it? Would I give up Cody and Wes and David and Thomas? And even James, though sometimes I want to wring his neck? I would give up Will and Carson in a heartbeat, of course, but would I give up any of the others?_

"Well, that's good. But if you ever feel like coming back, just call," Burt offered helpfully. "You know we miss you."

Kurt tilted his head back, exasperated. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think I'll be coming home for a while, okay? It's too much money for the commute, and I don't have a job to make sure I have the money to pay for the commute. Nothing works out."

"It would work out if you decided to come help me out in the garage again," Burt muttered. "I always paid you pretty well."

"I know that, Dad, but it's not like I can drive two hours to get there, work for an hour, and then drive two hours back in order to have enough time to get sleep and be up and ready for the next day," he finished in one long breath. "I'll find a job close to school and I'll get my money from that."

Burt fell quiet. "I was talking about the weekend, but whatever floats your boat."

Kurt rubbed his face, his skin smooth from the lotion. "I'll pass."

"Whatever." He stopped talking, and it sounded like he was sorting through papers. Bills, most likely. "How is school going? You never really got into that."

"Oh," Kurt said lamely. "School is… school is going well."

"Your grades, Kurt. How are they looking?"

Kurt shifted in his seat and he found himself playing with a loose thread on the chair.

"They're fine. I have low A's in all of them. Except in choir, Ms. Lovett gives us perfect marks even though it's an elective and electives shouldn't be graded, as she says." He stopped talking, as he thought he was rambling on out of anxiety. He didn't mention the fact that his Physics grade was a low C instead of a low A.

"That sounds good," he mused and a pile of papers _thwack_ed against a hard surface. "Don't you, uh, have exams coming up? I was only asking because Finn's got Artie over at our house a lot to tutor him. Smart one, that kid is."

Kurt nodded, rolling the idea of Artie tutoring Finn around in his mind. It was a funny image, seeing the boy in the wheelchair trying to explain basic Physics to the giant.

"Oh, yeah. We do. They come up in the last week of school. The last week of May," he said. "Though everyone's starting to study now because the professors are preparing massive reviews that look like they've been printed from entire trees, and the material is exceedingly difficult, and… it's a lot to work on."

Burt laughed, deep and rich. "Sounds like it, kiddo. Be sure to, uh, study up. Get good grades on that stuff."

"I'll make sure to do that," Kurt said and picked at his nails that were starting to dry around the cuticles. He grabbed another bottle of lotion off the vanity.

"And I've also gotten the hint that you're going to Nationals. Is that right?"

"That is correct," Kurt said and nodded.

"Well, what're the details?" he questioned.

Kurt was taken aback by his dad's sudden interest in choir, but didn't protest.

"We leave the twenty-seventh. We land in New York that day and check in to our hotel, have a free day to see the city on Saturday, and then we perform on Sunday. We come back that Monday morning," he recited, just as he had heard it from Lovett's mouth so many times before.

"So, you're in New York on Saturday?" He sounded concerned.

Kurt pursed his lips. "Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that? What's wrong with that?" he repeated in a skeptical tone. "I can't believe you don't remember what day that is!"

"Should I remember what day that is?" Kurt asked, knowing that once he knew the answer, he would feel downright idiotic.

Burt broke into a fit of laughter. "It's your birthday, Kurt! I can't believe you, of all people, didn't realize that."

Kurt sucked in a breath. "Oh, you're right. It didn't even cross my mind. It was just a date to me, and I didn't even think about. Sure, Blaine's mentioned it to me once or twice, but I haven't put much though into that."

Frankly, he was surprised that his dad had remembered his birthday at all. In past years, he'd gotten it mixed up with the neighbor's son's birthday, and his brother's birthday, and his cousin's birthday. Once, Kurt remembered, he got it confused with Kurt's grandmother's birthday. Now, to have him be the one to bring it up was a shock.

"When your mother hears that, be prepared to get a huge box at whatever hotel you're staying at," Burt warned him. "She'll probably want to send you something."

Kurt rubbed his temples. "Great. I mean, not that I don't want her to, but it would make it an even bigger deal than it already is."

"It'll be fine, Kurt. It's your birthday, after all. You're turning… what, seventeen?"

And of course, if he remembered the birth date, he probably forgot the age.

Kurt laughed. "Yes, I'm turning seventeen. It's not that big of a deal. Blaine's already seventeen, and so are Wes and David. A lot of my friends are seventeen."

"So? I don't care about your friends," Burt said.

"Seventeen is just a step closer to eighteen. When I turn eighteen, you can make a big deal out of it," Kurt allowed.

Burt simply chuckled. "Alright. But back to your choir thing. You come back on Monday, isn't that what you said? How're you going to get back in time for class and all that?"

"Our Dean has given us excused absences for it," Kurt explained, glad they were off the birthday topic now. He picked at the front of his shirt, as it was starting to stick to his chest from the perspiration. "We'll get back about midday on Monday, right around our lunch period. If he's nice enough, he'll let us off for the rest of the day." He sighed.

Burt made a noise of understanding. "But you don't sound too happy about that day off. What gives?"

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just, when you miss one day of class, you might as well have missed the entire week," Kurt told him. "Our lesson plans are complex and very hard to get back into after a day or two of absence."

"You'll be fine. You're a strong kid, Kurt," Burt said proudly. "I'm sure there isn't anything you can't do in terms of your school stuff."

Kurt barely smiled at his father's attempts at sounding encouraging. "Thanks, Dad. But then again, we get back on Monday, and then that week is all reviewing. We have finals the week after that, on Wednesday and Thursday."

"And that's it? You're done after that?" Burt guessed.

"That's it," Kurt told him. "Thursday, we get released early after our last exam to pack up our things, if we haven't already done so. We have to be out of the building by Monday of the next week."

Burt hummed. "Sounds pretty good. And what happens to the stuff you leave behind? On accident?"

Kurt flattened his lips. "I don't have an idea. I guess whomever cleans the rooms will dispose of it one way or another."

"Then don't leave anything behind," his dad said shortly. Kurt couldn't tell if he was joking or dead serious.

"Don't worry. I've already got an idea of how I'm going to pack everything," he said easily, when in reality, he had nothing planned.

He hadn't started on figuring out how he was going to bring everything home with him, from his clothes to his books to the sheets on the bed. The only thing he did know, however, was that the only things that would stay in the room were the furniture.

"That's good to hear," Burt said happily. From all the silence on the other end, it sounded like he was done with work and done with sorting through bills. Now he was idling, most likely at the table in his office. "Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?"

Kurt hid his face in the hand that wasn't holding the phone. He knew his dad would get this far in the conversation, and then pop the question. By _Is there anything else you want to talk to me about? _he meant it as _Okay, tell me about the boys. More specifically, Blaine._

"No, nothing," Kurt said a little too quick. He drummed his fingers against his knee, his hands feeling anxious. He set down the phone and put it on speaker to clean up around the bathroom. Walking made him feel better.

"Are you sure?" Burt asked him doubtfully. "Well, if you don't have anything to talk about, I guess I'll let you go so you can, uh, finish up whatever it is you were doing before I called."

Kurt froze in picking up his clothes off the floor. "O-oh, alright."

"Just call if you need anything else," he said.

"I will, Dad," Kurt said and bit his lip. Then he blurted, "Dad, wait."

When there was no response, Kurt thought he had hung up already. He slung his clothes over his arm and hurried to the phone, only to see that the call was still connected.

"Yes? What is it?" Burt asked.

Kurt sighed and buried his face in the shirt in his hands. "I want to ask you for a bit of advice. On boys."

Even though they weren't talking in person, Kurt felt the tension rise.

"Before you say anything, I know this is usually Carole's field, but you've been there for me longer than she has," Kurt said hastily, "and since you're on the phone and everything right now, I thought I would ask you. If that's okay, I mean."

"Go ahead," Burt said calmly. "I'm listening."

Kurt took a calming breath. "Like I said earlier, it is about boys."

"Hold up a minute, if you're still, ah, together with Blaine, then why the hell is this around boys?" Burt interrupted loudly.

"Let me get there!" Kurt said over his talking. "Just let me explain and let me get there, okay?"

For a long while, Burt did not answer. Then, "Alright. Go on."

Kurt curled his toes against the cool floor and sat back down again. "Like I said, it is about boys. And relationships. And I'm wondering if I did the right thing…"

And so, for the next ten minutes, Kurt was caught up in starting from the beginning. The very beginning. Since he decided against outright telling Burt what was going on, fearing that he would be confused with names and people, he started back before everything.

He began on the day he first found out about Dalton, that one day in the fall semester when he was still enrolled at McKinley, that day he took a trip to the private school. When he met Blaine on that staircase, the one he paced up and down every day now for his classes.

When he first decided he had the slightest crush on Blaine.

He skipped over the next few months, past meeting Wes and David and Cody and Thomas, and into the spring term. He was getting into the first month of January when he suddenly froze, the words not coming out of his mouth. They were all caught.

"In January… what?" Burt prompted him, using a tone that sounded a bit bored but he was trying to stay engaged in the story.

"In January, James came," Kurt choked out.

Kurt ran over January. He picked up where he left off, where it was with James' arrival at Dalton and his audition into the Warblers. He talked about William, the haughty blonde, and Carson, the haughty blonde's best friend. James had become friends with the blonde boys and stuck by their sides wherever they happened to go.

When Kurt mentioned the little bit about Blaine and Will dating in their freshman year, Burt coughed and said, "Okay, that's… different. No, I'm fine, go on."

Kurt went on. He went on to talk about the rivalry between South and North, between Wes and Will, and between James and Blaine, and between Blaine and Will.

He was embarrassed beyond belief to admit that James had a head-over-heels crush on him and he said it so quickly that he was asked to repeat it, slowly so the words didn't run together.

After that, he summarized the Valentine's Brunch, and what happened backstage that Burt and Carole didn't see. James, missing his solo to hide out in the choir room out of nerves. Blaine, singing that song for him out on stage with his guitar. And then James, playing that piece for him as everyone else was in the dining hall, enjoying the homemade food.

Things only got worse from that point, and Kurt found himself stopping more often to think about what he was going to say. He eased into Blaine admitting his crush on him and that came back to him as a fond memory, but then remembered that, as of now, it meant nothing.

Regionals came up next, and this was the part he wanted to skip, though he didn't. He blew through it without stuttering as much over the words. Recalling everything in words was almost like reliving everything again. After Regionals, there was spring break, and he didn't have to elaborate on that, since he had spent the week home in Lima.

Getting back to class after the week off was difficult. It was when Lovett assigned the first song of Nationals, and also when she announced the Spring Show and made everyone draw names. He had been so hopeful that he and Blaine would miraculously be paired together, but instead he got a sick surprise when he had drawn William's name instead.

More than once, Kurt had to stop and repeat sentences because they had been spoken too quickly or Burt didn't understand what was happening and needed a background check.

He certainly needed many background checks when Kurt started to talk of his weekly rehearsals with Will in preparation for the Spring Show. The blonde's past was very messy, and several times Kurt wanted to forget it and move on to what was really the matter, what he really wanted help on.

But he stayed on track and pushed through.

Then came baseball tryouts for Cody. That had been a fun day, aside from finding out that the blondes had pushed James into the tryouts, convinced he would make both the wing team and the Dalton team. Which he did, but that was beside the point.

Once or twice throughout his story, Burt interrupted him to ask, "Who's James again?" or "What does this have to do with anything?"

And each time, Kurt replied, "Relax, I'm getting there. When I finish, you'll understand."

Kurt briefly discussed the early start on finals and the work on their Nationals program, and how Lovett was constantly changing her mind on openers. When she found a closer she liked, she suddenly decided the opener wouldn't do, and when he found the closer unfit, she fell in love with the opener.

The solo was another mouthful of words entirely, and Kurt explained how Mercedes and Rachel had threatened him, just about, if he didn't go and sign up for an audition. The audition was the worst, consisting of his current boyfriend, the boy who was dreadfully in love with him, and his current boyfriend's ex. There was tension between the four boys, and Kurt had hardly survived the day without getting into a cat fight.

He stopped at this point to take a deep breath. His lips were dry and his nails were sore from picking at the cuticles as he talked.

"_This_, what I'm about to tell you," he said, "is what I want to get your advice on."

And he talked. He talked about the disagreement between he and Blaine, which ended up in their nasty breakup, though he was persuaded that Blaine thought they were simply taking "a break" from their relationship. Not before too long, Kurt's eyes watered at the memory and he had to stop to wipe the moisture from his face.

"…and I only wanted to know if I did the right thing, breaking up with him like that," Kurt said through hiccups and coughs and countless tissues pressed to his mouth. "I mean, he thinks I cheated on him and he won't believe me when I'm telling the truth. He's so paranoid, and he knows Will's background almost better than he knows his own, and he was afraid of losing me.

"And then he has to go an accuse me of going off with _James. _I mean, it's James we're talking about here. Not that he's not a nice boy, don't get me wrong, but he's too sick. He's too troubled, and every time I see him I want to hug him and cry for him, and oh, Dad, I don't know what to do anymore."

He ducked his head in his arms. His lips were swollen from talking nonstop for what felt like hours upon hours, and he was surprised that Burt hadn't fallen asleep over the course of it all.

"Well," Burt started off, "I think this James kid sounds nice enough, like you said, but he needs to sort out his own priorities first. He's got way too much on his plate."

Kurt sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But… do you think it's right? How I'm treating him?"

"It sounds fine to me. The way you're treating him," he said in a quiet voice, something Kurt hadn't heard him use in a long time. "If he's hurting, by all means, take care of him. Be there for him, and do what you can for him. He's only a boy. You're doing the right thing."

"Okay," Kurt whimpered and wiped his eyes. "But how do I tell him that I don't like him back? I've already made the point clear that I'm in love with Blaine. Was in love… with Blaine. But he doesn't understand."

Burt let out a tired sigh, and Kurt had a half a mind to let him off the line, to go back to the shop where he didn't have to deal with his gay son's relationship issues.

"Then it's his fault, and not yours. You are doing everything you can to get the message across, and if he doesn't get that, then he's only digging himself deeper into the hole he's already in," Burt remarked.

"And what about Will? What do I do with him?"

Burt snorted. "What do you mean, what do you do with him? You told me you don't have anything romantic with him, so why worry about him? You've already said you don't have any feelings toward this boy, so that's that."

This made Kurt nod his head. His neck was starting to get sore and he rubbed his hand across the back of it.

"And Blaine…" He trailed off. "I don't know how to handle him. I mean, I still love him and everything, but he is so adamant that I'm going off with Will, or James, or even both. He didn't believe me when I told him the truth, and it makes it hard to be around him."

"It's his loss, Kurt. Blaine's a swell kid and I approve of him, but if he doesn't know you well enough to trust you on things like this, then it's his loss. He's missing out on a spectacular kid," Burt said firmly. "It's nothing you should feel ashamed or worried over, okay? Blaine sounds like he's confused and annoyed and tangled up in his own past."

Kurt sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. "Okay. But do you think that taking a break like this is good?"

"Whatever you feel is good, Kurt. If you feel like you want to take a break with this Blaine, go right ahead, dammit. Whatever you feel is right," he said, his tone growing weary. "But I promise you, son, that things will get better for you. They will. You and Blaine will have things sorted out and everything will be better soon enough."

"Thank you so much, Dad. Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry I kept you on the phone for so long," Kurt said, picking up the phone and getting shakily to his feet. In the mirror, his reflection stared back at him. His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were rimmed in red. He brought his fingertips up to the corner of his eye.

"It's not a problem, kiddo," Burt beamed. "But listen, I'm going to need to head off now. Carole called the shop a few minutes ago to say dinner's ready, and Finn's starving himself just by looking at the food, and that she wants me home. Is that alright with you?"

Kurt smiled and left the bathroom. The air in his bedroom was chilling compared to the warmth he had been sitting in for… how long? Nearly an hour and a half? He stared at the clock on his bed side table, realizing that that was how long he'd spent talking.

"That's fine. Go eat," he told him eagerly. "Tell Carole and Finn I say hi."

"Will do. I'll talk to you later. And don't forget what I told you. Hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Kurt said, and he was faced with a dead line. He tapped the screen and laid the phone gently down on the bureau.

Then, he collapsed face first onto his bed.

* * *

A rapid knocking had Kurt off the bed and on his feet not more than thirty minutes later. It sounded like someone was banging a jack hammer on his door. He hurried to the door and flung it open, surprised to see Wes and David in the hallway, waiting for him.

Wes was wringing his hands and had his face scrunched up like he had eaten a lemon, whole and in one sitting. David stood beside him and was biting his lip. Kurt could tell both of them were curling their toes in their shoes and they looked thrilled beyond belief.

"What is wrong? You just about put a hole in my door with your knocking," he asked, scanning their faces.

Wes broke into a wide smile. "You'll never guess what just happened in the glee club world."

Kurt leaned against the door frame, thankful nothing serious had happened. He thought they were going to tell him that South had sabotaged something else of theirs, or the kitchen had gone through another blender explosion.

"Let me guess: Vocal Adrenaline has just lost their director, half the students quit as a result, and they're not going to Nationals with us?" Kurt raised an eyebrow hopefully.

David wrung his hands together. "I wish, but no."

"Then what's happened?"

The two boys shared an ecstatic look.

"Markus is letting us go to Nationals!" they burst out in unison.

Kurt's eyes widened until they were as wide as dinner plates. "Really?"

"Really!" Wes cheered. He jumped wildly until David had to grab his arm to keep him still. "He called us into his office a few minutes ago, and Lovett was there, and they both agreed to cut the suspension short so we can go!"

"That's awesome!" Kurt said happily. "What's the catch?"

David's smile dropped a little bit of its perkiness. "Oh, right. The catch. Well, the thing is, we have to serve whatever's left of our suspension from this year when the fall term starts next year."

"Of course. There's always a little catch with something that great," Kurt said. "Well, I'm glad you're able to come with us."

"Same here," Wes sighed and ran one hand through his hair. "Oh, and Lovett says she wants to talk to you. Now. Alone. In the choir room."

David nodded. "Be careful. It's probably a trap that will lead to your ultimate death. That's what always happens in the movies."

Kurt stepped into the hallway and slowly shut the door behind him. "This isn't a movie, David. I'm sure she wants to talk to me about the Spring Show. It's coming up, anyway."

"Well, you'll find out soon enough," Wes said, trying to sound calm, but he was failing. The exhilaration was clear across his face and he looked ready to bounce off the walls. "Tell us when you get back."

"I'll do that," Kurt said. His thoughts slipped right away to what Lovett would want to talk to him about and he almost missed David's next sentence.

"…so we're going to go tell Blaine," he said and backpedaled across the hall, flashing two thumbs up. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

Kurt smiled at them one last time before starting down the hall. A second later, Blaine's door opened and he heard Wes and David start blabbering out what had happened. Blaine offered them energetic smiles and words of appreciation, and they faded the further down the hall Kurt got.

When he reached the main hallway, he was able to revel in the silence. He didn't have to hear Wes' and David's story again, and that made him sigh with relief. He was glad they were able to come; at least things were turning up for some people.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, passing the commons. The doors were wide open and Cody was sitting at the back, against the windows on the long cushion, a cup of soda in his hands. The other members of the North team were conversing with one another, upset with their loss. Kurt hurried out of view before Cody could see him.

Outside, the air was clean and smelled of the fresh flowers that were planted beneath the windows. He paced along the sidewalk that connected the dorms to the school building, letting the cool spring breeze wash over him.

His mind wandered to what Lovett would have to say. Was she going to discuss the Spring Show? Would she revoke his assignment to sing with Will? Or worse yet, was she going to redraw and place him with Blaine?

Kurt flushed at the idea. There would be a little awkwardness in that and he hoped it wasn't the case. It most likely wasn't, as she didn't like changing things when it was so close to an important date.

But what else was there to talk over?

There weren't any more concerts between the Spring Show and Nationals, and they weren't going out on field trips. God forbid, field trips. What a thought. She hardly let them out of the building as a school group. Why would she take them out in a public place? And for what purpose?

Kurt bit his lip, stumped by the many ideas swimming in his head, and pushed open the doors. He entered the other building and found the hallway before him dead silent and just as empty. He quickly moved down the hall to the choir room and knocked once. Hearing a small "come in", he pushed open the door.

"Ms. Lovett? You wanted to see me?" he asked in a small voice and peeked his head in.

The frizzy haired choir director looked up from whatever papers she had scattered in front of her on the desk. She eagerly waved a hand at him and pushed the papers away, standing up. She gestured for him to take a seat on one of the couches.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Hummel. Come right in, make yourself at home," she said warmly.

Kurt cautiously came into the room and sat down on the couch closest to the door. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on edge, mostly because of her sugar-sweet voice. The only time she used that voice was when someone was in serious trouble or she had great news.

He hoped it was the latter.

"Am I in some sort of trouble?" he blurted and covered his mouth with his hands. He waited for her reaction.

She only laughed, the sound like striking wind chimes, and she sat down on the couch on the other side of the coffee table from him. "Oh, no, Mr. Hummel. You're not in any trouble at all whatsoever. I wanted to talk to you about one of our future performances."

"Are you talking about the Spring Show?" he asked. Before he could realize what he was doing, he went on with, "Because if you want to swap me with someone else, I wouldn't mind at all. I mean, not that I don't like singing with Will, I just—"

Again, she laughed. "No, that's not what I wanted to chat about. But now that you bring it up, is there anything wrong with the current arrangement?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, ma'am. I was only jumping to conclusions."

"Oh, good." Lovett clapped her hands together, and the rings on her fingers clinked together. "Because I simply adore you and William singing together. Your voices sound so well together. It just kills me." She placed a hand over her heart and sighed.

_Don't worry. It kills me more than it kills you, _he wanted to tell her, but he held his tongue.

"But back to what I wanted to talk about." She cleared her throat and placed her hands in her lap. "Kurt, I have recently come to a decision about the auditions I held back a little while for the solo in our Nationals program."

Kurt held his breath self-consciously.

"And I would like you to be the one to sing it," she finished with a squeak of happiness. She clapped her hands together again, and the rings made more clinking noises.

"Sing the solo?" Kurt repeated, his breath catching in his throat.

"Isn't that what I just said?" she said, staring at him funnily.

Kurt nodded like a bobble head. "Oh, yes, but… me? Sing the solo at Nationals?"

"Of course!" she said merrily and stood up. She swept to her desk and shuffled through the papers laying across it. "And you should feel that as a huge honor, Mr. Hummel, as your competition was very, very good…"

But Kurt was still too much in a daze to hear about his competition and how well they did. He was focusing on taking even breath and no hyperventilating. He was really going to sing at Nationals? Alone? In front of hundreds of people?

Oh, goodness.

"…in the beginning, Blaine was my best bet," she continued on, and Kurt wondered what the first part of her sentence had been. "But he was just too… cookie cutout, if you know what I mean. Very good, but also very predictable. Don't get me wrong, I loved his guitar feature, but there was something about his performance that was dull."

Kurt shakily got to his feet. "But you're always putting him on the lead vocals during concerts," he pointed out.

She pointed a finger at him. "That is true. But something about him this time didn't meet up to his usual standards. And believe me, Mr. Hummel, he sets very high standards for himself over the years."

"I guess his standards were a little too high," he mused inwardly. He wished she would stop calling him "Mr. Hummel" and stop putting the word "very" before every other word.

"Plus, I wanted to try someone a little different," she went on enthusiastically. "I always use Blaine for everything—the lead for the Brunch, the lead for the Winter Festival, the lead for Sectionals. But this year I wanted to shake things up a little." Her eyes gleamed.

Kurt chuckled. "And what about the others?"

"The others," she sighed and she acted like he had brought up a sore subject. "It was difficult to look past them. They're all wonderful performers, but none of them seemed Nationals-worthy, as William put it."

Kurt came to stand in front of her desk. "What was wrong?"

"Nothing was really wrong with them. They're all fabulous." She plopped down in her desk chair and shuffled through the papers. "Simon showed off his talent, as usual. He's a sweet boy, but he didn't seem like he was very into the whole ordeal. Like he didn't want to do it."

Kurt nodded, remembering how Simon had said Adam had put him up to it. "And Will?"

She snorted. "Mr. Fitzroy is a piece of work, I'll tell you that. There's something about him that is so crazy. But I have to tell you, he wasn't this insane last year. Last year, and possibly the year before, all he was comfortable singing was slow stuff." She lifted a shoulder. "Anyway, when he pulled out Steven Tyler on me, I thought he was purely insane. He did it justice, but it was so odd seeing him try material so crazy."

The image of the blonde bouncing across the stage to the beat of a wild tune had Kurt rolling his eyes.

"So that was why you didn't choose him?" he asked, hoping to come off as curious and not nosy.

"The crazy theme didn't suit him as well as the laid back theme does," she replied simply and paused in her search of the paper she was looking for. "Again, I'm used to him singing John Mayer and low key artists, not crazy stuff. He was good, but not good for my tastes."

Kurt pursed his lips. "And James?" His voice cracked.

"James…" She braced her hands against the desktop. "Mr. Montgomery is a very interesting singer. He expresses the song in a different way from that of the original artist. I appreciate that fully, by all means, though his view of the song he performed was a little somber. It was gorgeous, the piano playing and the singing, but I felt somewhat somber after he left the stage." She paused. "And if he's going to pick a song like that for the competition, I'd rather him not."

"What about me?" he asked sheepishly, and rocked back and forth on his heels.

A smile appeared on her lips and she set back to looking for the paper. "You were fabulous. You brought life to Judy Garland's song, and I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. It was amazing, absolutely amazing."

Kurt was grateful that she had wanted to talk to him about this now and not during class, because he had a feeling his face was red, and if she said anything she was saying now, he would get the cold shoulder from the others.

"Thank you," he said pleasantly. His heart was fluttering in his chest wildly.

"And the requirements for the solo are simple," she added.

Kurt stared at her. "Requirements?" For what?

"Yes, sir. Requirements. If you're going to choose your song for this deal, you should know the mood of the program," she said. Suddenly she whipped out a sheet of paper and scanned it before handing it over to him. "This is a list of recommended artists that I suggest you look over in choosing your song, and if you have anything that's not there that you'd like me to hear, just present it to me—"

"I get to choose the song?" he repeated in awe, and nearly let his mouth fall wide open. He bit his tongue.

She eyed him like she was debating whether he was serious of not. "Why wouldn't you? You technically 'won' the auditions. You're free to choose whatever you wish to sing. Though it must fall within the boundaries outlined here." She pointed to the list with a long fingernail.

"So I have complete and utter freedom?" he said and scanned the paper in his hands. The list consisted of several artists included Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys, and the Rolling Stones. "Besides the boundaries?"

"In a sense, yes. But make sure it's not too out there, or else it won't blend well with the rest of the program." She leaned back in her chair and smiled up at him. "Congratulations, Mr. Hummel. I know you'll do well with this prospect."

Kurt found the feeling in his hands and folded it neatly in a square. "Thank you, Ms. Lovett. You don't know how honored I am with this."

"I'd hope so," she said and smiled up at him. It was obvious by the way she started to organize her desk and shuffle things around that their conversation was over.

"Ms. Lovett?" he asked at the last second.

"Hmm?"

"Wes and David, ah, told me about what happened today," he said carefully and pressed the paper in his hands in a way that it crinkled. "About Dean Markus letting them go to Nationals."

She paused her work. "That was of my doing, Mr. Hummel. Not Dean Markus'."

"I don't follow," he murmured questioningly.

She sighed tiredly. "There were many, many strings to pull to let the Dean agree to something like this. On normal circumstances, he never would have let two students go to an extracurricular event while they were still under punishment. Since this one is located out of state, it makes it more tedious." She paused. "And, as I said before, I had to pull many strings, which included me brainstorming up ideas on how Wesley and David would complete their suspension. And believe me, it wasn't easy."

"But they're going. They still are, right?" he asked nervously, and leaned back on his heels.

"They are indeed," she answered. "But in consequence, they'll have to make up their suspension in the days left of this year. Then, whatever is left over from the original punishment will be served in the fall term of next year. In their opinions, they would rather go to Nationals and make up the suspension next year. It didn't matter much to them, just as long as they got to go with us."

Kurt nodded in understanding. "I'm glad they get to go. It would be hard to see everyone else head off and not be with them. And then, we might not even make it to Nationals next year…"

Ms. Lovett eyed him. "What makes you say that?"

Her piercing glare hit him and he scrambled for words. "Well, I was only thinking that, um, since this is a fierce competition that it would maybe be a little hard to win Sectionals and Regionals again. Not that I'm doubting our abilities in any way," he added. "I'm only saying that it would be a stroke of luck to get there again."

"I guess I see your point," she said mildly. "But I'm planning on making it all the way up there next year. You'll be a senior next year, Kurt, and so will Blaine, and Wesley and David, and another handful of you, and it would mean the world to me, knowing that we made it all worthwhile." A graceful smile made her lips turn up.

Kurt smiled with her and he bit his lip at the idea of them winning Nationals next year. Maybe even this year.

"Well, aren't you supposed to be getting a move on now?" she asked, snapping Kurt from his reverie. "I mean, picking out a solo takes a lot of time and consideration and effort, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," he said excitedly. "Thank you again."

With another wave of her hand, he took this as his time to leave, and he strode to the doors. The paper felt like lead in his hands as he walked down the hallway, heavy and overbearing, and he opened it again to see if there were really words printed. There were, all the recommendations and artists, and he bit his lip to hold back an overjoyed squeal.

He reached the doors and stepped outside, feeling the air slightly cooler than before. He paced the sidewalk quickly and he came upon the dorm building, slipping inside. The hallway before him was empty, the common room doors still open and soft talking coming from inside.

Kurt just about skipped to the doors and peered inside.

Cody was laying on his back across one of the window seats, in the process of opening his mouth in a yawn. The teammates that were there earlier were now gone, the chairs where they were sitting empty. Wes and David were there instead, sitting beside Cody and digging in the plastic snack bowl for what was left of the chips.

When he saw Kurt standing in the doorway, Cody perked and sat up. "Hey, Kurt."

Kurt couldn't help but race into the room and he scooted past Wes and David to plop down on the window seat next to Cody. "I have got _fantastic _news, guys. News you won't believe!" he said, looking between the boys. His hands were almost shaking in anticipation.

"What? What's going on?" Cody asked, abandoning his soda.

Kurt leaned forward to address Cody, and before he could stop himself, he was jabbering away. "Oh, good job on today's game, Cody. I almost forgot to tell you that. You definitely should have won—"

"Kurt!" David nudged him in the ribs to get his attention. "What was that big news you wanted to tell us?"

He leaned back. "Oh, right! Well, you know we're going to Nationals, and—"

"Yes, I think that's been planned out for a while," Wes said, and he drummed his jittery fingers against his knees thinking about it. He shared a giddy glance with David, who grinned.

"As I was saying," Kurt said, "I have great news about Nationals. You know the solo that I auditioned for?"

David raised his eyebrows. "Did you get the solo?" he blurted.

Kurt jumped up and clapped his hands. "Yes! I got it! Oh, I'm so happy!"

"What did you get?"

Instantly Kurt stopped and whipped around when he heard the different voice, his face growing bright red and his heart skipping a beat. He froze in his place, and the others beside him fell silent.

Blaine lingered in the doorway, his head tilted to the side. His lips were pressed together in a flat line and his eyes drifted slowly over the boys. When his gaze landed on Kurt, Kurt looked away.

"What'd you get?" Blaine repeated and took a lazy step into the room.

Kurt smoothed his pants down to keep his busy. When he realized the others weren't going to say anything, he said, "I-I got the solo. The one for Nationals."

Visibly, Blaine's jaw set and he blinked. But his voice was kind. "Oh. That's great, Kurt. I'm happy for you."

He licked his lips and again, the paper in his hands weighed as much as a block of lead. He was rendered speechless.

"So, what song did she give you?" Blaine asked. He crossed his arms and kept his head down, watching his feet.

"She d-didn't give me a specific song. S-she told me I could choose," Kurt uttered. He cursed himself inwardly for his speech having catches in it.

The other boy nodded and sat down in one of the arm chairs. "Well, that's good," he said. He sounded like he wanted to add more, but refrained from doing so, and he picked at his cuticles.

Silence fell over the room in a blanket. Wes and David shared anxious glances and stood up in unison.

"We're going to head off," Wes said and brushed lint off his shoulder, though there wasn't any there.

David nodded in agreement. "Yeah. We'll see you in the morning," he said and started toward the door; Wes followed close on his heels and then they were gone.

Kurt crossed his legs and he tucked the paper of song recommendations in his pocket.

"You know what? I think I'm tired, too. You know, with the game and all. Losing can really wear a guy out," Cody said, perking and getting up to his feet. He clutched his soda can in his hand and it crinkled softly. He said his goodnights to Blaine and Kurt and vanished, letting silence fill the room again.

"The classic excuse. Going to bed," Blaine said and looked over his shoulder, staring longingly at the doors.

"They just don't want to stay in the room," Kurt murmured with his head down. "They're too afraid of getting between us."

Blaine chewed on the inside of his lip. "How so?"

"If we happen to have another fight," Kurt said shortly and he stood up. "I think I'm going to call it a night as well."

As a result, Blaine got to his feet. "Why would they be afraid of that?"

Kurt felt his breath get caught in his chest. He blinked twice at Blaine, surprised that he had gotten up as well, and held himself in the same spot, unable to move. "They don't want to be in the middle of us," he said.

"There's nothing to get in the middle of," Blaine said airily as soon as Kurt finished his sentence.

"Because we're not going to fight over anything. Actually, we're not going to talk about anything at all," Kurt finished for him and sidestepped him, making a beeline for the doors.

Blaine took an easy step in front of him. "We're talking about something right now," he pointed out with a faint, clever smile.

"I don't—I'm done right now, Blaine," Kurt said over the lump in his throat. "I don't want to talk anymore. I'm tired, and I want to get some sleep."

"Oh, come on. Listen to me," he pleaded. If Kurt tried to step around him, he moved in front of him. Blaine held one hand up. "Kurt."

The way his name sounded in Blaine's voice made Kurt blanch. It sounded so foreign, and hardly recognizable.

"I'm done for the night. I don't want to talk about anything. I don't want to hear what you have to say, okay?" he replied somewhat sharply.

Blaine stopped moving, his expression oddly vacant, almost vulnerable, and let Kurt pass him. He let out a frustrated sigh after a few beats of silence had passed between them.

"If we're not going to talk about it now, when are we ever going to?" he asked, his voice rising. His hands were balled at his sides in fists, and he spun around to face the doors.

"Not now," Kurt said, flustered. "We're not going to talk about it now. I don't want to hear it _right now_."

"Let me explain—"

Kurt's heart jumped into his throat and he covered his face with one hand. "Can we let this all blow over first? We can fix it after the Spring Show, after final exams. After Nationals. I don't want to start on this right now, not with all of this going on." He waited for Blaine to interrupt and when he didn't, Kurt was shocked. He went on with, "We'll talk about it, but not while I'm under so much stress. I actually want to focus on my exams and on my solo."

After his last sentence, Blaine's face dropped. The thought that Blaine had wanted that Nationals solo as much as he did crossed his mind, and he held his breath, wishing he could withdraw those last few words.

"Yeah, because it's so stressful having to keep your suitors at arm's length," Blaine said and waved his hand at him.

"That's it. I'll see you in the morning," Kurt mumbled and took long steps to get through the door. The backs of his eyes prickled threateningly and he blinked. His shoes clicked against the parquet floor as he walked away from the commons, leaving Blaine alone in the room, muttering under his breath.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The Spring Show, not to mention the days after, causes problems for more than just Kurt and Blaine. Kurt gets invited to one of the biggest bashes in the history of high school and he battles it out with South, physically and verbally. Keane is good for singing your heart out, the Beatles songs are good excuses to glare at your duet partner, and Motion City Soundtrack is good for making a show of yourself in the middle of a packed hallway._


	30. For All I Know

Hello, readers.

Sorry for the late update, but since school is out, marching band is back in session. This summer is booked solid with sectionals and rehearsals for band already, so updates will be random. But I'll try to get in one or two chapters a week to finish off this story.

For those who are still reading this story (still - I mean, seriously. This story is 30 chapters long and you're still reading? I'm super thankful! And I think there's maybe 7 left?) thank you. So much. Seriously.

And for those who care about my other stories, I will still be writing those, too. I have a good draft for a new story that branches off from this one, and another draft for _another _story that is in the WaODM!verse, but with different characters. For those who care.

Oh, and someone from Estonia tried to hack my Gmail account last week, and I still don't know why.

And reviews are lovely, as always.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but if I did, I would totally write a spinoff for Dalton Academy.

* * *

**For All I Know**

* * *

"Birds are the most annoying creatures on the planet," Cody grumbled. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the bird cage in the corner of the choir room. "I mean, they chirp and carry on, and they're too hyper."

Kurt stood beside him, his lips pursed, not very interested in the yellow warbler that flitted back and forth in his gilded cage.

"Sounds like you," Thomas said as he walked up behind the two. He ruffled Cody's hair, to the other boy's displeasure, and slipped his phone from his pocket, tapping out something.

"Sounds like you've been texting Marissa," Cody said, pushing his hair back into place with the help of the window as a mirror. He turned to face the redhead. "What's going on in her life?"

Thomas shrugged one shoulder and leaned against the back of one of the sofas. "Nothing much. Her parents put a boot on her car as a punishment for leaving the state to see Adam. They're pretty pissed."

"Heck, if she was my daughter," Cody said, "I think I would do a lot more than put a boot on her car."

"If she was your daughter, that would be really weird."

Cody shook his head. "Don't go there."

"Okay, okay. Sorry, I had to."

The choir room was almost empty at fifteen minutes until the start of the Spring Show. Most of the boys were either still in their rooms, procrastinating until they absolutely had to be in the auditorium, or they were already there, watching as the parents and other guests showed up.

Kurt stood with his back against the windows, his arms over his chest, and he kept a close eye on the time. He planned on procrastinating, like most of the boys would probably do, getting to the auditorium in the nick of time. Or maybe a little later, to see if he could get out of his duet. At that thought, he shuddered.

His duet with Will was not wonderful, nor was it terrible. It sort of settled in the middle, right at the point where it was bearable, but where neither of them wanted to do it. They were singing a smooth song by the Beatles that was, fortunately, short and it would only keep the two boys in close proximately for no more than three minutes. Both were thankful for that.

Pulling out his phone, Kurt checked the time. Ten more minutes until the curtains parted and the show started. He looked up to see Thomas and Cody standing in front of Pavarotti's cage again, looking down at the little bird. Thomas reached out to unlatch the knob and Cody swatted his hand away.

"If we let that bird lose, then we're never going to get him back. We're not opening the cage," he scolded.

"Marissa wanted a picture of him," the redhead protested.

Cody let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his forehead. "Can't you get a good picture like this?"

"The cage gets in the way." Thomas twisted his lips into a scowl.

"There's no way we're opening that cage," Cody said firmly. "Remember the last time that bird got out? Dex and Leo pretended to lose him, just so they could send us on a wild goose chase."

"Lovett nearly killed us for that," Kurt chimed in.

The small boy nodded his head eagerly. "So there you have it. We're not opening that cage. We don't want anything like that happen again."

Thomas shrugged one shoulder again. "I thought that was kind of fun. I mean, not the part about us getting in trouble for it, but just because it made us think." He looked down at Cody. "What?"

"You are so weird sometimes," Cody murmured. He pursed his lips and turned to Kurt, seeing his anxious expression. "Do we need to leave?"

Kurt nodded solemnly and pushed away from the windows. "Have I said how much I don't want to do this?"

"Only a million times," Thomas replied. He ran one hand tiredly through his flaming hair and gave a great yawn.

"Make that a million and one now," Cody corrected as they moved toward the doors. He straightened the knot of his tie and adjusted the little yellow bird pin on his lapel. "Well, I guess we should get ready for the longest hour of our lives."

Kurt followed closely behind the two boys, heading out into the hallway and starting towards the auditorium. But Thomas stopped about a third of the way there and backtracked, saying he forgot his phone in the choir room and would meet up with them as soon as he got it.

As the redhead raced down the hallway, Cody let out a long sigh. "He's always forgetting things. I swear, sometimes I wonder how he doesn't forget his own name."

"I suppose he's just special," Kurt said flatly.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Cody kept pace with his friend. As they got closer to the auditorium, they could hear the murmur of the crowd and, faintly, Ms. Lovett talking through the microphone.

Kurt took an even breath and nodded. "As long as Will doesn't test me, I'll be fine."

"If he does test you," Cody said, "please tell me you won't fight. Like, throwing punches and kicking and screaming."

"We'll be fine," Kurt said in a sigh. He rubbed his temples as they approached the door that opened to backstage. "At least, I think we'll be fine."

Cody gave a nod and settled into silence. For a minute, the sounds of their shoes sounded against the floor lightly and filled their ears.

"Um, Cody?" Kurt asked hesitantly, his voice breaking the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

Kurt tucked his hands in his pockets to occupy them. "I was hoping for a little advice on my solo for Nationals."

Cody stopped in his tracks and stared at him, eyes wide. "Please tell me you aren't getting cold feet already and are thinking of backing out. Kurt, you can do this, I know you can—"

"It's not that," he interrupted. He watched Cody's tense shoulders drop in relief and he licked his lips. "It's just… I have an idea for my song, but I need a little help with it."

"Then I can do that. What do you need?"

Kurt ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back into place. "I'm sorry and I don't mean to be mean or anything, but I don't need help from you." Cody's face paled and he hastily continued, "And it's nothing against you personally at all, trust me. The song I want has a piano track, and I was thinking James could help me."

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to echo down the entire corridor. Eyes as wide as dinner plates, Cody held up his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back the truck up," he said slowly. "You did _not _just tell me that you want James to help you on your Nationals solo. _Please _tell me I did not hear that right. _Please _tell me you aren't serious."

Kurt's hesitation was a clear answer, and Cody rubbed his face.

"I don't think you should do it, Kurt," he advised firmly, starting to walk down the hall again. "I'm serious. James is bad news, and you and I and the entire school know that. Just leave him alone."

Kurt caught up with him, his face feeling flushed. "But—"

"No buts!" Cody snapped. "I don't want you hanging around him more than you need to. I mean, he hardly eats a thing and he cuts himself and—" He stopped suddenly and whirled around to face Kurt. "What if those kinds of things start happening to you?"

"What are you talking about?" Kurt questioned. "'Those kinds of things'? I'm not going to start hurting myself just because I hang out with James!"

"Who says you won't?" He balled his hands into tight fists at his sides and looked up at his friend. "Kurt, I'm speaking to you as a friend when I say this: it's best to leave James alone and pick another song for Nationals. I don't want him thinking you actually _need _him when you don't."

Kurt stepped back. "Who says I don't need him?"

Cody sighed, exasperated. "See? It's all this peer pressure, or whatever. He's rubbing off on you, and sooner or later, you'll be giving your food to Wes and David at meal times and—"

"I'm not going to start hurting myself, Cody!" Kurt's voice was loud and his pulse hammered in his ears. "Just because I'm friends with him doesn't mean I'm going to act like him. Why are you even suggesting that? All I wanted was advice for my solo and you're going all Dr. Phil on me!"

"That's because you're insane for even thinking of that in the first place!" Cody ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth and glanced down the hallway behind him. Turning back to Kurt, his eyes were hard. "Look, Kurt. I just don't want you to get hurt, okay? You're my closest friend here, and it would kill me to see something bad happen to you."

Kurt let out a long breath. "Nothing bad is going to happen to me if I ask James to accompany my solo. And all I wanted was a simple 'yes' or 'no' for an answer, and you completely blow up on me."

"No. A million times, no. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, but you should've just said that in the first place." Kurt pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the clock. "Let's go. The Show is going to start soon and Lovett will probably chew us out for being late." He stalked down the hall, Cody following him.

Cody pursed his lips and his voice was soft. "Just promise me you won't ask James. I don't want you getting tangled up with him."

Kurt turned the corner and stopped when he reached the backstage door. He opened it to reveal a group of Warblers mingling by the curtains, voices low, as Lovett flipped through a stack of programs. He kept the door open for the smaller boy.

"It's my solo and my problem. I'll make a mess of everything if I want to."

* * *

Thomas ducked into the choir room and let out a breath of relief. He paced across the room and squatted in front of the gilded cage in the corner, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, little buddy," he said softly to the little yellow bird. "How's it going?"

Pavarotti jumped back and forth on the little bar that stretched across the radius of the cage, chirping and flapping his winds delightedly. He pecked at the bowl of bird seed that rested at the bottom of the cage with jittery movements.

Thomas grinned and flicked the latch on the small door. "I bet you'd like to stretch your wings, wouldn't you? It's no fun being cooped up in a cage, and I know. It feels like this school is one giant cage." He stood back.

The small bird hesitantly hopped forward and perched on the wire in the doorway. His head flicked back and forth, flicking his wings.

"There we go," Thomas said, satisfied. He dug in his pocket for his phone and opened the camera, holding up the device and focusing it.

But when he glanced at the screen, the little yellow bird was no longer in view.

Thomas nearly dropped his phone, his heart jumping into his throat, and he hastily scanned the room for bright flashes of color. He swallowed, hard, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

"Oh, shoot," he mumbled under his breath. Suddenly, his phone vibrated wildly in his pocket, which nearly made him jump. He answered the call with shaking hands.

"_Where are you? Lovett's been asking me where you are for the past five minutes!"_ Cody demanded from the other end of the line.

"I'm, um, on my way," Thomas said, pulling his tie loose around his neck. "I'll be there in a minute."

He hung up before Cody could snap at him for being late and he jammed the phone in his pocket. "I don't have time for this," he mumbled under his breath. "Come on out, Pavarotti. You're going to make me more late than I already am. Come on out."

But there was only silence and the sound of his pounding heart in his ears.

With a long sigh and another nervous glance around the room, he scrambled out into the hallway, shutting the doors and hurrying toward the auditorium. Inwardly, he hoped that the bird would show up. Alive, hopefully.

* * *

"Thank you all for coming this evening to the annual Spring Show," Lovett said from the podium. "It means the world for everyone to come and watch us perform. The boys have been putting a lot of work towards this show for the past few weeks and I hope you'll find it enjoyable. Now, without further ado, let's get this show on the road!"

The auditorium was filled with parents and others, all murmuring and studying the programs that were handed out at the doors. The spotlights were on and giving the stage a golden glow, and the boys were seated backstage, waiting for Lovett to finish her introduction.

Kurt sat near the back, next to Cody, who was still cross about their earlier conversation; he hadn't said a word to Kurt since the Show started. He had his arms simply folded over his chest, his legs crossed, not saying a single word.

And although Kurt attempted not to, he noticed every little movement Blaine made from his seat on the other side of the area, from fixing his tie to leaning over to tell Nick something. Once he thought Blaine's gaze flickered over to him, but he had been too busy boring a hole in the floor with his eyes to be sure.

Since he found out that Kurt got the solo for Nationals, Blaine hadn't said a word to him. If he did, however, it was because he absolutely needed to, not because he felt like striking up a conversation. There was nothing left to talk about between the two of them, and that, Kurt thought, was how it was going to stay.

Not that either of them minded.

Now, Lovett clapped her hands and smiled widely at the crowd, then turned and headed backstage. As soon as she appeared behind the curtain, her smiled dropped into a flat line and her gaze scanned over the boys.

"I want you all to do your best tonight. Don't get nervous over this; it's only in front of your parents, not a panel of judges," she said. At that, most of the boys thought of Nationals in the coming weeks. She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and her eyes narrowed. "Now, where is Mr. Reid? He's here, isn't he?" Her eyes landed specifically on Cody, who blinked.

"I-I don't know, ma'am," he stammered out. "He should be here in a few minutes, I'm sure. I can call him again, if you'd like."

"There's no need for that. He'll just be late." Lovett frowned but shrugged her shoulders and turned to the program in her hands. "James, Carson? You're up first."

The dark haired boy rose from his seat carefully on the other side of the room and waited until Carson joined him. They went out onto the stage when Lovett introduced them and took their places, the music starting a few moments later.

Kurt crossed his legs as the opening notes sounded through the auditorium, and he found himself humming quietly along.

_No one knows what it's like to be the bad man,_

_To be the sad man,_

_Behind blue eyes,_

_No one knows what it's like to be hated,_

_To be fated,_

_To telling only lies…_

The backstage door suddenly flung open and Thomas appeared in the doorway, his face as red as his hair. He ignored the looks the others gave him and he plopped down in the open chair next to Cody, breathing hard.

"Where have you been?" Cody hissed and smacked him in the arm. "I got in trouble for you when Lovett asked where you were!"

"Sorry," Thomas panted. "I just got held up, that's all."

Kurt leaned back in his chair. "Did you get your phone?"

Thomas blanched, but he nodded. "Yeah, I got it." As proof, he shuffled through his pocket and held up his beat up iPhone, the one that had the crack running down the middle of the screen.

Grumbling, Cody crossed his arms over his chest. "I still can't believe you. You and your obsession with taking a picture of that bird. If Marissa wants to see Pavarotti, she can come back and see him in person, for all I care."

Thomas merely swallowed, hard, and slumped back in his chair.

Kurt tuned out the smaller boy mumbling under his breath about Thomas being irresponsible and not showing up on time with ease. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of light and found Will sitting a few chairs away from him, checking his phone. He slipped it back in his pocket and settled in his chair. Almost as if he knew Kurt was watching, he turned his head.

Stiffening, Kurt sat up and recrossed his legs, looking away. He kept his hands in his lap and picked at his cuticles. Looking back, he found Will still watching him with a hard, green-eyed stare, which made shudders run up his spine.

"What?" Kurt mouthed.

Will lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug and dug in his pocket for his phone once more.

On stage, Carson and James had finished their song and hurried backstage, both looking glad to have gotten it over with. Carson immediately plopped down in the chair beside Will, but James wavered. Finally, he carefully sat down in the chair on the other side of Will, closest to Kurt, and he folded his hands in his lap. He did not look over at Kurt again.

"Adam! Simon!" Lovett called, her head poking through the curtain. At the sound of their names, the pair leapt up and hurried onto the stage.

Kurt leaned back stiffly in his chair and picked at his lip absently. When he felt a sharp pang against his lip, he licked it and dropped his hand to his lap. There was hardly anything to keep his attention as the concert continued on, save watching Ronnie fiddle with his camera. Kurt leaned his head back against the wall and listened as Adam's and Simon's voices blended together nicely.

_And love's strange, so real in the dark,_

_Think of the tender things that we were working on,_

_Slow change may pull us apart,_

_When the light gets into your heart, baby,_

_Don't you forget about me,_

_Don't, don't, don't, don't,_

_Don't you forget about me…_

It seemed like years passed, with his eyes shut. He had been keeping track of the song when it was suddenly replaced by a round of applause. The two boys were finished singing. Kurt raised his head and almost jumped in his seat.

Will stood in front of him, his hands folded behind his back and his head turned to watch Adam and Simon come off the stage, both pink in the face. The blonde looked back down at Kurt with an expectant look.

"We're up," he said plainly, and walked to where the curtains opened to the stage.

Kurt pushed himself from his chair. As he did so, he caught the look of animosity on Thomas' and Cody's faces and he ignored the way Cody stuck his tongue out at Will.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt joined Will where he stood at the edge of the curtains. Lovett was onstage, talking more about the Spring Show and also about their upcoming Nationals trip. Just the thought made Kurt's stomach churn with anxiety, and he thought of his solo. As an afterthought, he glanced over his shoulder at James, who was sitting beside Carson but not talking to him; both appeared bored.

But James found Kurt's eyes and he gave somewhat of a smile. Kurt smiled back and turned back around, ducking his head. When he faced away, he found that Will wasn't beside him anymore. The blonde had paced onto the stage without a word. Kurt quickly followed him.

"Thanks for coming onstage without me," Kurt muttered. He positioned himself on one of the two stools that stood in the middle of the stage, right under the spotlights. The lights made him squint automatically.

"No problem," Will quipped, smirking.

Kurt resisted the urge to kick his stool and knock him sideways. He stared out into the black expanse that was the crowd of family members and friends. Burt and Carole would not be sitting there; Kurt had explained to them that it was a small little concert that wasn't important enough for them to drive all the way to Westerville to see.

The start of the music jolted him out of his reverie and he listened patiently as Will took on the lead, his voice low and smooth.

_Ah, look at all the lonely people,_

_Ah, look at all the lonely people,_

_Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,_

_Lives in a dream,_

_Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door,_

_Who is it for?_

Each time the song played, it never failed to send goose bumps up and down Kurt's arms. Even though he wasn't singing the first stanza, he hummed the tune under his breath. Then Will fell silent at his side and he launched into it.

_All the lonely people, where do they all come from?_

_All the lonely people, where do they all belong?_

_Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear,_

_No one comes near,_

_Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there,_

_What does he care?_

Beyond the edge of the stage, there was nothing to see. The bright lights made both of the performers squint and they probably looked silly to the audience. Kurt turned his head slightly and looked at his partner, only to find that the blonde was looking right back at him with almost a glare. Kurt narrowed his eyes at him, and in reply, Will rolled his eyes.

_All the lonely people, where do they all come from? _

_All the lonely people, where do they all belong?_

_Ah, look at all the lonely people,_

_Ah, look at all the lonely people,_

_Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name,_

_Nobody came,_

_Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave,_

_No one was saved,_

_All the lonely people, where do they all come from?_

_All the lonely people, where do they all belong?_

Kurt sucked in a breath as soon as the song ended, and the thunderous claps of the audience filled his ears. He squinted once more and his heart fluttered in his chest. Standing, he turned his head to see if Will was squinting as well when the blonde was not there. Kurt was alone on the stage.

Will was halfway to the curtains, his head down. He pushed past the heavy velvet and was cloaked in the darkness of backstage. Kurt finally found the feeling in his legs and followed suit. Lovett wore a questioning look when he passed her, though she did not ask him about it.

Pushing past the curtains, Kurt scanned backstage. His gaze landed curiously on Carson and James, the former checking his phone. Kurt ignored the look he gained from Cody and Thomas and approached the two South boys.

"Where did Will go?" he asked tartly.

"Why do you care?" Carson snapped immediately without looking up from his phone.

Kurt took a step back. "I was just wondering because he left right after we finished. I wanted to know where he went."

"I think he went to get a drink of water," James said quietly. His voice, although nearly silent, was firm.

Kurt nodded and took his seat, half his attention alert for the blonde boy and the other half trying desperately to ignore the looks he was sure to be getting from Thomas and Cody.

* * *

The remainder of the show went well with few mishaps. Thomas had tripped going onstage for his duet, and Ronnie had fallen during the final group number, but that was all. Thomas wasn't scolded for merely tripping, but Lovett chewed Ronnie out for falling flat on his backside, telling him that if he didn't get his 'act together, you might as well not even go to New York with us at all!'

"Calm down, Starr," Diego told him after the performance, after Lovett had stalked off. "She's just spazzing out. It'll blow over before today ends."

Ronnie didn't seem very assured by that, but shrugged it off as they rest of the choir headed off to greet their parents and friends that had come to see the show. Even though Burt and Carole weren't there, Kurt tagged along behind Cody and Thomas, who were discussing something under their breaths.

For a few moments Kurt stared at them and wondered what they were talking about, when Cody stopped and burst out with, "What? You _lost the bird_?"

Thomas slapped a hand over Cody's mouth to cut him off and he dragged him to the side of the hall, away from everyone. His face was bright red and Cody pulled his hand away from his mouth.

"You lost Pavarotti?" Kurt repeated quietly. He blinked in bewilderment.

Thomas wrung his hands together. "Yeah, yeah. I lost the bird, okay? That part's been established."

"How on earth did you lose him?" Cody exclaimed, flailing his hands.

"Be quiet!" Thomas shushed him and he cast a glance towards the others down the hall. "And you know how earlier, when I wanted to take a picture for Marissa but you told me not to open the cage? Well, when I went back to the choir room, I was going to get a picture for her and I opened the cage door and he sort of… Got out." By the end of his sentence, his voice was small.

Cody rubbed his face. "Ugh. This is awful. He could be anywhere in the school by now. I can't believe you let this happen."

"It's not the first time we've lost the bird before," Kurt pointed out calmly. "There was that last time when Dex and Leo sent us on that wild goose chase. Everything is going to be fine."

Thomas nodded eagerly. "_Thank _you. See? At least someone isn't freaking—"

"I think we should be more concerned with finding the bird than with taking sides," Cody interrupted. He sighed irritably and glanced down the now-empty hallway, as the rest of the boys were in the lobby of the auditorium with their parents. He looked back at Thomas. "Where do you think he went?"

"How should I know? I turn around to get my phone and he's gone," the redhead sputtered. He put his face in his hands. "Oh, god. This is so awful. What if Lovett finds out? We're so dead."

"_We're _dead?" Cody shrieked. "No way. _You're _dead. Kurt and I had nothing to do with this."

Thomas dropped his shoulders in a long sigh. "Okay, if she catches _me, _then _I'm _in trouble. Happy?"

"Better," he said grudgingly.

"But can you help me find him, at least?" Thomas pleaded.

Cody crossed his arms. "Why? I told you to not open that cage, and you opened that cage!"

"Please, Cody? I'll be your best friend!"

"I'm already kind of your best friend in the first place," the small boy said. He glanced up at Kurt tiredly. "What do you think? Should we help him?"

Kurt looked away from Cody to Thomas, who was mouthing, "Please, please, please" with a puppy dog expression on his face. When he glanced back at Cody, the smaller boy was wearing a flat expression, disapproving.

"Let's just help him," Kurt said softly, which made Cody press his lips into a flat line. "Oh, come on, Cody. Thomas is our friend. It's the least we could do. And plus, we can get this whole thing over with."

"Thank you!" Thomas burst out happily, but Cody slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Cody ran a hand through his short hair. "Just this once. But, I swear, if you ever do something that involves losing Pavarotti—or anything else, for that matter—you're not going to get any help from me."

Five minutes later, and Kurt was standing in the hallway, alone. Thomas and Cody had started off in search of the bird, Thomas chanting his thanks and Cody trying to drown him out with his fingers stuffed in his ears. Kurt inhaled deeply, listening to the faint murmurs of the boys who were still with the parents out in the lobby. Most of them were probably on their way back to the dorms, he figured.

That was when he heard the whispers of a tinkling melody through the door to the stage. His ears perked, Kurt moved toward the door and cracked it open. Through the gap between the curtains, he could see that the stage was still illuminated by a single spotlight. He slipped through the door and approached the curtains.

Not to his surprise in the least, a dark haired figure was seated at the piano, hands working away at the keys like clockwork. A stack of music sat on the stand in front of him. Kurt listened to the slow, careful piece unfold in his ears, and for a moment, he held his breath, as if that would disturb the music.

Cautiously, he made his way across the stage, attempting to keep his footsteps silent against the wood. The way James was seated at the piano—stiff and straight—told Kurt that he was almost done with the piece; had he been in the middle of it, he would be hunched over the keyboard, pounding away at the ivory.

Kurt idled a few feet away, his arms wrapped around his torso, as he waited for the boy to finish. The last notes lingered sweetly in the air and James' hands froze. He did not move until the sound was completely gone and he let his hands go slack.

"James? What are you still doing here?" Kurt asked, and the sound of his voice was like breaking a pane of glass: sudden, loud, compared to the fragile notes that had just been played.

The dark haired boy jolted up from the bench and narrowly missed banging his knee against the underside of the piano. Startled, he whipped his head to look behind him, and his shoulders visibly fell when he saw Kurt. He placed a hand over his chest.

"Don't scare me like that," he said, a little breathless. He blinked his bright eyes.

Kurt licked his lips, amused, and he smoothed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. "Sorry. I didn't expect you to be here."

"I didn't expect _you _to be here," James replied without missing a beat. He awkwardly leaned against the piano. "What are you doing here?"

The question made Kurt fall silent, and he pursed his lips into a thin line. Even from across the stage, he could feel James' burning stare. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he said, "That was good. What you were just playing."

James sat down on the bench and let his hands rest on his knees. "Thank you. It's Chopin."

Kurt walked the length of the stage and lingered beside the piano, staring blankly at the music. Most of the page was black with notes and he couldn't fathom how James was able to read all of it clearly.

"You did well tonight," James said to break him from his reverie. "I liked the song that you and Will sang."

Smiling a little, Kurt nodded. "Me, too. But I'm glad it's over."

"Really? Why?" He turned his head to the side, watching Kurt. "I thought the whole thing was kind of fun."

"Fun?" Kurt repeated, in awe. He sat down on the bench when James scooted over to make room for him. When he sat down, his chest tightened. "That thing was most certainly _not _fun."

James rolled his eyes and let his hand ghost over the keys. "That's only because you had to sing with Will, and both of you don't really like each other that much."

He turned to glare at him. "Really. Like that wasn't obvious."

Ducking his head, James showed a hint of a smile. He brought his other hand up to join the first and studied the music page, beginning to play snippets of it. No matter how soft he played, the music always swelled throughout the auditorium. After a few measures, he fell into an easy groove.

"You can keep talking," he said as he played up a scale with his right hand and a series of chords with his left, "I don't mind."

"How can you do that?" Kurt asked, genuinely curious. "Talk and play at the same time, I mean. It seems so difficult."

James nodded once, his slim fingers dancing over the keys. His response was delayed. "It is a little hard. But you get used to it after some practice. I'm very good at multitasking."

"Right now, I think you should stop multitasking. I want to talk to you about something," Kurt said, and he covered the boy's hands with his own to stop the music. His hands were icy, as if he had just pulled them from an icebox. James looked over at him, flustered, and he kept his hands still.

James felt his breath catch. "And that would be…?"

Kurt removed his hands, folding them in his lap. The entire Show, he had wanted to propose the idea that had been fuming in his mind, but there had never a good time. Even if there had been, he had been too apprehensive.

"I know you remember the solo for Nationals that we auditioned for," he said and he stared at the piano music, unable to look anywhere else.

"Did you get it?" James asked eagerly and he sat up a bit straighter.

"Yes, I did." His lips turned up in a smile.

He broke into a pleasant smile that lit up his face. "Oh, Kurt, that's wonderful. I knew you'd get it."

Kurt reached out and laid his hand across the keys. They felt cold and bulky under his fingers and he could never imagine playing as fluidly as the boy sitting beside him. "Thank you. But I thought you would be mad that you didn't get it."

"No, I'm not," he dismissed easily. "I mean, yes, it would have been nice to get it, but I'm glad I didn't. You have a much better voice."

Kurt felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "And that was what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he murmured. "I only wanted to see if you would do something for me. To help with my solo."

James nodded readily. "Anything," he said. "What do you need?"

Kurt moved his hand away from the key board and angled his body towards the other boy. "Lovett has given me the freedom to choose whatever song I want for my solo. I've made up my mind at this point, and the song I chose is by Billy Joel."

He remembered slaving over his collection of music for hours upon hours after Lovett had handed him the recommendations list, and not being able to find something suitable. At last, he had decided on a classic Billy Joel tune.

"His music is very good," James commented, "but I don't see why you would need my help with it."

"The song I have in mind has a piano accompaniment with it. And I was wondering if you would do that for me, James," he said carefully.

James just about dropped his jaw in bewilderment, and he blinked. "You want me to play while you sing?" When Kurt nodded, he said, "But why me? Why not use a recording?"

"Because," Kurt said and he picked at his cuticles anxiously, "I don't want to use a recording when I have a perfectly good piano player in my presence."

He was stunned. "Thank you. I'm honored, but couldn't you have picked a different song? One that didn't have a piano feature?"

Kurt let out a short laugh. "I could have, but I like Billy Joel's music better than a lot of other music I've heard. I'm sticking with my choice, and I still want you to play with me," he said.

James held up one hand. "Okay, let me get this straight: you got the solo for Nationals, you picked out a song, and you want me to play the accompaniment to it. Is that what I'm hearing right now?"

"That's correct," Kurt said to him, laughing a bit.

"_Surely _you could've picked someone else to play," James insisted and he moved his hand to brush dark hair behind his ear, though there wasn't any hair hanging down; it was an absent motion.

"Who else plays the piano that is in this choir?" Kurt studied him closely, the way his pink lips were parted ever so slightly and that every time he blinked, his long lashes graced the hallows underneath. His skin was sickly pale, though his eyes were made of thousands of sapphires.

James was taken aback by the question, and his eyebrows furrowed. "No one, but—"

"Exactly. No one," he said firmly. "No one else plays the piano."

"But there's always the option of hiring a professional to play. A professional would have more talent than me, not to mention fewer mistakes," James pointed out, stammering the last few words.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed, reaching out to touch the other boy's hand. "Lovett wouldn't stand for it if I told her I wanted to hire an accompanist. She would probably throw a fit and give my solo to Blaine." He swallowed roughly over the last word, and he cleared his throat. "Besides, can't you just accept that my solo is chosen and that I want you to play with me?"

James let his head duck so that his chin touched his chest. "I suppose I'll have to," he said with an air of displeasure, but Kurt could see the faint, giddy smile teasing his lips. "And you can, you know, stop holding my hand."

Flushing, Kurt hastily withdrew his hand and sucked in a breath.

He chuckled, amused. "But, now that I think about it, I'm wondering what Blaine will think of it. Me playing for your solo, I mean. Wouldn't that give him the wrong idea?"

Kurt stopped and he felt his throat tightened. "I can't tell if you are asking that because you know, or because you are genuinely just asking."

"Oh, I know what happened," he said without a hitch. "It was all over the South wing, and Will was the first to tell me about it. After, of course, it hit East and West. I'm sorry. Such a tragedy."

He paused. Will had told him. Not Carson. Even though Kurt had told Carson about the fight in the library on the day that seemed so far away now, the blonde had not said a word about it, and that made Kurt lose some of the tension in his shoulders.

"I ought to hit you for saying that," he said lowly.

James raised an eyebrow in surprise and he wore a simple look of innocence on his face. "Why in the world would you do that?"

"It was obviously sarcasm. You're not sorry at all about it," he explained and shifted on the bench. "In fact, since I know you better, you're probably tickled pink about it, aren't you?"

James shrugged a shoulder and kept his eyes forward now, not looking at Kurt; they were locked on the music, unmoving. It was a long moment before he responded quietly with, "Don't get me wrong, Kurt. I truly am sorry. I hate to see you like this."

Kurt bristled. For a minute, he sat there, not able to say a word. He bit his tongue, not knowing what to say. Finally, after he took a breath, he said, "Thank you, I suppose."

"You and he will set aside whatever it is you are disagreeing over, and by the end of the year, you'll be back in his arms." He sighed dully and his posture slumped. "But until then," he added with a hint of desperation, "could you tell me if the odds are in my favor at all?"

At those words, Kurt flushed, pink flooding over his face and across the back of his neck that must have showed, even hidden beneath the collar of his blazer. Without thinking about it, he held his breath. When he tried to breathe n, it hitched in his throat. James turned his head to look at him, eyes blazing, and Kurt stood up.

"I can't answer that for you, James," he said almost inaudibly.

"Then answer something else for me," the dark haired boy shot back. He stood as well. "What happened?"

"I can't answer that, either." The words were clipped and short and they felt like lead weights in his mouth.

Sighing, James dropped his head to look at his shoes. "Okay, rephrased: I don't care if you want to tell me or not. I want you to. _I _want to know," he said, exasperated.

"No. I don't want to talk about it," he said again, this time a little louder. He knew what he was leaning towards, what topic, and Kurt did not want to discuss it right then and there.

"Please? I assure you, I'm a very good counselor. And I don't even charge by the hour."

Kurt swallowed the laughter that bubbled against his lips. "No, James. I don't want to."

The dark haired boy played with the yellow bird pin that was attached to his lapel to keep his hands occupied. "It will make you feel better, Kurt. I know it would make me feel better."

"How would it help you?" Kurt snapped pointedly. He glared at him from the corner of his eye.

"It would help me because I know I would be helping you," he said, carefully picking out his words. "And to think of how you've helped me this past year, I would be repaying you, in a way." He puckered his lips. "That didn't really make sense at all, did it?"

"Not really, and now the word 'help' sounds a little funny," Kurt said. With the toe of his shoe, he traced circles in the hardwood floor. The auditorium was eerily silent around them, the muffled sounds of voices from the lobby bleeding through the doors.

James smiled kindly. "It does, doesn't it? But really, what was wrong?"

"We argued." Kurt took in an even breath and sat back down on the bench. He was adamant that, even though he was in another building, Blaine would hear him.

"Over what?" James tilted his head to the side, and he looked much younger, more innocent.

"Over—" Kurt stopped, shutting his eyes and pinching his lips. He shook his head, not wanting to answer. He swallowed hard, as if he had dry-swallowed a pill. He expected James to pry further, but instead, the other boy gave a startled gasp and stood up from the bench. Kurt lifted his head.

A small, yellow object was flitting around, high above them, near the spotlights. It gave a few chirps and Kurt's stomach churned, and he stood up. James was staring oddly at him.

"Is that really…?" He trailed off and gestured upward.

Kurt rubbed his temples. "I think that's Pavarotti, if that was your question."

Looking up at the bird, James sort of smiled. He glanced over at Kurt, his blue eyes alight. "I wonder why he's here. Usually, he's in his cage in the choir room, isn't he?"

Suddenly recalling Thomas' freak out over the bird earlier, Kurt sighed. "Thomas let him out by accident. He and Cody have been looking for him since the Show ended tonight. They'll be happy to know he's alive."

"Why wouldn't he be alive?"

He shrugged and watched as the small yellow bird flitted down to rest on the open lid of the piano. "Oh, you know. Dex and Leo could get ahold of him and accidently kill him."

James' eyes widened. "How could you accidently kill a bird?"

"The same way you accidently kill a fish, I suppose. Too much food, or not enough food," Kurt replied, and from the corner of his eye, he saw James set his jaw.

Kurt walked over to the piano and held out his hands; Pavarotti chirped wildly at him before pecking at his fingers and jumping into his hands. He glanced at James from the corner of his eye. "Do you want to hold him?"

James visibly tensed, his shoulders hiking up the slightest bit, but he nodded halfheartedly. He cautiously held out his hand.

"Sure," he said quietly, "why not? It's not like he could do any more damage to my hands than what I've done already." He held up his palms to display the crisscrossed lines that cut into his skin.

Kurt refrained from flinching and he ducked his head. He closed the distance between he and James and held out the small bird, who chirped and flapped his wings in a flurry. James extended his hands, cupped together. Pavarotti moved, but only closer to Kurt, hopping onto his wrist and pecking at the brass button on his blazer.

The blood rushed to Kurt's face and he shifted his hands, though the bird stayed put. He flapped his wings once more and picked at his feathers.

James dropped his hands. "Ah, well. I've never been a bird person. Maybe he's not a James person."

"He likes you," Kurt insisted, biting his lip and staring at the bird in his hands. "He just…"

"He doesn't like me," the other boy finished. He turned his head to stare at the piano and he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"I think he's a James person," Kurt said, raising his hands so that he was eye-to-eye with Pavarotti. "I think he just needs some time to get used to you." He looked at James over the top of the bird's head.

James puckered his lips, anger suddenly flaring in his eyes. "I've been here since February. I think he's had enough time to get used to me."

"Well…" Kurt trailed off. Pavarotti pecked impatiently at his fingertips. He met James' eyes. "I think he just needs a little more time."

"What makes you say that?" he asked. He approached the piano and gently closed the lid over the keyboard.

Pavarotti pecked incessantly at Kurt's fingertips, making Kurt shift him in his hands. "I just know. Now, how about we get him back to the choir room? I'm sure Lovett's already freaked out about him missing from his cage."

James grinned and ducked his head in an attempt to hide it. "Knowing her, she's probably called the police just to find him."

"Or a SWAT team," Kurt joked as they made their way off the stage and down the stairs, heading up the aisle between the rows of seats.

The hallway was eerily silent and cloaked in shadows. Kurt could hear the sound of his heart beating loudly in his ears and he could hardly hear Pavarotti chirping at him. James walked casually beside him, his eyes locked on the bird and not saying a word.

Kurt said nothing to him from the auditorium to the choir room. When they came upon the double doors, James rapped lightly on them and nudged it open with his hip. Inside, Thomas and Cody were perched on one of the couches, Thomas as red as his hair and Cody nibbling off his nails like corn on the cob. Lovett was behind her desk, a vein on her forehead showing. It disappeared when she saw James and Kurt in the doorway.

"What can I help you boys with?" she asked, pulling on a smile and standing. Thomas and Cody did not smile.

"We found your bird," James said almost inaudibly, and he stepped aside to let Kurt enter the room first.

Thomas just about leapt to his feet and tackled Kurt in a hug. "Oh, thank God you found him! I—" He stopped when Cody cut him off by clearing his throat noisily. He stood back and folded his arms behind him. "I mean, we were very worried about Pavarotti and his well-being, and we're glad you found him."

Lovett rolled her eyes and pushed dark hair from her face. "Thank you, boys. Kurt, if you could just put him back in his cage for us…"

Kurt nodded and crossed the room. The door on the cage was ajar and he nudged it open with his free hand, shuffling the little bird inside. He shut the door and latched it securely. Behind him, Lovett was starting up with a strict tone.

"I can't believe you two would even _think _about opening the cage without my permission," she sighed heavily. She had already begun to pace, and that, Kurt knew, was a bad sign. Even James knew, from the way he was flattened against the door. "I mean, _really. _Both of you should know better than that."

Thomas was back in his seat on the sofa and had his hands folded in his lap so tightly that they turned almost bone white. He looked sheepish, whereas Cody looked calm. But Kurt knew that inside, he was most likely having a panic attack.

"Actually, Ms. Lovett," Thomas spoke up as the director took a long breath between her ranting, "it was me who opened the cage."

Lovett squinted her eyes at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

Cody let out a long breath and buried his face in his hands.

"Yeah, I sort of let him out by mistake," Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck. By now, his face was redder than a tomato. "You see, I wanted to take a picture of him for my girlfriend, but the bars of the cage were in the way, so I thought I could get a better picture if I opened the door on it, and… Yeah."

Lovett let out a sigh to match Cody's and she waved her hand dismissively. "Okay. Okay, whatever. I'm done talking about this right now. Neither of you are punished for it. At least Mr. Hummel and Mr. Montgomery found him in one piece…"

James pushed away from the wall at the mention of his name, somewhat less tense. But he was still alert, his eyes darting between everyone in the room. Kurt couldn't help but notice that they lingered on him the longest.

"You boys are dismissed," Lovett said tiredly and she retreated to her desk.

Cody immediately bounced up from the sofa, looking a bit shaken, and he glared at Thomas. Thomas merely ignored him, but couldn't resist glaring at James as he passed. James returned with a gaze that made shivers run up and down Kurt's spine, and Thomas looked away after a second, disappearing into the hall. Cody followed him without another word.

After a few moments, Lovett looked up from the papers in front of her. She looked between Kurt and James. "Well, you boys can leave. You found Pavarotti and saved the day, not to mention Mr. Reid's and Mr. Michaels' backsides."

"Sounds like a decent accomplishment for one day," James commented and the corner of his lips twitched. He seemed abruptly brighter.

"Indeed," Lovett murmured, more concerned with her writing than either of them.

Kurt took an even breath. Behind him, Pavarotti was pecking loudly at the railing of the cage, and he couldn't fathom how Lovett didn't find that annoying in the least. Maybe she did, but she never said anything about it.

Finally Lovett raised her head. "You're still here? Not to be rude, but I'm sure you have other things you would like to be doing that don't involve being in here."

James blew a chunk of hair from his eyes. "Actually, we kind of wanted to talk to you about something."

She set down her pen and pushed away her stack of papers, folding her hands together and her rings clinking in the process. "Yes?"

There was something unnerving about the way James talked now; it was with an air of confidence, something, Kurt realized, he hadn't seen since they had met months ago. It was an odd change that made Kurt stiffen. The fact that he had no idea what James meant by 'we wanted to talk to you about something' put him on edge.

James strolled forward casually. "We just wanted to tell you that Kurt has picked out his song for Nationals."

At this, Lovett perked and she almost smiled. Her gaze whirled to land on Kurt. "Is this so, Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt wanted nothing more than to have the floor drop out from under him, and to wipe the smirk that had appeared on James' face. He licked his lips. "Yes, that's true."

He did not continue on and she waved her hand at him. "And? What did you choose?"

When he told her his choice, Lovett clapped her hands delightedly. "Very good. I like it. But, there's only one little detail that I've noticed."

Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek and waited for her to finish her sentence.

"There is a very prominent piano feature," she said flatly and she stood up, bracing her hands against her desk. She opened her mouth to go on, but James cut her off.

"We've already discussed this," he said, almost happily. It was the closest Kurt had seen to a good mood in a long while. "Kurt asked me to play it."

Lovett raised her eyebrows. "Really? That's wonderful. I'm pleased that you two have sorted things out." She promptly sat back down in her chair and smiled. "Mr. Hummel, that solo better be in tip-top shape by the time we leave…"

She continued on and Kurt nodded in reply, but he tuned her out and glared at the dark haired boy, wishing the floor would swallow him up, too.

* * *

The days after the Spring Show were terribly silent.

Kurt was eager to keep his mouth shut and the only time he ever spoke was when he asked questions in class, or replied to something someone asked him. He saw Blaine once or twice in the hallways between classes and that was enough to make him stare down at his shoes until they passed one another. But there was no way to avoid him in daily Warblers rehearsal. Instead of sitting beside the soloist, as usual, he sat on the other end of the couch, between Cody and Wes.

He never saw Blaine after classes let out, or at dinner. He had timidly asked Cody during dinner once why that was.

"He's out practicing, probably," Cody had explained briefly, taking a stab at his salad with a fork. "Since the fencing season started up this year, he's been out every afternoon practicing. He doesn't come in for dinner."

"Does he eat?" Kurt murmured.

"Breakfast. But only when I make him. I had to shove a muffin halfway into his mouth the other morning for him to even consider eating it," he scoffed and resumed picking at his salad.

And it was true. Blaine was constantly out on the soccer field, practicing with a sabre in hand. Often, he stayed out much too long and was kicked off the field by the soccer team, and he relocated to the baseball fields, until those teams kicked him out, too. He never found a proper place to practice.

Day after day passed, and so did Physics tests and pop quizzes, all of which Kurt barely passed by a few points. There were also rehearsals for Nationals, a run through every day after school, after class let out.

Usually, Kurt excused himself when they got past the first song, saying his solo wasn't completely prepared yet. Ms. Lovett gave him tired looks and told him to keep working on it, that they didn't have time to dilly dally because Nationals was at the end of the month and they actually wanted to have an impressive show, believe it or not.

But Kurt didn't know why he said that. His solo was already in top shape and he could sing every single part of it without hesitation or flaw. Even James said he had been practicing and his side of the solo was spot on. But putting them together was the difficult part.

Kurt had not set up rehearsal dates with James to practice the singing and the playing together. He had tried only once, and it ended in them arguing each other to death over the stupidest things, one being where Kurt should stand when he sang.

There was nothing of the James that was there in the beginning: it was all cold, all sad. Desolate. The one who stuttered and kept a book glued to his side was gone, and in its place was the one who argued constantly and did things without thinking about their consequences first. He was reckless and angry.

And Kurt was not up to the standards he used to be, either. There was a time when he had found himself somewhat nice and pleasant, but now he could only think of the times when he bickered. Bickered with Blaine, with Wes and David, with Cody and Thomas. With James, and Will.

So when the solo came around in the program, Kurt excused himself.

The days seemed to trip over themselves as they passed, one leading blurrily into the next. Wes and David were still plotting schemes to get back at South for their newest attack—greasing all the door handles in North with margarine—and were caught between replacing all the food in South's fridge with live frogs and covering the floors in maple syrup. Kurt thought both sides would have run out of ideas by now, or that the Dean would have officially put a stop to it all.

Cody was still baking. Now, though, he baked even more from the stress of Nationals and finals. The kitchen gradually filled with all kinds of cookies, small cakes, and pastries, not to mention dishes that were suited for meals. He slaved in the kitchen most of the time after school, leaning over the counter, reading from the same cookbook each time.

None of the other residents of North complained about the abundance of food, so nothing was said.

Still captivated by Adam Harvey's sister, Thomas spent his time after class in his room on Skype with her. During rehearsal, he snuck his phone out to text her and he was in a consistent state of happiness. The others in North teased him for it constantly.

And Blaine was… He was not seen enough to make a conclusion. He often practiced after school for fencing, with the looming thoughts of finals coming up in the next week. It was clear he was jittery, nervous, and that was shown in rehearsals. Once or twice, Kurt found himself glancing over at the other boy, seeing this sort of expression that did not have a name. But it looked frightened and terrified, yet somewhat calm.

It scared Kurt enough that he didn't look back at him.

* * *

Seventeen days and counting until Nationals. The days were marked off in purple marker on Kurt's calendar that hung in his room.

Another two weeks until the baseball finals and the fencing finals, which were to take place the weekend before Nationals.

And a handful of days until final exams. Every single student was dreading them, even Adam, who studied more than the entire student body put together. If he was nervous about them, things were not looking good.

Nothing was looking good anymore.

* * *

Twelve days until Nationals, and Kurt was coming out of his last class when he skidded to a halt. The last person he expected to see stood before him, playing with the little yellow bird pin that was attached to the lapel of his blazer.

"Hello, Kurt," James said in a rigid voice. He licked his lips anxiously. "How was class?"

Kurt folded his arms over his chest. "Who are you and what have you done with the real James? The one I know hasn't talked to me in days, and the one I know wouldn't start talking to me again out of the blue." He stepped around him.

"I know, I know," he said, flustered, hurrying to catch up with him, "and I'm sorry about that. I needed a few days to myself to think, and I would like to give it another go—rehearsing for your solo."

"Now that you bring that up," Kurt said, a little irritated, "I was thinking of dropping it and choosing another song. I can't sing it if I don't have an accompanist to play with me."

James stepped up his pace. "And that's what I'm saying. I know our last attempt at rehearsing together did not work out too well—"

"You don't say," he mumbled under his breath, recalling the last time they had tried to rehearse together. It had been filled with bickering over the music, over the flats and the sharps and whether Kurt should sing a specific bar of music in the original octave or raise it to a higher one.

"—and I would like to try again." He touched Kurt's elbow, making him stop abruptly. "I want to rehearse with you, right now, in the auditorium. No one's in there right now."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "If you don't want to do it, then just tell me. I'll pick another song. It won't be hard to learn another song."

"But I'm willing to do it. For you." His sapphire eyes shone.

Kurt felt his face grow warm. "James—"

"Okay, okay, forget I said that," James interjected, shaking his head, embarrassed. He covered his face with one hand. "But really. I promise not to argue, or get mad, or anything. I'll be the model pianist."

Chewing on the corner of his lip, Kurt watched him for a moment. Then he ducked his head. "Okay, fine. Let's do it."

Delighted, the other boy grinned.

Minutes later, they were peeking their heads into the auditorium. The lights over the stage were dim and the rows of seats were empty. The air was still and heavy, and deafening in Kurt's mind. They hurried down the aisle, dropping their bags in seats in the front row, and made their way onto the stage.

"So," James said eagerly, plopping down on the piano bench and raising his hands over the keys, "let's give it a whirl, shall we?"

Kurt lingered by the grand instrument and let his hand drift along the smooth edge. His throat felt dry and he swallowed, hard. "I have a question for you."

He dropped his hands and they hit the keys in a smattering of ugly notes. His mood dropped with his hands. "Okay. What is it?"

"What's happened to you?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, when we come back from Spring break, you're sick, and you stay sick for a while. Then you decide to feel better and you're doing this for me, and—" Kurt shook his head.

James stared up at him quizzically. "I don't know what the big issue is here," he said slowly.

"I don't know," Kurt said blankly. "You're different."

"I think I have changed a lot over the past few months. There's no doubt about that," James chuckled.

Kurt rubbed his face. "Have you cut since the break?"

"Of course." The dark haired boy said it with such easiness that it made Kurt wince internally.

"A-and have you told anyone?" he asked carefully.

James shook his head, no. "Not anyone."

"Not even Will?"

"He gets mad when I tell him," he said quietly. He stared intently down at the keys. "I'd prefer not to make him mad. I think he has issues with his anger."

Kurt pursed his lips together and decided not to touch more on that subject in particular. "What about Carson?"

"I just told you that no one else knows," he said dryly, his voice edging on irritation. "From that, I think you should be able to understand that literally _no one else knows._"

He leaned back on his heels in a sign of surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He gestured toward the piano with the nod of his head. "Shall we start?"

James nodded his head and he unclasped his hands from his lap. "Sure. But one last thing, if I may?"

Kurt remained silent, which was his sign to let the other boy continue. His stomach churned uncomfortably.

The dark haired boy leaned back on his hands, staring up at Kurt. "Listen, Kurt, I know you and Blaine are having a difficult time right now, and I want you to know that I am not trying to…" He narrowed his eyes.

"Seduce me? Persuade me? Come onto me?" Kurt snapped, his throat closing up.

James bristled. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose so," he said, and he looked rather content. "But none of that will happen today, as in right this moment. I was only planning to run by the solo with you. I respect your relationship with Blaine—whatever's left of it, I mean—enough to not let that get in the way."

Kurt stared at him. "No, you don't. You don't respect it at all."

"Okay, you're right. I don't." His sapphire eyes suddenly turned sharp, hard. He sat up stiffly. "I'm doing this, this rehearsal, for everyone else. If we bomb Nationals because your solo isn't good enough, everyone will hate you."

"No one is going to hate me," Kurt said incredulously. "It's only a solo—"

He got to his feet, nearly knocking over the piano bench in the process. "Is that what you're going to say when we're standing behind the curtains in New York, waiting to go on? 'It's only a solo'?"

His words echoed throughout the auditorium, and both of them fell silent. James' breathing was almost audible and he inhaled sharply, sitting down. He righted his hands over the keys and stared at a spot on the wall.

Kurt pressed his lips together to avoid opening the floodgates. _Who are you to tell me to step up my game? And you forget that you're the one playing the actual music to this; if you mess up, it's on your head, too. And I'm the one who gave you this opportunity in the first place. I could just as easily take it away and choose another song so you won't have to work your—_

"Whenever you're ready," James said, breaking Kurt of his reverie. He said it without making eye contact, his hands frozen over the keys.

* * *

"Blaine, shut _up. _If you haven't noticed, we're actually trying to study," Wes sighed obnoxiously from the back table. He was practically buried under a mountain of papers that held information useful to finals, which were nearing rapidly.

David sat beside him, but he was hardly there, as he had his head on the table and papers covering him. He gave a groan of agreement. Thomas and Cody were parked at opposite ends of the table, each flipping through textbooks, and both nodded as well.

Blaine dropped his hand, which held a few sheets of music, to glare at them. "Oh, come on, guys."

"Don't 'oh, come on' me," David said, pulling his head up and resting his chin in his hand. "There are other places to sing randomly, like the auditorium, the choir room—"

"And what about your room?" Cody interjected and flipped through a chapter in the book in front of him. "It's not like your voice is loud enough that other people can actually hear it through the walls."

Blaine leaned his head back, rolling his eyes, and gave a great sigh.

Wes nodded. "Look, dude, we love your singing. In fact, it's somewhat decent—"

"Somewhat decent?" Blaine repeated, exasperated. He hid his face in his sheet music.

"—and even though we love hearing it rain down from the heavens almost every single day—"

"We're not very fond of it when you're complaining about your life in song," Thomas finished tiredly. He brushed a lock of red hair away from his eyes, which had dark circles under them from lack of sleep.

"I mean, seriously. There has to be some limit to the number of depressing songs out there," David said, exasperated.

Blaine flattened his lips into a thin line, completely unamused. He felt the blood rush to his face and the back of his neck.

"You can't sing them all," Cody added.

"But you'll probably try," Wes sighed. He pushed a pile of papers away from him disdainfully.

Thomas grinned. "Knowing Blaine, he probably will."

Rolling the sheet music into a tube, Blaine dropped his shoulders. "Thanks, guys."

Wes shrugged. "For what?"

He waved a hand at them. "Just let me stay in here for a few more minutes."

"As long as you don't sing," Cody said firmly. "I'd like to actually get my work done in _silence._"

"As much as we love to hear the sultry sound of your voice," David said and turned a sheet of paper over, "we'd rather not study to the sounds of heartbreak and neglect."

Blaine felt his face grow red and he flattened out his tube of sheet music, staring down at it. Then, against his friends' protests, he started to sing.

_I don't know your face no more,_

_Or feel your touch that I adore,_

_I don't know your face no more,_

_It's just a place I'm looking for,_

_We might as well be strangers in another town,_

_We might as well be living in a different world,_

_We might as well,_

_We might as well,_

_We might as well_

Cody perked and, lifting his head from his work, watched the soloist sing, seeming to be in his own world, not aware of his surroundings. The small boy didn't say a word to disrupt his friend, only set down his pen and folded his hands in his lap.

Slowly, the others looked up and found Blaine singing a low string of smooth notes, and they stopped rifling through the sea of paper that covered the table. No one said a word, not one.

_I don't know your thoughts these days,_

_We're strangers in an empty space,_

_I don't understand your heart,_

_It's easier to be apart_

Then Cody caught the flicker of moment outside the doors of the room, and he saw Kurt lingering in the doorway. The boy's face was tinted pink on the cheekbones and his eyes were vibrant, alight with something that looked like anger. Cody vaguely wondered if he had run into Will or James on the way here.

The shining eyes were trained on Blaine, who was not even looking at the music anymore, and singing to no one in particular.

_We might as well be strangers in another town,_

_We might as well be living in another time,_

_We might as well,_

_We might as well,_

_We might as well be strangers,_

_Be strangers,_

_For all I know of you now,_

_For all I know of you now,_

_For all I know of you now,_

_For all I know_

The tune in Blaine's voice dropped when he reached the end of the song. He swallowed over the lump in his throat and was surprised to see that the four boys in front of him weren't vigorously working or staring at him—they were watching the door with a deer in headlights expression.

Kurt was standing at the door, looking in a daze. He leaned against the doorframe with a simple elegance, his skin as smooth and pale as porcelain, and he licked his lips.

"That was nice," he said softly. "You should sing Keane more often."

Blaine blinked, then let his lips part in a sheepish smile. "How long have you been standing there?"

Kurt shrugged carelessly. "About half the song."

"So, where have you been?" Cody blurted out, his voice ringing out against the silence.

Jolting at the sound of the boy's voice, Wes accidently nudged Thomas' textbook off the table, making it land on the floor with a thud. It brought down a handful of papers with it. Both boys jumped out of their seats to clean it up.

Kurt snapped his gaze from Blaine to Cody. "I was, um, in the auditorium. Practicing. With James."

"With _James_?" Wes exclaimed. There was a thump as he rammed his head against the underside of the table. He rubbed his head and stared at Kurt oddly. "Oh, my God. The apocalypse has finally arrived."

"The day when Kurt befriends the psycho," David muttered under his breath.

"Yes, with him," Kurt said hurriedly and folded his arms against his chest. "He said he finally wanted to rehearse my solo for Nationals. He's being a pain in the ass, but at least he's agreeing to go along with it without too much complaint."

Blaine raised his eyebrows in a sense of surprise. "Well, that's a little shocking. But then again, he's basically in love with you, so it shouldn't be that appalling."

Instead of replying, Kurt tightened his jaw, letting his eyes linger on the soloist.

"Blaine, just drop it," Thomas said shockingly. He pulled his phone from his pocket and took a moment to tap out a text, most likely to Marissa, and set it down. He looked up at Blaine, who had his eyes narrowed. "I mean, seriously. Just stop talking about it. This kind of crap has been going on since February. Isn't it time to give it a rest?" He scooped up his things in his arms and brushed past Kurt into the hallway, disappearing.

"On that note," Kurt said quietly, voice cracking, "I'm going to go study. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room." With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Cody instantly stood up. He shot Blaine somewhat of an evil glare and gathered his things in his arms, hurrying out the door.

"Kurt!" he called, running down the corridor.

Kurt turned and looked over his shoulder. When he saw the small boy running after him, he turned back around and continued pacing, the walls on either side of his lined with doors.

"Kurt," Cody said again and reached his side. He scrambled to stuff all his things into the bag that hung sloppily from his shoulder. "Hey, earth to Kurt. Your best friend is right here, trying to talk to you!"

"And I hear you," Kurt replied. He made it to his room and pushed the door open; Cody followed behind him.

He sighed. "Oh, come on, Kurt."

"'Come on' what?" Kurt pulled at the knot in his tie roughly to loosen it.

Cody looked flustered and he dropped his bag to the floor. "You've got to stop acting snarky all the time. I know you and Blaine broke up a while ago, and I've been putting up with it until now. I want you to either fix it or move on."

Kurt faced him, eyes narrowed. "What?"

He bit his lip hesitantly. "You heard me. I want you to either go out there and make up with Blaine, or forget about it."

"I think I'm just going to continue being snarky," Kurt replied after a moment of silence. He saw Cody's face flash with questioning. "Because it's easier." He pursed his lips and looked away.

Cody stood there for a minute without saying anything. He bit his lip again. "You know what you need?"

"Not anymore of your food," Kurt moaned, picturing the counters in the North kitchen, which were crowded with dishes and side dishes and desserts and everything else. "I swear, I've gained ten pounds since you started cooking comfort food for me."

"Not that, no." He shook his head. "You need to sing."

"I'm fine, Cody."

Cody reached forward and took Kurt's hand, pulling him out into the hallway. "No, you need to sing, and you need to sing _now_. That's the only way something is going to be accomplished."

"Cody," Kurt groaned and let his arm grow limp. "We just sung today in class. I don't need to sing again." He didn't want to mention the fact that he had just sung in front of James in the auditorium, in a rehearsal that had gone slightly better than usual; they had still stopped to snap at each other over music markings every few measures, but there hadn't been any yelling of the sort.

"Yes, you do," he insisted, dragging Kurt down to the end of the hallway. He stopped when they were in the middle of the main hallway. The doors to the commons were still open, and Blaine's and Wes's and David's floated out into the hall.

Kurt instantly lowered his voice. "No, I'm fine—"

But the small boy had already started singing.

_Tell me that you're alright,_

_Yeah, everything is alright,_

_Oh, please, tell me that you're alright,_

_Yeah everything is alright,_

_Give me a reason to end this discussion,_

_To break with tradition,_

_To fold and divide_

"Cody," Kurt said aloud, not bothering to lower his voice. He rubbed his face with one hand and looked down when he felt a nudge in his shoulder.

"You're supposed to sing this part," Cody hinted helpfully.

Sighing, Kurt rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth and started to sing weakly, his voice rough and thick.

'_Cause I hate the ocean, theme parks, and airplanes,_

_Talking with strangers, waiting in line,_

_I'm through with these pills that make me sit still,_

"_Are you feeling fine?"_

Cody grinned a white smile and took up the chorus. As he did, a few heads popped out of the commons, Wes and David being the first two. Blaine slowly came to stand by them, arms knitted over his chest.

_Yes, I feel just fine_

_Tell me that you're alright,_

_Yeah, everything is alright,_

_Oh, please, tell me that you're alright,_

_Yeah, everything is alright_

Kurt kept his eyes forward on Cody and refrained from looking over at the doors as he joined in. As the lyrics flew by, he found his voice fading until he only mouthed the words, and soon Cody's voice was the only one there.

_I'm sick of the things I do when I'm nervous,_

_Like cleaning the oven or checking my tires,_

_Or counting the number of tiles in the ceiling,_

_Head for the hills, the kitchen's on fire!_

Cody covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, and Kurt could tell he was recalling the morning in the kitchen when Wes hit the fire alarm. It made a lump form in his throat.

_I used to rely on self-medication,_

_I guess I still do that from time to time,_

_But I'm getting better at fighting the future,_

"_Someday you'll be fine,"_

_Yes, I'll be just fine_

Now, most of the commons was standing outside the doors, watching Kurt and Cody volley lyrics back and forth, the latter beaming and the former trying to keep up with the words. Blaine idled near the front of the group, his lips in a curious, flat line on his face.

_Tell me that you're alright (Hi, everything's great),_

_Yeah, everything is alright (Everything's fine),_

_Oh, please, tell me that you're alright (Hi, everything's great),_

_Yeah, everything is alright,_

_(Everything's fine, everything's fine, everything's fine, everything's fine)_

Kurt was startled when the soft sound of applause greeted him. He tore his eyes away from Cody's beaming expression to see a good chunk of students pressed against the walls, clapping and commenting. His face went red.

"That was great!" Cody cheered and threw his arm around Kurt's shoulders. "Do you feel a little better now?"

Kurt's lips turned up at the corners, and he sort of nodded, but then he saw Blaine's blank expression; he stood between Wes and David, eyes locked on Kurt. Kurt licked his lips dryly and his smile dropped.

"What is going on in here?" a voice boomed from the end of the hallway.

Everyone froze. Some retreated into the commons and others leaned casually against the walls in hopes that it would help them disappear. Diego stormed down the hallway, coming from the kitchen.

"I said, what just happened?" he asked again and lowered his voice a little.

Kurt straightened and Cody immediately dropped his arms, clasping his hands behind his back. Both stood straightly as Diego approached them with his eyebrows raised, almost disappearing into his hairline. He only slowed when he saw Kurt and Cody, and his bewildered expression dropped.

"Oh," he said. He cleared his throat, lips flattening. His dark eyes flitted between the two boys, then to Wes and David and Blaine. "Having fun?"

Wes nodded. "They put on a great show. I nominate them to sing every duet we have until we leave this place."

Kurt felt the back of his neck turn hot. Diego was cutting him slack about everything that had happened recently, he supposed, and he flushed an even deeper shade of pink at the thought.

Diego disregarded Wes without replying. He scanned the hallway of boys. "Just… don't make too much noise here, okay? I don't want Adam or Simon to come pounding on my door, asking why the walls are shaking."

He gave a brief nod and turned on his heel, his shoe squeaking slightly. He vanished into the kitchen moments later and shut the doors.

Kurt let out a long sigh, as did Cody.

"That was close," Cody said shakily. "I thought he was going to bust us for it."

"I'll say," Kurt murmured.

"Hey, sing something else," Wes requested. He stepped out of the doorway, David following eagerly on his heels.

Cody looked delighted. "Like what?"

But Kurt had tuned out their conversation. His eyes were fixed on the doorway where Blaine stood, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. He met Kurt's eyes briefly, hazel to blue, before quickly retreating into the commons.

Kurt had parted his lips ever so slightly when his phone buzzed riotously in his pocket, and he put it to his ear without checking the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Kurt!" said a chipper voice.

He put his hand to his face and lingered in the main hallway as the others moved into the commons, covering his free ear with his hand. "Rachel, haven't you bugged me enough this month? First the surprise visit to Dalton, and what next? A parade in my honor with completely unflattering balloons with my face on them?"

A mess of mumbles came back to him, covering Rachel's reply. She laughed out loud and cleared her throat.

"I'm in the choir room right now, so sorry for the noise," she explained, her voice clearer. "You sound worried. If you want, we can call back at another time—"

"No, now is fine," he said and tried unsuccessfully to hide his exasperation. "What's going on now?"

The voice that greeted him wasn't Rachel's perky voice, but instead Quinn's soothing voice. "We were only hoping to ask you something, Kurt, not throw a parade for you, though that is on our list."

Kurt spread his tongue across the fronts of his teeth and waited.

"Anyway," came the familiar voice of Tina, "we were wondering if you'd like to come to McKinley's prom this weekend!"

Kurt stopped where he was in the hallway and nearly dropped his phone. "You want me to do what?"

"Come to our prom!" Mercedes said. "We know Dalton doesn't have any socials like prom around this time of the year for the obvious reasons, so we were hoping you would come to ours!"

"I don't know, guys," he said hesitantly and caught a glimpse of the commons, with Cody singing something tastefully with another boy from the Warblers. "It's a McKinley prom. I don't go to McKinley anymore."

"Still," Rachel pleaded, "you've got to come. What else are you going to do this weekend?"

Kurt chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I was going to stay at school and study. We have finals after we come back from Nationals—"

Someone, probably Santana, snorted. "Oh, lay off. Forget all that, Hummel. You're coming to prom with us, no matter what. Got that?"

Kurt was silent for a moment. His eyes drifted up to the commons, and found Wes and David lounging on the window seat and talking lively. Diego had come from the kitchen and was leaning against the back of the couch with his arms over his chest, and Blaine was sitting at the table. Kurt's heart jumped and he glanced back down at his shoes.

"I don't know," he repeated. "I don't have anyone to go with," he said lamely.

"Anyone to go with? You don't need anyone to go with!" Tina protested.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Tina, you've got Mike. And Rachel, you're going with Finn, aren't you?" he asked somewhat sharply. "Mercedes is probably going with Sam. Everyone has a pair. Not me."

There was silence on the end of the line.

Then a chorus of _Oohh!_s from the girls.

Rachel exclaimed, seeming flustered, "For the record, I am _not _going with Finn!"

"But you have to come, Kurt," Tina said over Rachel's protests.

"No, I don't, Tina," he mumbled. "I'm not from McKinley, so I can't come without an invitation. And it's embarrassing if I don't have anyone to go with."

"I'll go with you," Brittany offered in a soft voice.

"Thanks, Britt, but I'm sure you're already oing with Artie, or one of the other guys." Kurt chewed on his thumbnail and glanced up at the commons again; Cody was singing something else, belting it out dramatically in front of the other boys. He almost looked peaceful for once.

"You're coming," Rachel concluded firmly. "It's this Saturday. You're taking the trip home Friday and you're going to go with tag along with Mercedes and Sam and I."

Sighing, Kurt rubbed his face. "Fine! I'll go."

A loud roar of cheers came through the receiver and he held the phone away from him.

"But that doesn't mean you can get all excited over it," he insisted and raised his voice. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wes and David send glances his way. Softer, he said, "I'll come. Okay?"

"Great! We're already making the preparations! Actually, we sort of already made, like, half the plans because we knew you'd come," Mercedes said happily.

"Yeah, we already bought you a ticket and everything!" Santana chimed in, and the call cut off in the middle of her sentence.

Kurt dropped his hand from his ear and shoved the phone in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he strode into the commons, just as a tune was finishing playing from someone's phone.

"Who were you talking to, Kurt? They sounded pretty loud," Cody asked. He leaned against the back of Blaine's chair to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed.

He licked his lips. "Apparently, I'm going to the McKinley prom this weekend."

Wes dropped his jaw. "You're doing _what?_"

"McKinley is having a prom?" Thomas exclaimed, looking up from his homework.

"Who are you going with?" Cody sputtered.

Kurt patiently waited until the boys finished attacking him with questions. The other boys that were in the room were too enamored with the television or homework to pay him much attention, and he was thankful for that.

"Yes," he said eventually, once everyone had run out of questions, "McKinley is having a prom. And yes, I'm going, and I'm going with Rachel and Mercedes." He attempted to ignore the way Blaine's hand tightened around the pencil in his hand as he wrote.

Wes stood up from the window seat, beaming. "Awesome! I better get my tux out!"

"Dude, not the white one," David moaned and threw a pillow at him.

"You're not going," Kurt told him flatly. "Rachel only invited me, and me only. She didn't say to invite half the North wing."

"Not half the North wing," Wes said tightly. "Just me and David and Cody and Blaine."

Kurt swallowed over the lump in his throat. "No. It's just me."

Wes plopped back down in his seat, looking disappointed. "I bet if I called her, she'd let us come. She actually likes me."

"When has she ever _met _you?" David asked incredulously and jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

"Oh, please, Kurt?" Cody asked faintly. "Can you ask her if we can come? We'd all love to!"

Thomas nodded. "And we promise not to destroy anything!" he said steadily. "I mean, we'll try not to, but—"

"No one is coming!" Kurt exclaimed. He tucked his hands into his pockets and heaved a sigh. "You know, I don't think I'm going to go after all. I'm going to stay the weekend and study for finals and practice for Nationals."

"Kurt," Cody whined, letting his head fall back. "Just because we're annoying you doesn't mean you have to change your mind. They're your friends. If they're asking you to come, they obviously miss you and _want you to come. _You're going, if it's the last thing I do."

Blinking, he chewed the inside of his cheek until it ached. "I don't—"

Wes pointed a finger sharply at him. "No, you're going. Dude, you need to relax a little. You've got more stress than all of us combined, and I think you need a break. Right?" He glanced around at the boys, who all nodded. "See?"

"Fine!" Kurt held up his hands. "But on one condition."

They all waited with baited breath.

"None of you are allowed to come," he said slowly. "I don't want to see any of you at this prom, or things will get messy. Do you hear me?"

"Gotcha," Wes said and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He crossed his legs and found Kurt staring at him. "What? We all promise. Don't we, boys?"

They mumbled their replies, and Kurt rubbed his face again.

"I'm going back to my room," he grumbled as he made his way to the door. "If you need me, please, hesitate to find me."

With that, he left the commons, his phone feeling like a lead weight in his pocket.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The McKinley High prom comes and goes, leaving Kurt with words he wishes he never said and moves he wishes he never made. The King and Queen are elected, the punch is spiked, and the bathroom seems to be a popular place for a fight._


	31. Prom Night

Hello, readers.

I hope this update finds you all well, and I apologize for the late update. I've been dealing with a lot of things, such as getting a new car! Yes, I'm finally getting a car after having my license for about six months now! It should come in on Tuesday or Wednesday and I'm very excited and happy! :)

In other news... well, there really isn't any other news because I'm boring and have nothing else to do but go to the library and check out too many books to read in a three week period. And yes, I've done this before. I checked out seventeen books once and had to either read them all in three weeks or recheck them out again. Whoops.

And I finally saw 'About a Boy' with Hugh Grant and Nicholas Hoult in it, and let's just say, I wish Nicholas Hoult was still a kid because he was so freaking adorable when he was little. But then, if he hadn't grown up, we wouldn't have gotten this amazing sex god and actor.

So yeah.

And for those of you wondering when in the world is this story is going to end, I have an answer: provided that I don't spontaneously write ten more chapters (this prom chapter and the one after it were written at the last second), there should be about seven more chapters and an epilogue. So there.

Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but if I did, I definitely would not introduce all these new characters. I mean, the Glee Project is amazing, but really, we have amazing characters to start out with.

* * *

**Prom Night**

* * *

**Dark blue, dark blue / Have you ever been alone in a crowded room? –_Dark Blue, _Jack's Mannequin**

* * *

"Kurt, could you hand me my shoes? They're the pink ones in the long white box in my closet."

Kurt ducked into the small walk-in closet, but stuck his head out a moment later. "There are plenty of white boxes in your closet, Rachel."

The brunette poked her head out of the bathroom with a dazed expression. Her shiny hair was done up on the top of her head and she had a bathroom towel wrapped around her. Half her face was coated in makeup, making her look like a lopsided clown.

"Well, it's this box that has the Payless logo on it," she said vaguely and ducked back into the bathroom. "They're in there. I know it!"

Kurt sighed and turned back to the closet, carefully digging inside. Rachel's closet had one shelf to the left, which held scarves and hats and bows and tights, all organized by color. In front of him were racks and racks of shirts, dresses, and skirts. The shelf to his right held several pairs of shoes, but none of them were in a white box with a Payless logo on the lid.

"Rachel," Mercedes whined from the brunette's desk chair, where she sat fully dressed in her prom attire; she had picked out a pink dress with her hair parted neatly to the side. She dangled her shoes from one hand, a pair of strappy heels. "You're making poor Kurt dig through your closet for your shoes when they're sitting right by the door."

Kurt stepped out of the closet curiously. He spotted a small white box up against the bedroom door, just as Mercedes said. He cast a foul glance at Rachel before retrieving them and bringing them into the bathroom.

"Your shoes," he announced dully and he held out the box.

Rachel smiled cheerfully at him and took the box with one hand. "Thank you."

He replied with a flat expression and he went to sit on the foot of her bed, straightening the tie around his neck. He would've thought that wearing a tie wouldn't have been so uncomfortable, seeing as he wore one every day in his uniform, but now it was almost strangling him.

"Oh, come on," Rachel said as she closed the door to change. She raised her voice when the door muffled it. "Don't look so glum! We're going to have an awesome time, I know it."

"_You're _going to have an awesome time," Kurt grumbled, resting his elbows against his knees. "You're going to dance with Jesse all night, and Mercedes is never going to leave Sam's side—" He stopped when he found Mercedes glaring at him. "What? It's what you're going to do."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be such a pessimist. I'll talk to you."

"Only when you want me to get you and Sam drinks," he wittily snapped. He checked his phone for the millionth time that night. "Rachel, hurry up. Don't we have to pick up Jesse? He's not going to appreciate it if we're late."

The bathroom door swung open and Rachel stepped forward. She looked glamorous in a powder blue gown that highlighted her eyes and flattered her figure. Kurt couldn't help but be distracted by her appearance for a moment, but then he glared at her.

"Actually, Jesse and Sam are meeting us here. They're taking us to Breadstix for dinner," Mercedes corrected as she stood up and grabbed her purse from Rachel's dresser. "So thankfully, we won't have to worry about them."

"Thankfully," Kurt muttered under his breath. He stood up and brushed the lint of the lapels of his tuxedo.

Rachel looked him over as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "You look very handsome tonight, Kurt. Thank you for coming with us."

Kurt brushed a piece of hair that had fallen into his eyes back into place. "I didn't willingly come. You girls begged me until I had no choice."

"But you still love us," Mercedes said gleefully. She pulled him into his arms for a quick hug before he pulled away.

Kurt had dreaded the night of the McKinley prom since the moment Rachel had called him and invited him. He had had no intentions of going, not with finals and Nationals looming over him drearily. But the girls and the boys at Dalton had both convinced him to come, and he was regretting every second of it so far.

He was dressed in a simple black suit with a thin tie that was loose around his neck. His phone was constantly in his hand and his ticket was folded in his breast pocket, and his mood was less than spectacular. Though prom was supposed to be a fun night, he had a tough time imagining it as so when he was in an awful mood with no one to go with, the feeling of an outsider draped over his shoulders.

With the two girls having everything they needed, they filed down the stairs, only to see Rachel's dads and Mercedes' mom crowding the landing with cameras in hand. Rachel and Mercedes instantly broke into smiles while Kurt ducked his head.

"Oh, Carole," Mercedes' mom called into the kitchen, "hurry up! The girls and Kurt are coming down!"

There was a shuffle as Carole hurried into the front room looking flustered. But the worried look evaporated when she saw the girls and Kurt. She raised her camera and gave it a few clicks.

"Oh, girls," she crooned. "You look so beautiful tonight. And Kurt, you look stunning yourself."

Kurt merely mumbled a reply and stepped to the side to allow Mercedes' mom and Rachel's dads to snap picture after picture. He leaned against the wall by the door with his phone in his hand. Cody was texting him from the middle of a study session with Wes and David; he hadn't mentioned Blaine whatsoever, and Kurt reveled in that fact. Either the small boy was afraid of mentioning Blaine's name, or Blaine wasn't with them at all.

"Honey, what's the matter?" Carole asked, coming to stand beside her son. "You look upset."

He hid his phone. "I'm fine. What makes you think I'm upset?"

"For one, you're usually hogging the camera," she said and gestured to the device in her hand, "and two, you typically talk more than this. You have hardly uttered a peep all night. What's going on?"

Kurt pursed his lips into a flat line. "Honestly, I don't think I should be here right now. I mean, this is McKinley's prom, and I don't go to McKinley anymore. I feel sort of on the outside looking in."

Carole rubbed soothing circles against his back. "Oh, Kurt, you'll be fine. You get to see all your friends again, and there'll be music and dancing and games, and you'll have fun. I know it." She smiled. "Okay?"

"I guess." He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly, then glanced at her. "Do you think I have any chance of leaving right now?"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell cut through the girls' jabber and one of Rachel's dads hurried to swing open the door. Sam and Jesse waited patiently on the front porch, both looking awkward in the other's presence. But that went away when they saw Mercedes and Rachel standing on the staircase, and Rachel's dads invited them in.

Carole nudged Kurt's shoulder tenderly. "Not anymore."

Kurt waited grudgingly as the girls posed with Sam and Jesse for dozens of pictures until Rachel cast out her complaint that their table at Breadstix was going to be given away if they didn't leave, and Kurt immediately offered to drive; that would give him something to concentrate on, aside from Dalton.

They loaded into the car, the girls sweeping their dresses carefully to make sure they didn't get caught in the doors, and Kurt backed out of the driveway. Their parents were waiting on the front porch and were waving cheerfully to them. Kurt caught Carole's hopeful eye before they drove off.

* * *

"…and I told him, 'Hey, I don't need to go to a performing arts college to be famous. I just need money and a good smile'," Jesse said with a blinding smile of his own. He glanced around the table as Rachel and Mercedes giggled at his story, and Sam merely sipped on his water.

Jesse St. James was Rachel's date for the prom, to Kurt's displeasure. Somewhere along the line, Rachel and Finn had had a disagreement, which led to Finn taking Quinn to the prom and Jesse to swoop in to take Rachel. Kurt couldn't help but glare at the boy from across the table as he told story after story of his few months in some other state, where he had apparently flunked out of college. He couldn't see why Rachel was so taken by him; hadn't he egged her and broken her heart once before?

Kurt reached for his water glass but instead of taking a sip, he traced water circles in the table's surface. He had hardly eaten any of the salad that sat in front of him, while the others had cleaned their plates; his stomach was tossing and turning too much to hold down much of anything.

Throughout the dinner, his phone had buzzed constantly. Cody had been texting him off and on for the past hour and a half, telling him about their study session for finals. From the texts, Kurt was able to gather that while David was an avid studier, Wes was a slacker and kept dozing on his textbook, and Thomas was shooting rubber bands at the ceiling. Kurt smiled a little bit to himself.

When a nudge to his shoulder came, he jolted up to see Sam looking at him.

"This guy is insane," he whispered and gestured to Jesse, who was too busy talking to notice, with the jerk of his chin. "How did you deal with him when he was in the glee club?"

Kurt straightened up and reached for his water glass. "Lots of patience," he said after he'd swallowed, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"But I can't believe he flunked out! He's so smart!" Rachel exclaimed quietly, touching Jesse's shoulder with a tenderness that made Kurt want to leave the booth.

"Smart enough to even get into college in the first place. Surprising," Kurt grumbled under his breath.

"What?"

He glanced up and met her eyes. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

The brunette nodded, but her gaze was wary.

At that moment, Sam raised his head and said, "Oh, hey, dude. How's it going?"

All eyes went to the pair that stood next to their booth: Quinn Fabray with Finn at her side. Quinn had her blonde hair piled elegantly on her head, wearing a flowing gown and a corsage that covered most of her wrist. Her eyes shimmered in the low lighting of the restaurant as they fell upon Rachel. Finn idled awkwardly at his date's side.

"What a coincidence, running into you all here," Quinn finally said, folding her hands in front of her with the essence of a princess.

"Thank you, Quinn," Jesse replied warmly. "And I must said, you look ravishing this evening. Your dress is lovely."

The blonde nodded and smiled, her glossed lips curving up.

Rachel fell uncomfortably quiet and she didn't seem to notice Quinn much at all; Kurt saw that her gaze was fixed on Finn, who was as clueless to his surroundings as usual. Rachel pulled her hands into her lap and used one to pick irritably at one of the soft curls hanging down by her ears.

At last, Mercedes asked to fill the silence, "So, did you two have dinner already?"

"Yeah, just finished," Finn answered shortly. He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked over at Kurt. "Hey, bro. Dad says hi."

Kurt smiled a little and nodded, turning back to his uneaten salad and stuffing a carrot in his mouth to keep it full. He had no intentions of starting a conversation about his dad.

Quinn touch Finn's arm and looked up fondly at him. "We should probably get going, Finn. Prom starts in about twenty minutes."

Even from across the table, Kurt could sense Rachel's rage boil up enough to make her cheeks flush. She wrinkled her nose for a split second before smiling and nodding to Jesse.

"Yeah, we should probably head off, as well," she said and not so gently prodded her date in the ribs. Jesse scooted out of the booth and helped her out. Quinn said a petite goodbye and led Finn out of the restaurant, and Rachel's gaze followed them. Her eyes met Kurt's for a second and she glanced away, embarrassed.

Kurt was already on his feet and his fingers were dancing across the screen of his phone to send another message to Cody. He had sent and received two messages by the time all four of them were ready to go, and they loaded up into Rachel's car to head off to the school. The restaurant was a short five minute away from the school, and not long after, they were filing out of the car in the parking lot.

The school was lit up with spotlights in front of the marquee and a banner hung over the front doors, proclaiming the prom in wild colors. Kurt trailed behind the two pairs as they waltzed into the school. Immediately, faint music could be heard pulsing through the walls. Kurt started blankly at the halls as they weaved their way through to the gymnasium, finding the music growing louder and that nothing had really changed since his visit during spring break. The only changes were streamers draped along the walls and posters with Quinn's and Finn's faces on them, campaigning for prom queen and king.

When they arrived at the gymnasium doors, Kurt numbly handed over his ticket to the table of chaperones. He followed Rachel and Mercedes inside, but instantly lost them in the crowd of students. Music played from large speakers in the back and the beat was loud enough to make the floor shake slightly under his feet.

Spotlights of different colors flashed across the wide room and reflected against the disco ball that hung down from the ceiling; numerous tables of snacks and punch lined the side wall. Balloons bobbed in masses against the ceiling and they formed a large arch behind the stage. Off to the side, couples were having their pictures taken by a photographer, flashes going off every few seconds, and Kurt was vaguely reminded of Ronnie.

Not being able to find Rachel or Mercedes, Kurt sought out a table near the back of the gymnasium. He tapped his way through several messages with Cody, describing the dance in short, dull replies. He set his phone in his lap and glanced up. Scanning the crowd, he found Quinn dancing with Finn near the center of the room, her dress swirling around her. Tina was being twirled in a circle by Mike not far off, both looking joyful, and—

Kurt's heart jumped into his throat and his hand tightened around his phone.

His eyes landed on Dave Karofsky. The football player donned a suit that looked a tad too small on him and his tie looked close to strangling him. He waited in the line at the drink table and ladled punch into one cup, and then another.

Kurt found his hands shaking as he watched the boy stride across the dance floor with the cups. He sunk lower in his seat, if that was possible, in hopes to remain hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room. Of course, he had thought about the chance of Karofsky being here—it was McKinley's prom, after all—but planned on never crossing paths with him once.

Now, he struggled to keep his eyes on Karofsky as the boy moved through the crowd, bumping into a girl and spilling a little bit from one of the cups. The girl looked annoyed at him, but one glare from him made her whip around. Karofsky made it to the other side of the gymnasium and handed one of the cups to a girl dressed in bright red, her silky black hair pulled up.

Kurt kept his jaw from dropping. Santana Lopez reached out to take one of the cups from Karofsky, and she smiled as she did do. When had this happened? Surely Santana wasn't really here with Karofsky… Was she?

Abruptly, Kurt found dark eyes boring into his head and he quickly glanced down. His heart was flitting uncontrollably in his chest and his pulse thudded like a drum in his ears, almost drowning out the cheesy pop music that blared from the speakers.

The sudden vibration of his phone jolted him and he jumped in his seat. He raised his eyes to make sure Karofsky wasn't staring across the room at him anymore and he safely opened another text from Cody.

* * *

Kurt sat through the prom for half an hour before venturing from his seat to grab a cup of probably too-sweet punch. He was in the middle of spooning some into a cup when a hand latched onto his wrist, and he jumped, sloshing some of the liquid on the table.

"Don't drink that!" Rachel said furiously. "I heard Puckerman and the others spiked it with alcohol beforehand. I would be careful if I were you."

Kurt slowly lowered his cup and set it aside, replacing the ladle in the bowl. "Noted. So, where is your knight in shining armor?" he asked after he happily noted Jesse's absence by her side.

"Oh, he's off talking to a few people he had classes with when he was here," she said nonchalantly, though Kurt could tell the fact was bothering her. She reached for a carrot stick from one of the many trays of food laid out. "But that doesn't matter now. Are you having fun?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Am I having fun? Do you think I'm having fun?" he asked a little sharply. "I'm at a prom where I don't have a date and I'm spending most of it sitting at a table texting my friend, with whom I should be studying for finals right now."

Rachel pursed her pink lips sadly. "I'll take that as a no."

Kurt snorted in reply.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "But look on the bright side," she said helpfully. "You're getting to see the glee club again. You never get to see us anymore."

"That's true," he admitted, "but none of them have approached me all night. It's like they don't know I'm even here. Tina's too busy hanging over Mike, and Quinn and Finn are… you know, being Quinn and Finn, and Mercedes and Sam are too wrapped up to even notice I'm here anymore." He cast a look to Rachel from the corner of his eye. "And don't get me started on Santana. I would go up to her, but Karofsky is hounding her. What is the deal with that?"

Rachel nibbled on another carrot stick. "I don't know. I guess they started talking and all of a sudden, they're a couple and they're running for king and queen." She took another carrot. "Which would be a surprise if they won, of course. I mean, not many people like either of them, seeing as Karofsky is a bully and Santana is just plain mean."

"They do have the ability to scare people," Kurt said rigidly. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he ignored it; things weren't much more interesting at Dalton. "They could always scare the vote out of everyone, I suppose."

"That's true," Rachel murmured. Her gaze was skimming over the crowd, most likely scanning for Finn, and Kurt knew she wasn't completely into the conversation.

Kurt grabbed a plate and loaded it with carrots, small fruits, and a cupcake and headed back to his table without another word to Rachel. He plopped down in his chair and chewed on a strawberry as he read another message from Cody that told him that Wes was wired on Red Bull and was bouncing off the walls, David had just fallen asleep, and Thomas was too busy texting Marissa to study effectively. Kurt could easily picture the scene and chuckled to himself.

The music had softened and some of the boys from the glee club headed up onto the stage. The DJ switched to an energetic beat that got the student body jumping and the boys led their way through an oddly tasteful rendition of Rebecca Black's 'Friday.' Kurt sat through it without too much complaint, and listened to them sing an eighties ballad that he couldn't quiet place the name on.

Reaching forward, he dragged his finger over the top of his cupcake and tasted the sweet frosting, waiting for his friend to reply.

* * *

"Oh, man. Wait until Kurt sees us. He'll get a _kick_ out of it," Wes said excitedly and he flexed his fingers around the steering wheel.

David nudged his shoulder from the passenger seat. "Dude, calm down. You're driving and I don't want you crash us when we're on the highway." He paused. "And slow down, for Pete's sake! This is Highway 124, not Grand Theft Auto!"

"I second that," Thomas called nervously from the backseat. "Besides, who voted you as our driver in the first place? You can hardly get out of Dalton's parking lot without running over something."

"Well, Cody's texting Kurt to keep up the diversion, so that leaves him out of the running," Wes listed as the road lights flashed over them, "and you're too busy talking to your girlfriend. Both of you are unfit to drive."

David cleared his throat noisily. "And what about me?"

"You wouldn't get us there in time because you follow the speed limit," Wes joked.

"You're going over the limit!" he said loudly.

Wes grinned. "Exactly. Then we'll get there when Rachel told us to get there with plenty of time to spare!" He looked pleased and hit David in the shoulder. "Hey, I made a rhyme with that one!"

Cody put his head in his hands from his seat in the back. "If we get pulled over by a cop for your insane driving habits, I call first dibs on killing you."

"Unless his driving doesn't kill us first, you mean," Thomas corrected.

* * *

After an hour of snacking on vegetables and listening to the glee club perform—he declined getting up on the stage and singing with them—Kurt yawned tremendously. The time was nearly nine o'clock and he wanted nothing more than to go home. He had the keys to Rachel's car, but if he drove that home, she and the other had no ride. He almost considered it when his phone came to life with a call on the table beside him. He answered without checking the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Kurt," said a lethargic voice on the other end.

Kurt wrinkled his brow. "Cody? Is that you?"

"Yeah," the boy answered. He sounded like he had just woken up.

"What's wrong? You sound tired."

He paused and Kurt heard a yawn in the background. "Yeah, we're all pretty tired. We gave up studying a while ago and we kind of fell asleep, but now we're awake and we're ready to study again," he explained. "Well, I am, at least. Wes is half awake and the other two are completely out."

"That's a shame," Kurt said, examining his nails. "But I bet it's more exciting than prom right now."

"You're not having fun?" he asked, concerned.

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. On stage, a few students were playing some sort of game involving balancing cups of water on their heads. "Not really. It would be more fun if I actually had someone to talk to."

"Well, where are all your friends from glee club?" Cody inquired. "Aren't they talking to you?"

"I think they're all more interested in dancing with their dates," he replied flatly and it was difficult to keep the irritableness out of his tone.

Cody was silent on the other end for a beat. "I'm sorry, Kurt. We would all be there with you in a heartbeat if we could, and you know that. I bet Wes and David would be the life of the party."

"If they weren't asleep," Kurt joked.

On the stage, the music had been turned up, the beat pulsing through the floorboards, and Kurt stood up. He collected his plate and tossed it in the trash bin by his table and pressed one hand over his other ear.

"Hold on a minute," he said as he paced across the dance floor to the doors. "They just turned up the music and I can't hear a thing you're saying."

He pushed open a pair of double doors and found himself in one of the gym hallways. He located the bathroom that was a little ways down the hall and closed himself inside. Suddenly, everything was silent and even making the briefest movements made him feel like he was a bull charging through a china shop. He leaned against the sink, which was cool, even through the layers of his tuxedo.

"Okay, now I can talk," he said, and his voice echoed in the small space.

"Kurt," Cody whined, "don't use me calling as an excuse to leave. I'm going to hang up, so you can go back and enjoy yourself. That's what you're supposed to be doing, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I wasn't enjoying myself that much anyway," Kurt said hastily. "Please, Cody. Stay on the phone with me. I know I'm keeping you from studying, but half your group is asleep. They're no use right now."

A rumble of laughter came in the background and Kurt raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"I just turned the TV on," Cody answered. "Since the others are asleep, I don't really want to study by myself."

Kurt sighed into the receiver. He stayed on the phone with the other boy for what seemed like hours until Cody finally excused himself, saying that he was going to go to bed.

"What about Wes and David? Are they going to bed?" Kurt asked. He wanted someone to talk to, even someone who couldn't keep up a conversation very smoothly.

"They've been in bed for awhile already. I think they've made claims on the commons floor," Cody snickered. He gave a yawn. "But seriously, Kurt, go back out there and enjoy it while you can, because then you have to come back and endure studying for finals and preparing for Nationals again. You need a break."

Kurt huffed and blew a lock of hair from his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll go out there again, but I won't be happy."

"_I'll _be happy." Kurt could hear the smile in his voice. "Now go. Eat food, dance. Enjoy yourself."

Kurt hung up and slid his phone into his pocket, bracing his hands against the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked pale, and his eyes looked washed out. He ran his hands under the water for a brief second and was turning to grab a paper towel when the bathroom door swung open behind him.

The boy stood in the doorway, frozen automatically, his hand still holding the door open. His dark eyes scanned Kurt's face, flat and hard, and Kurt swallowed. It was a minute before either of them said anything.

"I didn't know you were going to be here tonight," Karofsky said. He took a step into the room and let the door shut behind him.

Kurt instinctively took a step back and his back pressed against the tile wall. He opened his mouth to say words, but none came out.

"Cat got your tongue?" the football player teased as he approached one of the sinks and wrenched the faucet on. His eyes did not leave Kurt's once.

"What do you want?" Kurt finally blurted. His voice sounded high-pitched and frightened, and he cursed himself mentally for it. If his facial expression didn't give away his fear, his voice would.

Karofsky shrugged one large shoulder. "Just wanna know why you're here. It's a McKinley prom, not a bird school one," he grumbled and switched off the faucet. He squinted his eyes. "Do they even have proms at your bird school?"

Kurt swallowed thickly and did not reply.

"Oh, come on, Hummel," he sighed as he wiped his hands on his black pants. "Don't play the silent game with me tonight."

"And why shouldn't I?" Kurt snapped. He wanted nothing more than to take another step back, but the wall was in his way. His stomach churned when Karofsky took a step toward him.

He ducked his head and laughed, a deep rumble in his chest that Kurt swore he felt vibrate the floor. "Don't say you wouldn't question me if I showed up at your bird school, Lady. I'm just doing the same."

"I was invited, if you must know," Kurt said stiffly. He curled his toes in his shoes and every second he anticipated a sudden blow to the face, or a slushie out of nowhere. "Rachel and the glee club invited me," he clarified when he saw the bewildered expression on the other boy's face.

"Why would they invite you?" he sneered and leaned casually against the sink. "I mean, I know you're friends with them and everything, but you don't go here anymore. You're not a part of that anymore."

Kurt bit his lip. That had been part of his argument to Rachel when she had begged him to go to the prom with her and Mercedes. He had told her that he didn't belong there, that he wasn't a student of McKinley anymore, but look how that turned out.

"They wanted me to come," Kurt answered, struggling to keep his voice even, "so I came with them. I mean, I wasn't doing anything tonight anyway, and—"

"Do they treat you better at that bird school of yours?" Karofsky suddenly interrupted. He pushed away from the sink.

Kurt swallowed. "What?"

"Are they nicer to you at your new school?" he repeated lowly, with a mocking in his tone. "Are you _safer_? Away from the people who want to hurt you?"

"I… I…" His eyes fell away to a spot on the bathroom floor before going back up to meet the boy's hard eyes. "I guess so."

Karofsky laughed lowly and took another lumbering step forward. "There's no need to be afraid around me, Hummel. I don't know why you would possibly feel that way—"

"Stop," Kurt snapped and his voice quavered. "Just… stop. What have I done to you to make you act this way towards me, David?"

The football player stopped where he was. His gaze was hard, like a pane of glass, unwavering, and he tediously flexed his fingers around the edge of the sink. His stare sent chills ripping up Kurt's spine, and Kurt shifted to the side, away from him.

"I haven't done anything to you, David," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "All I've done is go to the same school as you, and you treated me like trash for two years."

Rapidly Karofsky lashed out and thrust his fist against the basin. In response, Kurt took a hasty step to the side, closer to the stalls.

"You can't speak to me like that," Karofsky said darkly. "You can't, Lady Face."

"What's with you and Santana?" Kurt asked abruptly, and a moment later he wished he had kept his mouth shut. "Because I know for sure that you don't like her whatsoever. You kissing me last fall was enough to show me that."

Karofsky reached out and slammed one of the bathroom stalls doors, letting it crash against the wall and swing painfully back into place. His tan face was colored scarlet now and his tie was loose around his neck. The white flower pinned to his breast pocket looked dry.

"Shut up," he growled forcefully. "Just shut up! You don't have the right to question me like that!"

Kurt took a brave step forward, even if it was only a mere inch. "Yes, I can, David. I don't go to this school anymore. Remember? I'm safe where I am, and you can't hurt me there. No one can hurt me there."

For a brief moment, a flash of a boy with curled, gelled hair and sparkling hazel eyes, and Kurt dismissed it at once. He distracted himself by staring at the leaky faucet on one of the sinks, hoping to avoid the image of a dark haired boy playing the piano that he knew would soon follow.

Maybe someone at Dalton could hurt him after all.

The slam of another stall door brought him out of his reverie. Before he knew it, Karofsky was standing right in front of him, the door next to them swinging back into place. Kurt held his breath tightly in his chest and was half tempted to shut his eyes, to never open them again for fear of what he might see when he opened them again.

"You're hiding behind Santana," Kurt said in a voice that was barely audible. "You're hiding your identity behind her. You're hiding the real David. You think you're fooling everyone, and you probably are, but you can't get it past me."

Inwardly, Kurt braced himself for the feel of hands against his shoulders, dragging him to the side, the coolness of the tile wall against his cheek, and his pulse thudded through his body, racing until it made him dizzy on his feet. But it never came.

The loud buzz of a phone interrupted his train of thought and the grimace fell from Karofsky's face, replaced by a look of wonder. He stared down at Kurt's pocket, where his phone was, and Kurt made no move to grab it.

But Karofsky slowly reached his hand into Kurt's pocket, and Kurt held back the urge to squirm and duck away. He watched as Karofsky held out his phone and squinted down at the screen. Holding it up for Kurt to see, he grinned slightly.

"This must be one of your bird friends," he said meticulously. The caller ID showed Cody's number above a picture of the small boy dressed in his baseball uniform, a bat cocked over one shoulder; it was a picture Kurt had taken the first day of baseball season. "Too bad it's going to go straight to voicemail."

"Stop—" Kurt choked out, but Karofsky was grasping the phone away from him. The device slipped out of his hand and landed in the tile sink with a plastic clatter.

But before the football player could wrench the faucet on and drown the electronic, Kurt sprung forward and latched his hands around the boy's meaty wrist with all his strength. It was a hassle to pull Karofsky away from the sink, seeing as he had an athlete's build, and they wrestled for the phone, arms flailing. Kurt felt Karofsky's closed fist swing into his face and knock against his cheek with enough force to make him gasp and withdraw slightly, but he maintained his grip.

The sound of air being sucked in through teeth reached Kurt's ears when he dug his nails into Karofsky's wrist and pulled back. Eyes half shut, Kurt anticipated another blow to his face, but it never came.

The squeal of hinges broke the two boys apart. Karofsky released his iron grip on the faucet and stepped back like he had been burned, away from the sink and from Kurt. Kurt clutched the basin and scraped his phone into his hands; surprisingly it came out unscathed and the screen still lit up when he punched the home button.

When he sucked in air, a piercing pain struck his lungs and he placed one hand over his rib cage, bending over.

"Kurt!" came a shocked voice from the doorway. "What did you do to him?"

Kurt's heart started at the second sentence, then he realized that it was directed towards Karofsky, not him. Kurt raised his head after rubbing his phone against his pants and he could hardly believe his eyes.

In the doorway, all seventy-four and a half inches of him, stood Thomas Reid. He was as pale as a sheet, which made his red hair look like a flame, and he was glaring with wide eyes at Karofsky. His knuckles were white as his hand tightened around the door and he took a step into the bathroom.

As soon as he did, though, Karofsky stormed past him and disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps echoing until all was quiet. Thomas rushed to Kurt's side and grabbed his elbow to hold him up, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

"Kurt, what happened? Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly.

"What in the world are you doing here, Thomas?" Kurt snapped in wonder, his own eyes wide as well. "You're supposed to be at Dalton, studying with Cody and Wes and David!"

Thomas withdrew a tad, seeing Kurt's hostility, but helped Kurt stand upright completely. He looked sheepish. "Surprise?" he said weakly.

"What's going on?"

"I think I should be asking you the same question," he said furiously, in a tone Kurt had never heard him use before. He jerked this thumb at the door. "What was all that back there with that guy, Kurt? Was he hurting you?"

Kurt shook his head tiredly and stared at the other boy. "I'm fine. It was a simple misunderstanding—"

"I saw what happened, Kurt!" he said firmly. "He hurt you, didn't he? Don't lie to me."

Sucking in a deep breath, Kurt felt his lungs expand without pain, then deflate as he exhaled. "No. I'm fine, and he didn't hurt me."

Thomas silently reached up and touched Kurt's cheek with the tips of his fingers. "That's not what it looks like. Did he punch you?"

Kurt pulled himself toward the mirror and saw his reflection—his face was white, with a red blossom flourishing around his right eye. It was very faint, faint enough that hardly anyone could see it right away. He blinked, stunned. The blow hadn't hurt that bad when it happened, but it definitely looked awful. He almost didn't recognize himself.

"I guess I did get banged up a little," he murmured and he ran his fingers over the blemish, wincing when he touched a tender patch of skin. He pulled back and looked at Thomas. "Is it really that bad?"

"It kind of looks like you just got out of 'The Fight Club,'" he chuckled and he leaned back on his heels.

Kurt looked squarely at him and he pointed at his bruised eye. "But that means we can't talk about it," he said, "and I don't want you to talk about this."

"But Kurt," he protested, "this guy was practically beating you up. You've got to put in some sort of complaint to someone." Thomas paused, then cast a look back at the door. "Wait, was that the guy who pushed you around before you transferred?" His tone was careful and cautious. "Was he?"

Kurt nodded once. "Please promise me you won't say a word about this to the others, Thomas. Please."

The redhead looked away shyly, then back at Kurt. "Okay, I won't tell the others, but they're going to find out something went down as soon as they see your eye. Because you, of all people, don't get into fights," he said, his words quickening with his anxiety. "And they're going to immediately suspect that guy as the one who hit you, and what are you going to do?"

Kurt took another breath. "I'm not going to do anything, Thomas. Karofsky goes to McKinley and I go to Dalton. It's not like I can waltz up to Principal Figgins—the principal here, I mean—and tell him that Karofsky's been harassing me. That won't do any good."

"Why not?" Thomas exclaimed, clearly confused. He paced around the bathroom, running his hands through his hair. "This guy—"

"Karofsky," Kurt corrected absently.

He stopped pacing to stare at him, but continued again. "Okay, this Karofsky guy. Whatever. But the point is that he practically beat you up. Doesn't that mean you should probably tell an authority figure about this?"

Kurt whipped around. "What good will that do? I've already done the extreme, Thomas! I've already transferred schools to get away from this guy, and he always somehow shows back up in my life, no matter what I do! I can't seem to get away from him."

"At least you could… I don't know…" He trailed off. Finally, after a full minute of silence, he said, "I don't have anything. But please, Kurt, just promise me that if he ever tries to hurt you again, you'll call the police, or someone who can handle it?"

Gritting his teeth, Kurt stared at him. He wanted to shout _I can handle this myself! I don't need anyone else to help me! _But he kept his mouth shut and instead switched on the faucet. He ran cold water and splashed a little over his face, and some of the color returned to his cheeks.

"So, you never answered my question," Kurt said casually.

"What question?"

He turned to face him. "What the world are you doing here?"

Thomas chewed on his lip. "Surprise?" he said again.

"What surprise?" Kurt questioned. "I mean, not that I'm not glad to see you, but I didn't exactly expect to see you here, exactly."

"Oh, yeah," he said, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. He started towards the door. "About that…"

Kurt narrowed his eyes and followed the boy out into the hall. When he stepped out of the bathroom, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his eyes swept down the hall both ways in search of a lumbering football player. His stomach relaxed when he saw no one, and he caught up with Thomas.

Before Thomas could continue on, Kurt stopped dead in his tracks. With his jaw dropped a little, he shouted, "No! You did not do what I think you did, Thomas!"

The redhead looked frightened. "Scary Kurt," he said, and he held up his hands in defense. "It depends on what you think I did."

"You brought the Warblers with you tonight, didn't you?" Kurt snapped, his hands clenched in tight fists at his side. His bruised eye throbbed painfully. "Dammit, Thomas. You brought all the Warblers with you tonight when I specifically told you not to!"

"That is _not _true! I didn't bring them!" Thomas defended and jabbed his finger in the air protectively. He came to a stop at the double doors that opened up to the gym and he pushed one of them open with all the grace of a game show host. "They brought themselves."

In the gym, the lights were flashing off the disco ball and students were crowding the snack tables and dancing. Everything looked the way he had left it, except for a small brunette weaving her way up to the stage. His gaze followed Rachel as she tapped the DJ on the shoulder and asked him something, to which he scooted back and she took over the microphone.

"Excuse me," she said after tapping it to make sure it worked. "Hello, fellow students of McKinley High! I'm sorry to interrupt your glorious night with this announcement, but I would like to introduce a few very special guests that have made the long trip up here to entertain us." She gestured to the side of the stage.

Curiously, Kurt stepped into the room and Thomas shut the door behind them. Kurt was about to turn and ask the redhead what was going on when the boy was gone from his side. He spotted Thomas maneuvering through the crowd to get to the stage, and that was when he saw the three boys in tuxedos posed at the base of the stage. Thomas joined them a few moments later, and Kurt saw that it was Cody, Wes, and David.

He ground his teeth and was prepared to storm through the crowd of students when Rachel's voice stopped him.

"Please give a warm welcome to a few members of the Dalton Academy Warblers!" Rachel proclaimed and she gestured to them as they filed onto the stage. The boys happily greeted her, and Wes even pulled her into a hug as she handed him the microphone.

"Thanks, Rachel," Wes said, seeming out of breath as he looked over the crowd. "Hey, everyone. We're from Dalton Academy, way down in Westerville. We just wanted to surprise you all—and one of our friends—by crashing tonight, and we hope you don't mind a little musical entertainment." As he handed off the microphone to Rachel, an energetic beat started from the speakers.

The four boys on stage began to dance in sync with the music and with each other, clapping on downbeats and grinning widely. Wes was the one to jump into the lyrics first, singing boldly.

_Let it go,_

_There's no way you can save it now,_

_Get back, you know that this city is burning,_

_So the story goes, _

_It makes you wonder,_

'_Cause if we're trapped and we're never gonna find a way out,_

_Get out, we're gonna dance now_

The other three joined in to belt out the chorus, and Kurt made his way slowly through the crowd of students that was completely absorbed with the four boys.

_Hey Mr. DJ,_

_You gotta put a record on, yeah,_

_We're gonna bury this town tonight,_

_We're gonna dance all night,_

_Hey Mr. DJ,_

_You gotta put a record on, yeah,_

_We're gonna dance tonight,_

_Dance tonight_

Thomas slid to the front of the group, making a show of smoothing back his hair and winking brightly to the audience. Kurt heard a few girls beside him whisper excitedly, and he smiled a little, amused, though he was sure Thomas didn't notice them in the least.

_I let you go, _

_And I'm still waiting for you to find,_

_There's nothing more that this time that is right now,_

_So the story goes,_

_It makes you wonder,_

'_Cause time is up,_

_And you're never gonna get another chance now,_

_You've gotta dance now_

Cody took over from that point, and finished out the song with the others singing the background vocals, all of them beaming in the light of the spotlights. Kurt caught Cody's eye and the small boy almost stumbled, his grin dropping instantly. But he quickly averted his gaze and kept singing.

_Hey Mr. DJ (Hey Mr. DJ),_

_You gotta put a record on, yeah (You gotta put a record on, yeah),_

_We're gonna bury this town tonight,_

_We're gonna dance all night,_

_Let it go, the game is done,_

_The camera's off,_

_It can't be too hard,_

_Let it go, the game is done,_

_Camera's off,_

_It can't be too hard to fake it now,_

_Gotta fake it now,_

_Let it go,_

_There's no way you can change me now,_

_Get back, you know,_

_I don't need you to save me,_

_So the story goes_

The gym broke into a loud round of applause and the four boys all took tired bows and grinned from ear to ear. When Kurt arrived at the side of the stage, Rachel was sitting on the steps, clapping with the microphone in her hands. She spotted Kurt and smiled.

"Hey, Kurt!" she said, sounding winded. "How do you like your little surprise?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "They're fine, but I specifically told them _not _to make any arrangements to come tonight. I told them that the day you called to tell me about this, and I reminded them every day up until now, but did they listen? _Of course not._"

"Calm down, Kurt. They're just having a little fun," Rachel said soothingly. "And if it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I invited them myself."

Kurt stared at her and he felt the blood drain from his face. "_You _did this?"

"Well, me and the rest of the glee club," she explained as Thomas started the wave, which made the students go nuts. "We all got excited with the fact that you were coming tonight, and we thought it would be fun to have a few of your other friends join you! It would be a little disappointing to be at a prom where you don't really feel comfortable."

"They seem to feel pretty comfortable alright," Kurt mumbled and gestured to his friends.

"Oh, come on, Kurt." Rachel looked up at him. "They're having fun. Aren't you having a little fun at all?"

He angled his body away from her, putting his right side away from her. "Let's just say that tonight has not been my best night to date."

She did not reply immediately. After a moment, he looked over at her to find her squinting at him. He held his breath and took a step away and just as she was about to say something, most likely about the bruise around his eye, Cody called over the crowd, "Kurt!"

Using this as a great opportunity, he ran past Rachel up the steps and raced onto the stage to join the others.

"You okay, dude?" David asked, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"Just fine," he panted as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't run for more than a few seconds, yet his heart was racing in his chest and he felt breathless, almost dizzy on his feet.

Wes smiled at him. "So I guess Rachel told you everything."

"Yes, and I never want you to do something like this ever again!" he exploded. He pointed a finger at Wes. "I told you countless times to stay away tonight, and did you take that advice? _No. _You had to just come up here, and—"

"Calm down," Thomas said over him. "Rachel invited us. Didn't she tell you?"

Kurt ground his teeth. "Yes, she told me, but that doesn't make anything any better."

Cody slung an arm around his shoulders. "Well, it makes it better for us because we get to spend the night having fun! Come on, Kurt, sing one more song with us, and we promise we'll be done."

"Yeah," David and Wes chipped in in unison.

"No," Kurt said flatly. "You do your song and I'll sit out in the audience and watch." He started to pace off the stage, but music was already bursting through the speakers with a new song, and Wes pulled him back by his arm.

"Yeah, right," Wes said, "you're staying with us! Just one more song and we'll leave you alone."

Kurt was about to snappily reply, but Thomas had already started singing and he had no other choice but to stay on stage with them.

_She's going out to forget they were together,_

_All that time he was taking her for granted,_

_She wants to see if there's more than he gave she's looking for,_

_He calls her up,_

_He's trippin' on the phone now,_

_He doesn't want her out there and alone now,_

_He knows she's movin' it,_

_Knows she's using it,_

_Now he's losing it, she don't care_

Kurt slowly found the lyrics on his lips and started to sing along, trying to catch up with his friends' dance moves.

_Everybody put up your hands, _

_Say I don't wanna be in love,_

_I don't wanna be in love,_

_Feel the beat now,_

_If you've got nothing left,_

_Say I don't wanna be in love,_

_Back it up now,_

_You've got a reason to live,_

_Say I don't wanna be in love,_

_I don't wanna be in love_

For the remainder of the song, Kurt was in a daze. One moment, he was standing on the stage, facing the crowd, and he turned on his heels in sync with the others, but he found himself facing the gym wall. Dizzy, he turned back around. His eyes kept darting madly across the gym, landing on members of the glee club and on Mr. Schue once as he barked something at Coach Sylvester.

When the song ended after what seemed like years, he was thankful to stop moving and was able to steady himself. Then someone tugged energetically at his arm and he nearly lost his balance.

"Oh, come on, Kurt," Cody whined as he caught his breath. "You can't be that mad at us. It was fun, wasn't it?"

"I just can't believe you all made the trip down here. I mean, it's only one night, one you all can afford to miss," Kurt said in disbelief as he trudged down the stage stairs. The DJ was playing new music again and the attentions of the students were drifting away from them.

Their silence startled him and he looked back over his shoulder at them. They were all sharing look with each other, and then they all looked at Kurt.

"Please," Kurt said and he resumed walking, "don't tell me there's a catch to what I just said."

"Well," David said as they caught up with him, passing the snack tables, "we sort of planned on staying the weekend here."

"Here?" he echoed.

"In Lima!" Wes said excitedly. "This is going to be awesome, right? Just a weekend of us guys, hanging around and chilling, right?"

Kurt plopped down in a chair that circled one of the tables in the back of the gym. The others followed in suit. "Not awesome, guys. Where are you all going to stay? Do you have any sort of plan whatsoever?"

"Let's just answer that question with our own," Thomas said. He folded his hands on the table in a serious manner, and he looked up at Kurt from under his long lashes. "Do you have a guest room in your house?"

With a long sigh, Kurt dropped his head and pressed his forehead to the table surface.

"Attention. Attention, please, students," came a familiar voice from the stage.

The music from the speakers faded and the dancing came to a gradual stop, murmuring running through the crowd. Principal Figgins stood on the stage with the microphone in his hands. He was tapping it repeatedly to make sure it worked and he held it up again to speak.

"Thank you," he said. "I hope all of you are enjoying the evening so far. And just for the record, the spiked punch has been removed. I repeat, it has been removed, so you are all safe to drink new punch."

Some people giggled about it and Wes and David craned their necks to look while Thomas wore an apprehensive expression and tugged at his tie.

"Anyway, it is now time for the most anticipated moment of the evening," Figgins said in his usual drab tone. "Now it is time to unveil the prom king and the prom queen." He pulled two small envelopes from the breast pocket of his suit and a hush fell over the gym.

"Kurt, who's running for king and queen?" Wes whispered from across the table.

"Shut up," David said, jabbing him in the ribs. "We'll find out in a second."

Figgins cleared his throat again. "Our nominees for prom king are as follows: Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, and David Karofsky."

When he called the names, each boy made his way up to the stage. Finn was dressed in his tuxedo with a tie that matched the color of Quinn's dress and Kurt thought it was insane that he looked nervous when it was only a silly competition. Puck lumbered up to the stage and stood beside him, bumping fists with him.

Karofsky was nowhere to be seen. As Figgins called his name several times, Kurt felt his throat close. He knew Thomas was eyeing him from across the table and his face felt hot.

Finally Figgins gave up on calling Karofsky's name and began to announce the nominees for prom queen. As expected, Quinn was the first to glide onto the stage, her dress flowing behind her, smiling like she was featured in a toothpaste commercial. Lauren Zizes was the second to be called up and she looked as tough as usual, even in a dress and with her hair up in a bun. Santana was the last one to be announced and her dress was as red as blood, sleek and snug on her body. She took her place beside Quinn and Lauren.

"Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for," Figgins said without a hint of enthrallment. He pulled one of the envelopes open and slipped out the card inside. "This year's prom king is… Finn Hudson. Congratulations."

The students broke into an appropriate applause as Finn stepped forward in a stupor to receive the plastic crowd and scepter handed to him. A banner proclaiming "Prom King" was slipped over his chest, and he flashed a goofy smile at Quinn, who waved delicately.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hudson. Now, for the prom queen," the principal said, and he reached for the second envelope. "This year's prom queen is… Quinn Fabray. Well done, Ms. Fabray." He clapped dully.

Quinn beamed brightly and eagerly accepted her tiara, scepter, and banner, and she took her place next to Finn as one of the yearbook photographers snapped a few photos of them. Kurt turn back to his table and rested his chin in his hand.

"Well, they seem like a happy couple," Wes said with a smidge of sarcasm.

"Dream come true," David agreed just as flatly.

Kurt's lips turned up a little at the corner. "That's my brother, if you don't remember. And his girlfriend, I think."

"You think?" Cody raised an eyebrow.

"They've been off and on," he explained. "He's been between Quinn and Rachel since the beginning of sophomore year. I wish he would just make up his mind already."

No one made any further comments, and Kurt turned back to the stage. Quinn and Finn had cleared off and were taking pictured at the booth on the other side of the gym. On the stage, Santana was preparing to sing, the microphone in her hand. Music was playing quietly through the speakers until she was ready, and her rendition of 'Dancing Queen' was enough to get everyone dancing again.

"She's really good," Wes said as he got to his feet.

"Before you say anything more," Kurt interrupted him, "she's already got a boyfriend." The last word was difficult to get out.

Wes stared at him questioningly and he looked a little disappointed, his shoulders dropping. "You're kidding me."

Kurt shook his head sadly, and Wes plopped back down into his chair.

"You know what we should do?" Cody chirped suddenly.

"Besides make fun of Wes' uncanny ability to not land a girlfriend?" Thomas quirked, his lips in a grin, and Wes nailed him in the ribs with his elbow.

Cody nodded. "Besides that. I think we should sing."

David let out a groan and dropped his head on the table. "Not to burst your bubble, but we've already sung twice, Cody. And something tells me that McKinley isn't going to be very impressed with us if we take on a third song."

Laughing, Thomas pulled at the thin tie around his neck. "Yeah, and we've basically crashed their prom. I think they're a little more than ticked with us."

"You're fine," Kurt sighed. He lazily traced circles in the table cloth with his finger, noting that Rachel had taken the stage with Christina Perri. "Last year, I heard the prom was so awful, a lot of people showed up and then left within the first fifteen minutes. I think you guys are a big improvement."

Cody grinned widely. "And that only emphasizes the fact that we should sing again."

"But how did you think the New Directions will take it?" Wes interjected. "After all, we are their competition. I don't think they would appreciate us stealing the stage at their own school."

"Who are you, Mr. Considerate?"

"For tonight, I am."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Dude, when we got here, you scarfed down half a plate of those mini cheese ball things in less than a minute. I don't think that's very considerate to everyone else."

Kurt crossed his legs and looked back at the stage while the others bickered, watching as Rachel cast an angry glare down at her shoes. Kurt felt a smidge of sympathy for her when she looked out over the gym to find Finn, most likely. Then her eyes landed on Kurt and that was when she started to smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said somewhat eagerly into the microphone, "I would like to call one last performer to the stage to end the night. Please give a round of applause for Kurt Hummel!"

The blood rushed to his face and pink colored from his hairline to his toes. The boys across the table all broke into identical grins, and Cody waved his hands at Kurt, ushering, "Go, go!"

"No!" Kurt protested in a furious whisper. "I'm not going up there!"

"Kurt!" Rachel sung from the stage. "I'm going to keep saying your name until you get yourself up here!"

By then, most of the gym was looking over their shoulders at him, and he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet. This silenced Cody's encouragements, and he made his way to the front of the gym with his head down, hoping to hide the blush that was covering his face and his eye. The air was still and silent enough to hear a pin drop, aside from the grumbles that he thought came from Finn.

With a glance to the side, he saw a glimpse of Finn muttering something to Jesse St. James, who looked as arrogant as ever. Kurt ignored them and hurried to the stage. Rachel almost skipped to him and placed the microphone in his hands.

"I hate you so much," he said through gritted teeth.

"I know, but you're going to thank me later," she whispered back, excitement coloring her tone. "And you're going to love the song I picked out for you!"

Kurt blanched. "You picked out a song for me?"

She made a mocking noise. "Of course. I knew if I called you up here without preparing in the least, you wouldn't be willing."

"I'm _not _willing," he said pleadingly. "Please, Rachel, don't make me do this."

Giggling pettily, she gave his shoulder a squeeze and started off the stage. By then, music had started to drift through the speakers and he was left in the middle of the stage. His heart leapt into his throat and his lungs felt like they had holes punched all over them.

The music was easily recognizable, and he almost wished he didn't know the song by heart. All the eyes in the room were locked carefully on him and he curled his free hand into a fist at his side. When the start of the lyrics came, Kurt swallowed over the lump in his throat and started to sing.

_I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,_

_Just praying to a God that I don't believe in,_

'_Cause I got time while she got freedom,_

'_Cause when a heart breaks, no it don't breakeven,_

_Her best days will be some of my worst,_

_She finally met a man that's gonna put her first,_

_While I'm wide awake she has no trouble sleeping,_

'_Cause when a heart break no it don't breakeven_

Kurt's heart hammered in his chest like a jackhammer until he could feel it move his body. In the back of the gym, Wes and David were standing on their chairs to get a better look at Kurt, while Cody and Thomas moved into the crowd. Wes and David jumped down and followed them.

_What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?_

_And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're okay,_

_I'm falling to pieces, yeah,_

_I'm falling to pieces_

_They say bad things happen for a reason,_

_But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding,_

'_Cause she's moved on while I'm still grieving,_

_And when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven_

As he worked his way through the song, each word becoming hard to form in his mouth, he saw one of the side doors to the gym creak open and a figure slip inside. He almost lost his place in the song when he saw Karofsky striding tentatively back into the gym, looking flustered, tie hanging loosely around his neck.

At that moment, Karofsky raised his head and Kurt turned away before they could meet eyes.

_Oh, you got his heart and my heart and none of the pain,_

_You took your suitcase, I took the blame,_

_Now I'm tryin' to make sense of what little remains,_

'_Cause you left me with no love and no love to my name,_

_I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,_

_Just praying to a God that I don't believe in,_

'_Cause I got time while she got freedom,_

'_Cause when a heart breaks no it don't break,_

_No it don't break,_

_No it don't break even, no_

As Kurt sucked air into his lungs and prepared for the next few verses, a shout rang out across the gym that echoed. The music immediately skidded to a stop and the attention was drawn to the center of the room.

Finn was in the middle of the crowd, his hands on Jesse's shoulders and an angry glare in his eyes. He gave the other boy a shove that sent him back a few steps, but Jesse came back and hit Finn in the arm, staring up at him.

Shouting something Kurt couldn't hear, Finn gave Jesse another shove. Rachel stepped between them with a cry and extended her hands in both their directions, hands flat against their chests. Jesse pushed her hand away without looking at her and stepped toward Finn.

"Alright, that's enough!" Mr. Schue shouted. He rushed to the center of the gym and dragged Finn back a good distance as Coach Sylvester marched up to Jesse and positively growled in his face.

"What's the deal here, St. James?" she demanded, wrapping a hand around his arm.

Jesse's face felt flat. "Nothing, ma'am. I don't know what caused Finn to—"

"Shut up!" Finn shouted past Mr. Schue, trying to wriggle out of the choir director's grip. "Just shut up, okay?"

"Finn, calm down," Rachel whimpered weakly; she looked on the verge of tears and held her hands folded in front of her.

Kurt dropped his hands to the side and he felt silly standing on the stage by himself. He fled the stage, tossing the microphone to the DJ, and made his way through the student body until he found Wes and David and the others.

"What happened?" he questioned quietly. His lungs were aching and he had to take a few soothing breaths.

"We have no idea," Thomas mumbled in reply. "All we know is that Finn just kind of pushed that other kid around and started yelling."

"He interrupted your solo," Cody said angrily, and he looked up at Kurt.

Kurt shook his head and did not look back. "It's fine. I've never liked that song, anyway."

* * *

"I don't understand what went wrong!" Rachel said as she piled into the passenger seat of her car. She hastily grabbed the skirt of her dress and shoved it into the cab behind her and slammed the door.

Kurt shared a look with Sam and Mercedes, who trailed behind with their hands locked together. Mercedes shrugged and Sam didn't reply.

Digging the keys from his pocket, Kurt unlocked the driver's side and climbed inside, starting the engine. He sent a quick text message to Cody, telling him and the others to follow Rachel's small car to her house, and then to follow him back to his own. He set his phone aside and pulled the seatbelt across his body.

After the fight that had broken out between Finn and Jesse, Coach Sylvester banned them both from the property for the remainder of the night. Finn had stormed out and was probably back at the house, to where Kurt was dreading to return. Jesse had taken his pride with him and left as well, though no one quite knew where he was going to go, considering his car was sitting in front of Rachel's house.

"We're sorry, Rach," Mercedes murmured from the backseat. She buckled herself in and pursed her lips.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she snapped stubbornly. She refused to look anyone in the eye and dug in the glove compartment for a travel-sized box of Kleenex, and she dabbed at her face. "I just want to go home."

"And that's where we're going," Kurt said cautiously while backing out of the lot.

They drove home in silence, without the radio playing and definitely without talking.

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt slowed to a stop in front of Rachel's house. Jesse's car was not resting at the end of the driveway and this seemed to give Rachel enough life to slip out of the car. Kurt handed her the keys, which she swiped away heatedly. She stalked up the steps and pushed open the front door, ducked inside and slammed it before anyone could say a word to her.

"Well, there's that," Mercedes said dully. She looked over at Kurt. "Some night, huh?"

Kurt nodded numbly. "Yeah, some night."

A period of silence passed.

Then Sam said, "Well, I should probably get Mercedes home. Thanks for driving us, Kurt. I guess I'll see you when I see you."

Kurt gave him a small smile and hugged Mercedes tightly. "Drive safe."

He watched the two load into Sam's Ford and drive down the street before pulling out his phone. As he typed in his passcode, a pair of headlights danced against the houses and a car puttered down the road. Kurt recognized Wes' car from the sound its engine made and he waved to them. He started his own car and led them out of the neighborhood.

Not ten minutes later, Kurt parked his truck in the driveway. Finn's car was in its usual place, parked against the curb, but with its front tire run up onto the yard haphazardly. He ignored the idea of a beating Finn would get from Carole about this and tiredly hopped out onto the pavement.

"I've learned two things from tonight," David called from further down the driveway. He jumped out and stretched his arms over his head. "One, it's socially acceptable to spike the punch at a high school prom. And two, it's also socially acceptable to start a fight at a high school prom."

"Oh, and Lima neighborhoods are nice. It's not every day you see circle driveways," Cody added. He appeared from the backseat of Wes' car with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, exasperated. "There aren't circle driveways in Westerville?"

"Oh, there are, but there's more in Lima."

He nodded his head, not sure what was very special about circle driveways, and led the boys across the front lawn. Flipping through his keys, he found the right one and discovered his hand shaking. He paid no attention to this and jammed the key in the lock, letting them inside. The sounds of the television could be heard from the living room, and Kurt headed inside.

"Carole? Dad?" he said hesitantly and poked his head into the living room, making sure to shield his right side.

Burt was stretched out across the sofa with the remote resting on his stomach, and Carole was sitting in an armchair underneath the floor lamp, reading. Both looked up when Kurt appeared and Burt waved his hand.

"Hi, kiddo," he said and he pushed himself into a sitting position. "How was tonight?"

"Nothing less than spectacular," Wes chipped in from behind before Kurt had the chance to answer. He shrugged his bag over his shoulder. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel."

"Your home is really nice," Cody gushed, unable to keep his eyes off the high ceiling of the front room.

Carole blinked from behind her reading glasses. "Oh, thank you. Kurt…?"

Kurt looked at her through splayed fingers. "I was going to tell you about this. These are my friends from Dalton, and to make a long story short, they ambushed me tonight. They were—"

"We were planning on spending the night here, not in Westerville," Thomas interrupted cheerfully.

"And we hoped that by showing up with our bags and stuff that your lovely son would have no choice but to accommodate us," David finished, clapping a hand on Kurt's rigid shoulder; Kurt flinched.

Carole pushed her glasses on top of her head and looked critically at her husband.

"If it's fine with you, it's fine with me," Burt grumbled. He let out a yawn and scratched the back of his head.

Carole nodded towards the boys. "Okay, that's fine. But when you go upstairs, just be careful to not disturb Finn. He's had a rough night, apparently, though he won't tell us what happened."

Kurt swallowed thickly. "I'll tell you in the morning if he doesn't. Thanks Dad, Carole."

When he turned around, the boys were already making their way up the stairs and he had to hurry to catch up with them. He edged in front of Cody and lifted a finger to his lips when he didn't hear the comfortable sounds of Finn's video games coming from his room. They tiptoed down the hall and closed themselves in Kurt's room.

"I call the window seat!" Wes declared. He abandoned his bag and flung himself on the window seat on the far edge of the room.

Kurt rubbed his face as David sprung on top of him, producing a loud grunt, and Cody snorted, covering his mouth to attempt to hide it. The random pound on the door froze them in their tracks and Kurt vigilantly opened it.

"Quiet down, will you?" Finn demanded from the other side. He was out of his tuxedo and into old shorts and a t-shirt, and his face looked red, as if he had been crying. "I'm trying to sleep."

He stalked off before returning to his room and slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the walls.

"Well, he's a charmer, isn't he?" Thomas drawled sarcastically.

"That's my step-brother for you," Kurt replied. He blew a lock of hair from his face and shut the door, leaning against it. "Okay, Wes, David, both of you can't fit on the window seat and still be comfortable at the same time…"

It took nearly half an hour to spread out blankets and pillows and make a somewhat suitable bed across the hardwood floor. Wes and David kept bickering over who would be closest to the window and who would get the heaviest blanket, though it was stifling in the room, despite the fan working overhead. Cody and Thomas sat to the side, content with their sleeping arrangements, and Kurt sat at the foot of his bed, sighing in a mantra.

"Just make up your minds," he complained and he flopped back onto his bed. He reached for his phone and clicked the screen on and off to give his hands something to do. "I don't want to stay up all night because you two are fighting over where you want to sleep."

Thomas nodded heavily in agreement. "Yeah. Knowing you two, you'll probably end up piled on top of each other by the time morning gets here."

"This is why I never invite people to sleep over," Kurt groaned. He reached for a pillow and turned on his side to watch his friends. "Everyone argues over something that won't matter in the morning."

Cody yawned and stretched out across the floor. When he looked up at Kurt, he sat straight up, his wide with fear.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"What happened to your eye?" he snapped.

His stomach dropped and he sat up hastily. Though Thomas kept his back to him, Kurt knew his face was as red as his hair.

"Nothing," Kurt said, trying to hide the pain that had ebbed into his voice. "I'm fine—"

"Dude," David said, "your eye looks awful. Did you get into a fight or something?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"Something must have happened because I don't think eyes don't randomly get red for no reason," Wes said, his voice rising with doubt. "Kurt, if something happened to you, you've got to tell us."

"It's nothing," Kurt repeated airily. He swept from his bed as gracefully as he could and moved to his bathroom, wetting a wash cloth and rubbing it over his face. He came back into the room, his face damp, and found them staring intently at him. "It's nothing, guys."

Thomas shifted until he was facing Kurt and his expression was sharp, unmoving. "Maybe you should just tell them, Kurt."

"Tell us _what_? What's going on?" Cody squeaked. He sounded like a small mouse, including the twitching nose and bursting curiosity.

Kurt shot Thomas a death glare and crumpled on the floor in the bathroom doorway. He tucked his knees comfortingly to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. "Karofsky hit me tonight."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back the truck up," Wes said, scrambling to sit in front of him. "Karofsky did this to you? He's that big buff guy that was giving you problems last year, right?"

Silently he nodded his head.

"And he punched you? Why?" David said in a quiet rage.

"We were in the bathroom and he had taken my phone, and we were fighting over it," Kurt said in a flurry of words, "and he hit me. It wasn't on purpose, though—"

Thomas set his jaw. "Dammit, Kurt. If he hurts you, it's on purpose. You've told us enough about this guy that we know something like this wasn't an accident. You need to tell someone."

"I can't!" Kurt shouted. His voice echoed and he slapped his hands over his mouth. They all waited a moment, listening for the sounds of Finn trudging down the hall or Carole or Burt coming to check on them, but there was nothing. "I can't, guys. It wouldn't do anything for anyone. It would only make a big deal out of something that's small."

"Something that's small?" Cody repeated incredulously. "This is not small; it's huge! If this Karofsky guy is beating you up, you need to tell someone so they can help you!"

Kurt clenched his teeth. "It won't help me now. I've already transferred to another school. The staff at McKinley can't do anything about it because I'm not a student there anymore. It won't make a difference."

The boys fell eerily silent for a long period of time, time in which they exchanged glances and short nods.

"If you're not going to tell anyone," David suggested, "then we advise you to not come back to Lima as often as you typically do. I know it sounds crazy—"

"Crazy? Of course that's crazy! My family is here! I can't just not come and visit them," Kurt argued.

Cody held up a small hand. "We're not asking you to stop visiting them. We're asking you to not come back as often. If Karofsky is in Lima, there is still a chance for him to hurt you, Kurt. We don't want that, and we're positive you don't want that. We're asking you this for your own good."

Kurt sucked in a breath, then let it out in a quick sigh. "I suppose you're all right, but what about the summer? I come back here for the summer. What's going to stop me then?"

"Either you find somewhere in Westerville to live," Wes offered reluctantly, "or you lock yourself in this house and never come out until September comes around. If you're locked in your house, this Karofsky guy can't come try to beat you into a pulp."

"I don't know," Kurt groaned. He clumsily stood up and crawled onto his bed, yanking back the covers. "I just want to stop talking about this for now, okay? It's pretty late." He gestured to the clock on his side table, which read almost one in the morning.

David snorted. "Late for you. This is early for Wes and me."

"Wes and I," Cody corrected under his breath.

"Same difference."

Kurt drowned out their small conversations and he buried himself underneath the heavy covers, even though the room was warm. He turned his back to the boys and faced the wall and tucked the covers under his chin, hoping sleep would come quickly.

It never did, and he spent the next few hours listening to Wes and David whisper on the other side of the room. From what he could guess, Thomas and Cody were fast asleep. Eventually the whispering stopped and Kurt was able to only hear the slight click of the fan as it turned.

Kurt tossed and turned in his bed for hours until light began to peek through the windows and draw lines on the floor. He pushed back the covers, feeling wide awake, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The clock read six and the smell of coffee was drifting into his room.

Carole and Burt were already up and in the kitchen making breakfast, as Burt had to be at the garage by seven to open. Kurt slid out of bed and carefully crept over the sleeping boys that were sprawled across the floor. He padded into the bathroom and shut the door, thumbing through his phone. There were no text messages and no missed calls, and his heart jumped; he half hoped he would see something.

In his reflection, Kurt looked pale. The only color on his face was the purple-red splotch under his eye. He reached up to touch it and flinched when it ached. As quietly as he could he leafed through his vanity for a small tub of concealer and covered the mark as best he could before going downstairs.

"Good morning," he said softly when he entered the kitchen.

Carole looked up from the newspaper and smiled. "Hi, sweetie. How'd you sleep?"

Kurt sighed inwardly when she didn't seem to notice the bruise, and he drifted over to the coffee pot to pour himself a mug. "I slept well. It was a pretty late night last night. Is Finn still asleep?"

"That kid sleeps like a log," Burt commented. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a large mug of coffee and the business section of the paper spread out in front of him. "I mean, I thought you slept a lot back when we were at the old house, but seeing Finn out cold made me reconsider."

Kurt nodded and sipped daintily on his steaming coffee. The comfortable sounds of the refrigerator clicking and the clock on the wall ticking filled up the silence. After a few minutes, Carole folded her paper along the edges and moved to the fridge.

"Well, what do you and the boys want for breakfast?" she asked, peering inside. "I think we've got some milk and enough pancake mix for a few batches. How does that sound?"

At the mention of pancakes, Kurt recalled Cody making pancakes back at Dalton and his stomach growled. He set aside his mug, smiling. "That sounds great."

In fifteen minutes, the small griddle was placed on the island and the first batch of pancakes were already simmering and sizzling. Burt excused himself to head out to the shop and Carole vanished to her room to change clothes.

Kurt held a spatula in one hand and was leafing through the fridge for a carton of blueberries when he heard the noisy scramble down the stairs and turned around. Thomas, Wes, David, and Cody were leaning into the kitchen eagerly, practically drooling.

"Hungry, boys?" Kurt asked with a tired smile.

"Man, are we ever!" Wes said and he paraded into the room.

"Are we seriously having pancakes? This is awesome!" Thomas said and he clapped his hands together. He leaned over the griddle and inhaled deeply, then gave a side glance to Cody. "Do you think these are better than yours?"

Cody made an impatient noise and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, right. I doubt anything is better than my pancakes."

"I'm sorry we don't have hibiscus syrup," Kurt said apologetically, "but we have blueberries, and I think some raspberries—"

Wes made a dramatic gasping noise, almost like a flopping fish. "You use hibiscus syrup in your pancakes?"

Kurt flushed red and Cody covered his face, muttering, "And there goes my secret recipe."

"Was I not supposed to say anything about that?" Kurt asked timidly, looking from face to face.

"Not really," Cody sighed, "but it's okay. After all, I've been making them pancakes for three years, so it's about time they knew."

Kurt bit his lip nervously. "I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you use hibiscus syrup!" David said, still in shock. "No wonder they're as sweet as they are."

"They're just pancakes," Cody mumbled, but he smiled a little.

"Oh, good morning, boys." Carole came back into the kitchen, dressed and running a brush through her hair. "I hope you all slept well?"

Thomas nodded. "Very well, Mrs. Hummel. Thanks for asking."

She smiled sweetly at him, then moved around Kurt to the coffee machine. When she wasn't looking, Wes mouthed, "Suck up!" to him and made a face. Thomas rolled his eyes and David glared at both of them. Kurt and Cody merely shared glances.

"Well," Carole said as she turned around, which made all the boys look to her, "I should probably get going. I've got to run a few errands before it gets too crazy out there." She took a sip from her coffee and then pressed a kiss to Kurt's forehead. "I'll see you all later. Don't be too destructive while I'm gone."

"Oh, we won't," Thomas said as she left the kitchen.

They listened in silence until the garage door opened, then shut, and the growl of a car engine drifted. Then Wes punched Thomas in the ribs.

"You're such a suck up, you know that?" he said bitterly.

"I know. It helps me get far in life," Thomas grinned back at him.

Cody leaned forward to pick a handful of blueberries from the carton that was sitting on the island. "It's helped you get a girlfriend and impress friends' parents. I guess that counts as 'getting pretty far.'"

Suddenly, the blare of a smoke alarm cut through their conversation and all of them jumped three feet in the air. Kurt dropped his spatula and let out a shriek. Wes and David started a strain of colorful swears as Thomas covered his head and ducked down.

Kurt scrambled to unplug the griddle, which was letting off abnormal amounts of gray, wispy smoke, and he snagged the fire extinguisher from underneath the sink. Whipping around, he turned the handle and it kicked in his hands as it sprayed across the kitchen.

The alarm of the detector cut off after a few minutes and the smoke vanished, leaving a bitter smell in the air. Kurt was breathing hard, the extinguisher heavy in his hands, and he dropped it to the floor with a loud clunk.

Cody's eyes were as wide as dinner plates and seemed too large for his face; Thomas was huddled against one of the cabinets with his arms over his face; and Wes and David were frozen in a state of shock.

"That's it. I hate cooking," Kurt grumbled. He shoved the extinguisher back under the sink and pushed heaps of foam off the griddle. Every surface in the kitchen was covered with a layer of white foam, including the boys.

"That's it. You're never cooking again!" Cody declared. He wiped his hands all over his face and ran his fingers through his short hair; his nose wrinkled in obviously disgust.

David closed his open mouth with a snap. "You _and _Ronnie are never allowed to cook at Dalton ever again. Do you hear me? The last time was enough."

"I definitely hear you," Kurt sighed heavily. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his ears ringing from the detector's alarm. Then he realized that David was referring to the morning Ronnie screwed up the blender, and his face fell.

Cody must have related it as well because he was shooting daggers at David, who blinked in ignorance. Wes rammed him in the stomach with his elbow, and then his facial expression changed.

"I think I'm going to clean up," he blurted. He looped his arm through Wes'. "Wes, come with me. We'll be right back."

They fled the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs before anyone could say a word. Thomas clambered to his feet and followed them without saying a single word to Kurt or Cody.

Clenching his teeth, Kurt took the ruined pancake batter and viciously dumped it down the sink. He flipped on the faucet and ran the garbage disposal, the grinding noise temporarily drawing his attention. After he flicked it off, he whipped around, only to face Cody.

"What?" he snapped, surprised to hear his voice come out scratchy and thick.

"David shouldn't have said anything," the small boy said. "He should've kept his mouth shut. He knew that you were thinking about it before he said it, and he—"

Kurt cut him off by brushing past him to the island, where he scooped the wide griddle into his arms and carried it back over to the sink. The sound of the rushing water was loud enough to keep Cody from speaking for a few minutes. Kurt rinsed off the surface of it and finally flipped off the faucet.

"I actually wasn't thinking about it until he said something," he lied, his words like the edge of a blade. He tore through a cabinet for a dish rag to dry off the griddle. "I've gone a few days without thinking about it."

Cody dropped his shoulders. He seemed to care less about the fact that he was soaked from the torso up with extinguisher foam, and more about Kurt. He crossly huffed. "But still. It wasn't right for him to say something like that."

"I'm fine, Cody. You don't need to be worrying about me for things like this," Kurt dismissed. He cleared the island and disposed of the ruined fruit, wiping down the counters. He cleaned the cabinets that had been sprayed and dropped the rag once mostly everything was clear.

"But Kurt," the boy protested.

"But nothing," Kurt interrupted him and his hands clutched the edge of the counter. He waited a moment to speak again. "Did Blaine know you were coming to the prom and everything?"

Cody suddenly looked sheepish and he glanced away. Overhead, the water pipes squeaked, probably from the sinks in Kurt's bathroom as Wes, David, and Thomas cleaned up.

"We, um, asked him if he wanted to come with us," he said in a small voice. "I didn't want to, of course, because I knew he would said no, but Wes and David were insistent on at least trying, and when we asked him, he gave us this sort of glare that strangely reminded me of a shark getting ready to attack a surfer on Animal Planet."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. "So talking to Blaine reminds you of a shark attack from Animal Planet?"

"Since the day you two broke up, yes. Before, he reminded me of a puppy." He nodded, then smiled a little. When he saw Kurt's expression, he dropped the smile completely.

"What do I remind you of?" Kurt blinked and his face relaxed.

Cody tightened his jaw. "You know about—" He paused and wrinkled his nose in thought. "Okay, you remind me of a warbler. Like, the actual bird, _warbler._"

"Why do I remind you of a bird?" he questioned.

"Because—well, warblers are these free-spirited animals, and you just remind me of that," Cody said carefully, as if he was trying to pick out every word individually. "But there are a few instances when that warbler doesn't have anyone to sing with or anyone to be with, and they're sad and don't do anything, and they just sit around and wait for something to happen. Or they wait for another one to show up.

"So you kind of remind me of a warbler right now. You're very strong-willed and independent, Kurt, but you also enjoy someone else's company. You're just like a warbler."

Kurt pursed his lips and, without saying anything, turned away.

_In the next chapter: Who knew that a thunderstorm and a car with an empty gas tank is a bad combination? _


	32. Downpour

Hello, readers.

I apologize for the late update. I've had quite a bit going on, from band stuff to getting my wisdom teeth out (ouch). This will probably be one of the last updates for this story for awhile because starting on the first day of August, I have band camp that literally requires every single hour of every single day until the day school starts.

It sucks, yes, and I'm sorry. But I'll try to update this story and my other one as often as I can.

Next week, I'll be going on vacation to a place with no internet, so I'll have nothing to do but write. Maybe I'll get down a few chapters of the sequel I have planned to follow this story...

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but if I did, I would totally keep Damian on the show. I mean, who doesn't love him? And why are they keeping Alex Newell? And why am I asking all these questions that people most likely read?

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**Downpour**

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**On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty. –_The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, _Mark Haddon.**

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The following evening, Kurt was curled into the recliner in the living room of the Berry household, a plate of abandoned pizza sitting on the side table beside him. He had a blanket curled around him, tucked up to his chin, and his eyes followed the scenes of the action movie that was playing on the wide TV, but he wasn't really watching.

Cody and Thomas were sitting on the floor with empty plates in their laps, dividing their attention between watching the movie and talking to Wes, who was sprawled across one of the couches. David came back from the kitchen with a can of soda in one hand and moved Wes' feet out of the way so he could sit down.

Then, the channel changed abruptly and the four boys whipped their heads to look at the screen.

"Rachel, stop changing the channel! You've changed it seven times in the past two minutes!" Wes complained loudly.

The brunette merely shook her hair over one shoulder and poised the remote to change to another channel. "My house, my TV. Which means I get to change the channels as often as I'd like to."

For the past half hour, she had been flipping through for something to watch. Whenever she landed on something that she personally wanted to watch, the boys would complain, and vice versa; no one was happy, Kurt decided.

Rachel had spent the day after prom recuperating—which meant trying to conceal the bags under her eyes and eating her weight in chocolate—and now, she looked almost back to her normal self. She still got into small fits of frustration whenever Mercedes brought up the fight between Finn and Jesse, but she kept her verbal complaints to herself for the most part.

And to help with her recuperation process, she had invited Mercedes, Tina, Kurt, and the boys to her house for a movie marathon. Four boxes of pizza were stacked on the kitchen table and half of them were empty at this point. Small foil wrappers were in balls across the table because both Wes and Rachel had been picking their way through the bowl of chocolates on the coffee table.

Now, Kurt watched as Tina started a light conversation with Thomas, who nodded at all the right times and tried to avoid talking with his mouth full. Cody and Mercedes were swapping dessert recipes and both seemed to be pleased; and Wes, David, and Rachel were fighting over the remote, all while trying not to spill drinks or drop pizza crusts.

"There is no way I'm watching some cheesy romantic chick flick!" Wes exclaimed. He set down his plate on the table and reached out a longing arm for the remote.

Rachel held it away from him and her brown eyes smoldered. "Oh, yes, you are. Nicholas Sparks has the best movie!"

"For girls!" David scoffed and he gestured to the screen. "I mean, I know it's supposed to be a happy and romantic movie, but that doesn't mean she has to freaking _die _at the end! What kind of ending is that?"

"A good one!" Wes joked with a laugh.

"Shut up, David. You're not helping my case."

Thomas nudged his foot. "Dude, the girl has leukemia. You kind of realize that she's going to die from the get-go."

"I don't care! All I care about is the fact that someone dies at the end of it, and that's _not _happy." Wes crossed his arms over his chest with a grimace.

"You know," Rachel said in a sing-song voice after a beat of silence, "we could always watch 'The Last Song' instead. If it makes anything better, the dad dies in the end, not the girl—"

Tina blanched and almost dropped her drink. "What? Don't spoil it for me! I haven't seen it yet!"

"How have you not seen 'The Last Song' yet?" Mercedes demanded. "That's, like, one of the best ones!"

"I'm sorry," the Asian whimpered.

Rachel leaned over to rub circles in her shoulder. "It's okay, Tina, you'll see it eventually."

Cody tipped his head at them. "See, this is why you actually read the books before you see the movies. Usually, I would've been shocked right along with her, but because I read the book, I knew the dad died in the end."

Tina gave another sad scowl.

"You really read the book?" Thomas burst out. "Seriously?"

Cody shrugged his shoulders. "What? He's a good author!"

As the two boys shot remarks back and forth, Wes snatched the remote from Rachel and jumped to his feet. He scrambled across the room and plopped down on the floor beside the recliner where Kurt was resting. Waving the device over his head, he beamed triumphantly.

"Alright! Sports it is!" he cheered and proudly changed the channel to a baseball game.

All the girls in the living room groaned, and Rachel buried her face in a pillow.

"Let's see… The Texas Rangers are at Cleveland tonight! This should be a good one," Wes commented, which brought up another round of moans and complaints.

"Oh, Wes," Kurt scolded under his breath, "don't torture them anymore, let alone Rachel. She's had a rough time as it is with Finn. Show her a little sympathy, will you?"

Wes looked up at him with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Shrugging, Kurt shifted in his seat. "I was Rachel's friend before I was yours. And plus, you can always see the recap of the game later."

"You're kidding me," he said dully, but his thumb hovered over one of the buttons on the remote.

"Just change it." Kurt reached over to grab his water glass off the side table and took a long sip.

"Fine," Wes grumbled and got up. Louder, he said, "Hey, Rachel. Here's the remote back. Watch whatever you want." He tossed it into her lap and lazily flopped back down onto the couch, ignoring David's complaints that he was being squished.

Rachel's face lit up and she grabbed the remote, immediately going back to the movie, the one Tina hadn't seen yet. Across the room, she flashed Kurt a wink, and he smiled back at her. But as soon as she turned away, he dropped it.

Finn had not come tonight, and Kurt didn't expect him to. When Kurt and the boys had left, he had remained in his room, with the door locked, playing video games he had already beaten before. He hadn't come down the entire day, not even to eat, which was strange for him. Carole and Burt both were curious, but neither of them said a word about it.

Not much was to be said about the brawl between Finn and Jesse, but Rachel had broken down in tears shortly after everyone had arrived for the movie night. Apparently, Finn had seen Rachel dancing with Jesse and decided to give him a shove. One thing led to another, and then Sue had kicked both of them out. Why Finn thought he had needed to do something like that, Kurt had no clue.

Now, Kurt watched as the movie began and the chatter simmered into silence. By this point, Wes was finished voicing his opinions about watching chick flicks over sports and everyone seemed content.

But it was forty-five minutes into the plot of the movie when Rachel suddenly paused it and directed her stare across the room at Kurt. Everyone stared at her, though no one said a peep.

"Kurt, have you and Blaine made up yet?" she asked bluntly.

"Rachel!" Cody squeaked. He clenched his napkin in his hands and cast a terrified look to Kurt.

She was unfazed by it. "What? It's a simple question that I needed to get out of my system. Now, Kurt," she went on, "please tell me you and Blaine have settled your differences and are back together."

Kurt slowly sat up straight and he knotted his hands tightly in his lap. His jaw tightened absently. "What brought this on? We're in the middle of a movie."

"That's what made me think of it! The movie," she said. "Now, every time I see Ronnie make eyes with Will—"

In the middle of her sentence, Thomas and Wes burst into a fit of hysterical laughter that made Wes almost fall over the side of the couch. Rachel looked absolutely perturbed with the interruption.

"What's with them?" Mercedes asked unsurely. Her expression was unreadable.

"It's just…" Wes choked out between laughs. "Whenever she said… 'Ronnie make eyes with Will'…"

Thomas' face was as red as his hair and he had to set down his drink to avoid spilling it down his front. "And we just thought… There are these two guys at Dalton…"

A smile made Cody's lips twitch and he looked to Kurt, who was biting his tongue at the image of the aloof photographer ogling Blaine's arrogant ex. The girls glanced around with curiosity smeared on their faces.

"Those are the names of two guys at Dalton. Will is the one you met when Rachel and Mercedes came down to visit, and Ronnie is in North with us," Kurt explained, trying to stifle a laugh himself. "They are completely opposites, and I guess it's kind of funny, seeing the way you worded it…" He waved his hand dismissively at Rachel. "But go on."

Rachel shook her head slightly and placed her hands on her knees, eagerly leaning forward. "As I was saying, before these two goons interrupted me," she said and frowned at them, "the movie only reminded me of your conflict with Blaine, and it led me to wonder if you've fixed it yet. Have you?"

Kurt pressed his lips into a thin line. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I care about you, Kurt," she said. "And even if don't know Blaine as well as I know you, I care for him, too."

"Why does this even matter right now?"

She slammed the remote down on the coffee table with enough force to startle everyone in the room. "Because every time I look at you now, all I see is nothing. With Blaine, you were the happiest I'd ever seen you. Now, you look like you're lost. You're not happy anymore, Kurt."

"Of course I'm not happy!" he said back, raising his voice.

"Then why don't you fix it?" she demanded, her face growing pink.

"Rachel…" Mercedes said warningly, but was silenced with a stare.

Kurt nodded firmly. "Listen to Mercedes, Rachel. You should know that I don't want to talk about this right now."

"I do know that, but I want to help you, Kurt. I want to make sure you're not sad," Rachel said. "You and me… we've always been there for each other, through thick and thin, and I just want to look out for you."

"If you really wanted to look out for me, you wouldn't be pestering me about his." Kurt clutched the blanket in his hands. "You're only acting this way because you and Finn aren't on the same side of the line anymore, and you want to be in control of something, even if it's _my _relationship."

Rachel went scarlet. "T-that's not true!"

"You know it is, Rachel!" Kurt said desperately. "You want something you can keep tabs on because your relationship is down the drain at the moment, and you think controlling my messed up relationship with Blaine will somehow help you."

"Kurt," David said lowly and he began to sit up.

"No. I'm fine, David. Trust me, I'm just peachy." He smiled sardonically at the boy and got up from his chair, folding the blanket messily over the back. Without another word, he strode from the living room and to the front door, opening it and slamming it behind him.

Outside, the sun was long gone and the darkness had taken over the sky, as black as ink. Stars dotted it in swirls and patterns of light. He was vaguely reminded of the story his mom used to tell him when he was younger, about how the night sky was really a black sheet from his Glow Bright set and that the angels poked holes in it to create the stars, that there was light on the other side.

Kurt ducked his head to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. He made his way down the front steps and along the winding sidewalk until he reached his truck, which rested at the curb. He unlocked it with the click of his keys and hopped inside the cab. The engine roared loudly when he turned the key in the ignition, sounding noisy compared to the stillness of night. He hastily flicked it off, leaving on the air and the radio.

The radio immediately tuned in and started playing some song he had never heard, and he cranked up the air conditioning. After a minute of listening to the song, he flipped the dial and found another station of classical music.

It was another thing he had learned from his mother, who had always played classical music when she was angry. With his eyes shut, he could clearly envision his dark-haired mother angrily chopping up carrots with a knife after a stressful day working at the hospital down the street. But she would always become calm in a matter of minutes if she had the radio nearby, tuned in to a classical station.

The swirl of the violins and chirps of the flutes and the gracefulness of the harp soothed Kurt until the tension in his shoulders was gone. He found his eyes shut and they fluttered open. Shifting in his seat, he looked back at the house to see the lights in the living room on, silhouettes moving; it was easy to tell Rachel's short frame from Thomas' tall, stocky one.

Biting his tongue, Kurt faced forward. The time on the dashboard read almost ten o'clock and he couldn't help but wonder what Finn was doing, if he was asleep or pulling an all-nighter to play video games. He surely wasn't concerned about Rachel.

The songs changed and his ears were greeted with something lighter, something at a faster pace that featured a piano and a violin playing side by side, bouncing rhythms back and forth. The notes blurred by at a speed that Kurt couldn't imagine possible.

For fifteen and a half minutes, Kurt sat in the driver's seat and listened to the melody carry on. The piece left goosebumps on his skin and he finally switched off the car, stepping outside. The air was warm as he briskly paced up the walk way and hesitantly opened the front door.

Voices floated to him from the living room. The movie had been turned off and Rachel and Cody were volleying back and forth, just like the piece he had just listened to. When he stepped into the living room, he found both of them on their feet, pointing at one another with angered expressions.

"Why can't you just leave him alone? It's obvious he's upset with everything," Cody demanded.

"Well, of course, he's upset with everything!" Rachel snapped. "But don't tell me it's wrong for wanting to help him. I'm sure you did that when he and Blaine broke up."

Cody withdrew physically, leaning back on his heels. "Yes, but I didn't question him about it like you did."

"Oh, really. And how did I do it?"

But they dropped their hands and the frustration when they saw Kurt standing there shyly.

"Kurt!" Cody squeaked at once and he touched his fingertips together. "I hope you didn't hear any of that…"

Kurt raised a shoulder indifferently. "I didn't hear a word."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"Are you okay?" Wes asked quietly. It was so unlike him to talk in a soft voice that it startled Kurt.

"I'm fine," he said in a long breath. "But I think I'm going to go home. I need some sleep. I'll see you back at the house, okay?" He nodded to Wes, David, and Thomas.

Thomas bolted upright. "We'll go with you."

"No, you're fine. Stay as long as you'd like," Kurt said and he held up a hand. "I just want to get some rest and be prepared for the drive back tomorrow, okay? That's all."

"Well…" Cody was indecisive. "Okay, but…"

"I'm fine," Kurt said with a short chuckle. He clutched his car keys in his hand until the grooves on one of the keys dug into his palm. "I'll see you all later. Thank you for the movie and the pizza, Rachel. I had a good time this weekend, and I'll make sure to call."

He turned and walked out of the room before anyone could protest, and no one ran after him. He slipped out the front door and jogged to his truck, where he threw himself in and cranked the engine, trying not to flinch at the sound of the engine cutting the silence.

The radio lit up and began to play some sonata that Kurt turned up. He drove out of Rachel's neighborhood with it filling the car.

Soon, he was out of the suburbs and onto the main roads. There was no way he was going home, not now.

* * *

After the sound of an engine had faded, Cody plopped down on the floor tiredly. He rubbed his face.

"I hope he's not too mad at us," he said and looked at Rachel, who nodded silently.

"I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid," Thomas commented and he reached for another chocolate from the bowl on the table. He unwrapped it carefully. "I mean, the last time I was mad, I did a lot of stupid things."

Tina raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

He squinted his eyes and thought for a moment. "Well, back in our freshman year, I was so mad at Blaine's boyfriend, Will, for breaking up with him that I punched the wall in the room that Cody and I share, and—"

"And he broke his hand," Cody finished giddily. "He also left a good hole in the wall, which we had to explain to the Dean when he came to do a room inspection."

"That was so embarrassing," Thomas groaned, hiding his face. "Instead of telling the Dean I punched the wall, I told him that—"

Wes snorted. "That your bookcase had fallen over and made the hole, which was totally not believable because you didn't even have a bookcase in your room at the time. All you had was that dresser."

"But now we have a bookcase," the redhead told him.

"Just in case he feels the need to punch the wall again," Cody grinned and leaned over to pat him on the head.

"And what's the moral of that story exactly?" Mercedes inquired.

Tina rubbed her eyes. "I think we were wanting Kurt to not do something stupid."

"So we're hoping he doesn't punch a wall and break his hand?"

"That's what I got from it."

Thomas reached for another chocolate from the bowl. "Though that would be the best thing to happen in this situation, I think we're all hoping that he doesn't make any bad choices that would hurt him in the long run."

"Okay, all this talk of making sure he doesn't do anything stupid makes me wish we would've gone home with him," David said anxiously, which was unlike him; he rarely ever was antsy over anything, aside from exams.

"How _are_ we going to get back to his house?" Wes questioned.

"I'll take you," Mercedes offered; she had to be home by midnight at the latest, courtesy of her parents.

"I think we just need to give him some elbow room," Tina advised. "That's the thing I want when I'm ticked off. The _last _thing I want is creeper friends stalking my every move; that would only make me madder than I began with."

"So if we don't hear from him by eleven," Wes said, checking the clock on his phone, "we call him. Agreed?"

Rachel bit her lip. "And if he doesn't respond?"

"Why would he not respond?" Cody's voice edged higher with each word until he was the equivalent of a mouse.

"Let's not think of that right now," Thomas said quickly. "So, if for some odd, weird reason he doesn't pick up his phone, Mercedes'll take us back to his house and make sure he's alright."

Rachel looked ready to gnaw off her lower lip and she had to physically restrain herself from standing. "And if he's not alright?"

"Calm down, girl," Mercedes said, patting her leg. "He'll be just fine. I don't think there's any reason to worry."

Defeated, Rachel slumped back into the couch and brought her knees to her chest.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Kurt met the beginning of the highway, lined with street lamps and absolutely empty. Hardly anyone traveled the highways at night, and he was thankful for it.

He hadn't had the heart to go home, like he told the others. He didn't think he could explain coming home without Wes or David, Thomas or Cody to his parents without completely breaking down. And besides, he didn't really need to return to his house; everything he needed was in his dorm at Dalton, which was currently an hour and thirty-seven minutes away.

The highway was an endless expanse of dark roads divided into three lanes by yellow paint. Every so often he passed under a bridge or zipped by an exit that would carry him somewhere else. Once already, he had imagined himself taking one of the exits, just to find out where it would lead him, and then he caught himself veering into another lane.

Thankfully, there had been no other cars beside him, but he promised aloud to stay alert.

But as the minutes lagged on, Kurt wondered what everyone was doing back at Rachel's house. Were they watching a movie, or were Rachel and Wes fighting over the remote again? Was Thomas telling some story to Tina and Mercedes about Dalton that would make Cody spew soda out his nose?

Kurt itched to grab the phone and dial one of them, but he kept his hands locked on the wheel.

His only companion throughout the drive was the radio. The station he had chosen was a classical one where the hosts stayed on the air long into the late hours and between songs they commented on composers, other songs, or tickets for future concerts. He found himself drumming his fingers against the steering wheel when he came across an intriguing part in a piece, and then stopped when it slowed into a magnificent harmony.

As Kurt drove, his mind wandered. It floated aimlessly between the music and his awareness of the road, his final exams, and his preparations for Nationals. The music was almost soothing enough to lull him to sleep and he had to turn down the volume.

The final exams that took place after the Warblers got back from Nationals loomed over him like an aching willow tree, foreboding and ominous. The slightest thought of them made him review vocabulary terms in his head for Physics and facts from literature novels for English. He, along with everyone else, was not looking forward to them.

As for Nationals, that was one of the last things he wanted to think of. The idea of flying to New York to compete for a grand title made his stomach churn apprehensively. There was no possible way he could ever sing a solo in front of hundreds of people without getting the worst case of stage fright. Sure, he could sing in class, but that was only because he was in front of his peers, people he knew—not a panel of judges that were trained to critique him.

Kurt jumped when the sounds of cymbals crashed at the end of a piece on the radio. He nearly swerved into the next lane because his hands jerked, but he was able to steady himself, his heart pounding. His hands were shaky and he pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

The clock read almost eleven and he blinked tiredly. He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in his seat, trying to calm the shock of adrenaline that coursed through his body. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, but it felt more like ages. When he opened them, his phone was buzzing in the cup holder.

Lazily he put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Kurt, thank God!" said a chirpy voice. To someone else, they said, "I told you he would answer. He's fine, Rachel."

Cody.

Kurt bolted in his seat and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The clock on the dashboard read almost midnight and his jaw dropped. Had he really been asleep for that long?

With a look over his shoulder, he found himself still parked in the shoulder of the road with the engine purring. The roads were still bathed in gold from the lamps and they still remained empty, but his gas tank was less than he had started out with. From a guess, there was only just enough to get him from wherever he was to Dalton.

Kurt slammed the car into drive and took off down the highway, and for a second, he forgot he was still on the phone with… wait, who was he talking to?

"Hello?" he said lamely into the receiver. "Who is this?"

"Kurt, it's Cody," said a snappy, yet worried voice. "We're all so glad you picked up the phone. We've been trying to call you for the past hour. We call you a few times and you never answered, and—"

"Whoa, Cody. Slow down," Kurt said, coasting down the highway. "I can't understand you when you're talking at the speed of light."

He took an audible breath. "Sorry. But we called you and you never answered and we got worried, and finally we went to your house and when we saw that your truck wasn't in the driveway, we were really concerned. But you're okay, right?"

His head pounded with a migraine and it was a minute before he answered with, "Yes, I'm fine, Cody. I'm just driving."

A great clash sounded on the other end, like he dropped the phone. Someone else picked up it.

"Wait, Kurt, you're _driving_? Why the hell are you freaking _driving_?" It was Rachel's voice, high pitched and anxious. "And where are you driving? Oh, please tell me you're not making a crazy road trip to New York, or something. I would be mad because that's a long way and it's the middle of the night, and because you didn't take me with you."

Kurt laughed and let out a long sigh. "I'm going back to Dalton, Rachel. That's why I'm driving."

"So does that mean you're on the highway?" she shrieked and her voice went up another half octave.

"Yes, I'm on the highway," he replied slowly, nodding his head. "And it's actually quite nice, driving at this time of night. Hardly anyone's out here. No traffic or anything."

"Oh, Kurt. I wish you weren't out there right now." There was a dull clipping sound and Kurt had a feeling Rachel was chewing off her nails.

"Why do you wish that?" he said. As he drove, small dots of water dotted his windshield, and he leaned forward to peer at them. They were raindrops.

Rachel sounded exasperated. "Because it would make me feel better. You and driving isn't a good mix at all, especially when you're both mad and probably tired. Plus, we've got the news on right now and there's an awful storm that's going to hit soon, and I'd rather not have you driving in that."

"I think the rain has already hit," Kurt said flatly as more drops came down across his windshield, but in larger, fatter drops, ones that made pitter-patter sounds on his roof and against the windows.

"Wonderful! Just wonderful!" Rachel exclaimed hysterically and she handed the phone off to someone else.

"Kurt," said Tina, who took the phone from her, "we'd rather not have you driving right now. At least pull over and wait until the storm passes—"

He snorted and pressed his foot against the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer wiggling. "I've already pulled over once and I fell asleep for an hour, which depleted most of my gas tank and wasted my time. I don't think I need to pull over."

"I meant, you need to pull over so you don't hydroplane and crash," she told him strictly, sounding more motherly than she ever had before.

"I'm fine, Tina. Tell the others that, please," Kurt said. "Really, I am. If I wasn't going to be okay, I would realize it and pull over and wait until it was better before getting back on the road."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

At this point, the rain was hammering against his car and filling it with the sounds of hundreds of drums. The pounding was loud enough that it drowned out the sound of the radio, even the loudest of cymbal crashes.

"Kurt, please be careful. We don't want you getting hurt out there." Thomas came onto the line next and he sounded as worried as Cody, if not more.

"Thanks for telling me something I already didn't know," Kurt grumbled sarcastically as he peered through the windshield. He flipped on the wipers and they cut through the blurry layer of water until he was able to see the pavement and the yellow lane markers.

"We're serious, Kurt. I'm considering asking you to pull over and wait until Cody and Wes and David and I get there," he said sharply.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "You're actually going to come after me?"

"Well, I don't know, not with the rain and everything—"

"Then you have no need to put yourselves in danger for my sake," Kurt finished. "Now, you all know I'm alive and well, and I'll explain everything on Monday. I just want to be able to have two hands on the wheel and to make it to Dalton in one piece."

He hung up before anyone could argue, and he placed the phone back in the cup holder.

On the road, water pooled in small puddles and occasionally a bolt of lightning would light up the sky in a flash of white, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the ground. Kurt noticed one or two cars speeding the opposite direction, their headlights shining in his eyes and then disappearing.

Taking an even breath, he reached to turn up the volume of the radio.

* * *

Cody buried his face in a pillow and screamed into it. He brought his head up a second later, his hair mussed up in the front. "What if he gets into a wreck and it's all on us? I don't think I'll be able to live with myself!" He shoved his face back into his pillow.

Rachel nibbled on one of her nails. "This is not good. Oh, why did I have to ask him all those questions? Why didn't I keep my big mouth shut?" she asked, then turned to Mercedes. "It's all my fault, isn't it? If I hadn't said anything, he wouldn't be so mad right now."

"Everything's going to be fine," Wes said, though his tone was strained and he sounded on the verge of hyperventilating. He was pacing behind the couch. "Everything's going to be just fine. He's going to get to Dalton in one piece without crashing."

"Have you ever driven in rain before?" Tina asked to no one in particular. "It's awful. I drove in it once, on my way to Mike's house. Even though I wasn't on the highway and it was only a small puddle, I hydroplaned and nearly ran headfirst into a tree. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life."

Mercedes glowered at her. _"Not helping."_

"I really hate this. I really, really hate this." Thomas plucked another chocolate from the bowl; he had nearly eaten half of it since the beginning of the night and now he was plowing through it with the air of a starving man. "Kurt doesn't need to be out there, but no. He wants to go back to Dalton. Why couldn't he have waited until morning?"

"I suppose he just wanted time to think," David mused. "I know that if I'm mad, the only thing I want is time by myself to think. I think that if he went back to his house, he wouldn't have very much privacy. In his car, he can do whatever he wants."

"Including get into a wreck!" Cody mumbled, the pillow muffling his words. He pulled his head up again, his face pink. "I don't know how I can stand this! We need to call him again—" He scrambled off the couch and grabbed for the phone.

Rachel jumped for it and held it out of his reach. "No, we're not calling him again. What if he is in the middle of picking it up and ends up crashing then? Then it will really be our faults. We need to stop calling him."

"What are we going to say to his parents in the morning when they find out he's gone?" Wes gasped. He stopped pacing and looked at David. "What do we say? 'Oh, your son decided to go back to school early without saying goodbye. And, oh yeah, he drove the two hours to Dalton in the middle of a rain storm.'"

"What if we called the police? Would that work?" Thomas blurted.

"They wouldn't be able to do anything about it unless he got into a wreck," Mercedes said faintly.

Cody covered his face with his hands. "Oh, don't say that! I don't want to think of that happening!"

Eyes wide, Rachel placed her hands on either side of her face. "I think we just need to trust that Kurt will get there, safe and sound, and that he'll call us when he gets there. It's all we have to hang onto for now."

"Rachel is right," David concurred solemnly. "All we can do is wait."

* * *

Not even fifteen minutes after Kurt hung up, the rain came down harder to the point where it sounded like it would burst straight through the roof. He had to slow down to avoid sliding across the slick road.

Adrenaline was jumping through his veins and he had to clasp his hands tighter around the steering wheel to keep them from shaking tremendously. His eyes darted from place to place on the windshield until he felt he would get dizzy.

Then, the car gave a sputter and his heart clenched uncomfortably.

Looking down at the panel, he glowered furiously. The gas tank was running close to empty and, as if it would help, he pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. By now, he predicted Dalton was only fifteen or so minutes down the road. Through the sheets of rain, he could almost see the exit he needed to take.

The car grunted and Kurt let out a groan, steering the vehicle to the shoulder of the road and hitting the stall lights. Lightning lit up the sky like a strobe light and he threw the car into park. As he did so, the engine quit purring. The needle for the gas tank was facing the 'E.' Enraged, Kurt banged his hands against the steering wheel.

"This is not happening to me," he muttered under his breath. "This is _so _not happening to me!"

He let his head fall forward to rest against the wheel and sighed. At least the feeling of water sliding precariously under his tires was gone. If there was one thing he hated about driving, it was driving in rain storms.

Gritting his teeth, Kurt scooped up his phone and dialed Cody's number, holding it to his ear. Right after the first ring, someone answered.

"Kurt! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The blurred words and demanding tone clearly belonged to Rachel.

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt, thank goodness," he said and brushed hair back from his face, "but I've got a problem with my truck."

She gasped audibly. "What's wrong?"

Kurt gave a sharp chuckle. "Well, my car, um, ran out of gas. I'm sitting here on the side of the road, fifteen minutes from Dalton, and I have no idea what on earth to do."

Instead of replying, Rachel yelled something along the lines of, "No, Cody, you're staying here! I don't want you out on that road!" to someone in the background. She came back to the phone and muttered, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. Are there any gas stations nearby?"

He craned his neck to scan behind him and in front of him. All the stores were either closed or novelty shops and food joints. He sulked back into his seat. "There's nothing that I can see. And if there was, I don't think I'm up to running in the rain."

"Is there anyone you can call? Someone who is at Dalton?" she demanded. She said something away from the phone, and he caught, "Is Blaine at Dalton?"

Kurt curled his lip. "No, Rachel, Blaine's not at Dalton. He left for the weekend."

"Oh." In that single word, she showed her embarrassment.

Watching the rain drops pour down the window, he listened as the others bickered over what he should do. Thomas suggested that he flag someone down, but there were no cars in sight; it was almost midnight, after all. Wes and David considered driving down with Cody to help, but Rachel strongly disapproved. Tina and Mercedes had no input.

When the idea came to him, Kurt bolted upright in his seat and hit the top of his head against the ceiling. "I've got it! Ow…"

"What?" Cody squealed.

"I just hit my head on the ceiling." Kurt waited before he went on. "I know none of you are going to like this idea, and I understand if you hate me for this, but I'm going to call—"

Wes interrupted him before he could finish. "No! I don't want you calling that scumbag for help!"

"No way! We'd rather you sit out on the road!" David chimed in.

"Who is he going to call?" Tina questioned innocently.

Kurt could practically hear Cody grinding his teeth. "That no-good, dirty, rotten, piano player."

"Exactly," Kurt said, and he hung up.

* * *

Wes rubbed his temples. "This is not happening. I would almost actually prefer Kurt getting into a wreck than having him call _James _for help. Just the guy's name makes me want to throw myself out a window."

"Wes, you cannot be serious!" Rachel scolded. "Choosing your best friend's pain over help? Really?"

"When it comes down to either ending up in the hospital from a life-threatening crash," David said gravely, "or depending on James Montgomery for help, I think you would rather choose the hospital. Trust me."

Tina and Mercedes shared a bewildered look.

"Is he that bad?" Tina questioned.

Mercedes looked over at her flatly. "Apparently."

"'That bad'?" Cody repeated. "Of course he's that bad! James is a vile person and I hope you never have to meet him. He's done awful things. Things so awful, in fact, that I can't even talk about them." He crossed his arms over his chest and plopped down on one of the sofas.

"What did he do?" Tina raised an eyebrow. "He must've committed murder, or something, if it makes you freak out like this."

Cody shared a look with the other three boys, then turned to Mercedes and Tina. "Close enough."

"What did he do?" Mercedes echoed, leaning her elbows on her knees.

Wes sighed and he put his face in his hands. "He fell in love with Kurt and everything went to hell."

* * *

Kurt's thumb hovered over the dark haired boy's name in his contacts list and he bit his lower lip to the point where he thought he tasted blood. Rachel's suggestion of calling Blaine for help was already out of the question before she had even said it.

When he had told Rachel that Blaine wasn't at school, his ears burned. As far as knew, Blaine was sitting at his desk under a single lamp light, either writing an essay or reading a book. He hardly ever left Dalton on the weekends, and he hardly slept on the weekends.

But James was at Dalton, too. And James didn't make his stomach churn as uncomfortably as it did with Blaine. Yes, he still made the hairs on the back of his neck raise, that was certain, but at least he was still on somewhat good terms with him.

Kurt felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he quickly tapped the name, and the call dialed before he had the chance to change his mind. He held the phone to his ear with one shaky hand. Instead of the dial tone, which rang several times, his pulse was loud in his ears.

When the tone rang the fourth time, his stomach dropped. But it cut off in the fifth ring and he perked.

"Hello?" answered a sleepy voice.

Kurt sucked in air through his teeth and sat up, ramrod straight. "Hi, James."

The boy's tone instantly brightened and he sounded almost wide awake. "Hi, Kurt. Is, ah, is anything wrong?"

"What makes you say that?" Kurt reclined and stared at the water drops racing down the window next to his face.

"Well, you're calling me. That's something you hardly ever do," James started. "And secondly, it's the middle of the night. I thought you would be asleep by now."

Kurt pressed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth. "Oh. Oh, wait, did I wake you up?"

"No, no. I was already awake," he quickly assured, his voice low and smooth. "I was actually finishing up homework for Monday," he added sheepishly.

"Oh." He rubbed the hem of his shirt between his thumb and his forefinger.

James paused on the other end. "Did you, um, need anything?"

"Need anything?" Kurt repeated lamely, the back of his neck feeling hot.

"Yes, I asked you if you needed something. That would explain why you're calling at such an odd hour. Usually, people don't make phone calls at twelve-thirty in the morning," he chuckled. His voice sounded like it always did, precise and careful and… Kurt was unable to find another word.

Kurt blinked, exhausted. "Actually, yes. I do need something," he said. "This is going to sound silly, but right now, I'm sitting on the shoulder of the highway near Dalton in a car with no gas and in the middle of a rainstorm."

All James said in response was, "It's raining outside?"

He stared at the rain running down his windows and pounding against the road. "Yes, I'm pretty sure it's raining."

"I didn't notice," he murmured. "But you're really out on the highway right now?"

"My car sort of… ran out of gas. I can't really tow it, and I don't feel like walking back down the highway in search of a gas station," Kurt admitted.

James made an understanding noise on the other end and it sounded like he was moving things around in his room. He made no verbal reply, and that made Kurt's throat close.

"And I was hoping you would still be at Dalton," he went on, his voice cracking, "because I would really appreciate it if you could pick me up." The last half of his sentence ran together and it sounded incoherent.

"I would be happy to oblige," James said and the smile was evident in his voice. There was a light jingle in the background as he most likely snatched his keys into his hand. "Where exactly are you on the highway?"

Kurt read off a somewhat accurate description of where his car sat and James understood with an, "Ah, okay. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you, James," Kurt said with a quiet eagerness, cupping the phone to his face with both hands. "You don't know how much I appreciate this."

"It's not a problem. I'll see you soon." And he hung up.

Clutching his phone, Kurt let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and he felt dizzy. He crawled from the front seat to the backseat and stretched out, hands folded on his chest, and he tapped out a quick message to Cody. They were probably crowded around Cody's phone, waiting with baited breath to hear from him.

Kurt took in an even, deep breath and let his eyes fall shut. He hadn't realized how wiped out he was until he shut his eyes and he had to bit his tongue to keep himself awake. The last thing he wanted was to be asleep when James came to get him.

At the thought of the dark haired boy, Kurt turned onto his side to face the back of the passenger seat. Without the radio, the car was eerily silent, save the merciless pounding of the rain against the car. At any moment, he felt as though the car was going to be smashed in.

The rap against the window made him sit up. A dark figure stood outside the driver's side and Kurt had to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from shrieking. He clumsily stumbled from the backseat and fumbled with the lock on the door, and then swung it open.

With the door open, the storm was magnified. Thunder rumbled and the noise was clearer, louder, and the patter of rain was harsher.

James stood a few feet away from the car with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He raised his head when the door opened and he stepped forward to help Kurt out of the car, taking his arm.

"Thanks," Kurt breathed. The moment he stepped out into the rain, he was drenched. Water soaked every part of his body from head to toe, seeping through his hair and cutting straight through the thin fabric of both his jacket and his t-shirt.

James smiled and it was almost illuminated in the darkness. "It's not a problem. Do you have everything you need?"

Kurt nodded numbly. The frigid rain locked his muscles and his limbs were stiff when he attempted to move.

"Are we, ah, getting gas for your car, or…?" James faded and pushed sopping, dark hair away from his face. His sapphire eyes glowed and Kurt was taken for a moment.

Kurt turned his head and stared down at the tires of his truck. "Um, not right now. I was thinking of doing it when the rain let up. Or in the morning, when it's easier to see."

"That sounds like a good idea. Do you have a gas tank?" he asked. His voice shook and he was shivering where he stood.

Kurt went around to the back of the vehicle and fished an empty, plastic gas tank from the trunk. He slammed the door with some effort and came back to where James was standing.

With the rain pouring down on him, James looked thinner than usual. His clothes hugged his body, showing his slim frame, and the rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. His sapphire eyes almost seemed too big for his face, wide and glimmering in the darkness.

"Are you, um, ready?" James asked.

Kurt raised his chin, startled out of his reverie. He locked the car with his keys and stuffed them in his pocket, then followed James to the small car parked not far behind.

As soon as both boys were in the car, James cranked the engine and turned up the heat as high as it would go. He rubbed his hands together and breathed on them in hopes that they would warm up. Kurt couldn't help but notice that they were sickly pale, his fingers long and slim.

Switching the car into gear, James ventured out onto the highway and the rain pounded against the roof to fill the silence.

"Well, you weren't lying when you said you were stranded on the highway," he murmured in quiet amusement.

Kurt felt his face grow warm and he turned his head down. "Did you think I was lying?"

The other boy merely offered a shrug. "You could've been, just to mess with me."

"Yes, because I just love messing with you," Kurt said, sarcasm coloring his tone.

James' lips turned up at the corners. "So, enlighten me. Why exactly _were_ you coming to Dalton tonight in the first place?"

Kurt trailed individual rain drops with his eyes as they ran down the windshield. "I guess I just wanted to get back to school."

"What's bothering you, Kurt?" His words were curious and blunt.

"Nothing is bothering me," Kurt said without missing a beat.

James snorted and he covered his mouth. "I'm sorry, but if you're going to take two hours to drive from Lima to Westerville at midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm, something must be seriously wrong."

"I just…" Kurt trailed off, wracking his mind for something to say. He stared at the road. "I have just had a very tiring weekend so far, that's all."

"Really, is that—" He broke off the middle of his sentence. "Kurt, what happened to you?"

Kurt's heart kick started and he whipped his head to the side, only to meet the boy's glowing eyes. "What do you mean?"

James looked faint, as white as a sheet. "Your eye…"

"Oh, shoot." Kurt's hand flew up to cover the blemish around his eye and cursed himself inwardly. He braced his other hand against the door when he felt the car lurch to the side. "James, what are you—"

"Who did this to you, Kurt?" James demanded with a quiet rage as he pulled the car to the shoulder of the road and threw it into park. He tentatively raised his hand and covered Kurt's, pulling it gently away from his face. Kurt winced the slightest bit at the movement.

"Get back on the road," Kurt commanded through clenched teeth.

James stared intently at him and made no move to resume driving.

"It's nothing," he assured him, but he drew back when James placed his hand on his cheek, flinching at the roughness of the scars on his palms against his skin. "James, you shouldn't be worried about this."

The other boy looked wondrous. "But I should. You're my friend, and friends care about friends. Who did this to you, Kurt?"

"Why do you assume someone hurt me?" Kurt snapped. "I just… ran into a door on accident. It popped me in the eye."

James' concerned gaze faltered and his grim scowl turned into an amused smile. "There is no way you ran into a door and got something like _this_." He ran his fingertips over the tarnished skin and felt Kurt withdraw.

"Would I lie to you?" Kurt asked. James' feather-like touch made his skin tingle.

"In cases like this," James said as he leaned forward, over the dividing bar that separated the two seats, "yes, you would."

Kurt wrapped his hand around the boy's wrist and pushed it away. "James, stop it. I just want you to take me back. Can you do that for me? Please?"

The other boy pulled back, brows furrowed, but nodded. He pulled the car back onto the road and took the appropriate exit. His hands slightly shook on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, Kurt. At least let me do something for you."

"You are doing something. You're driving me back," Kurt said tautly, watching a bolt of lightning strike the sky.

"I meant for your eye," he corrected through gritted teeth. "At least let me get you medicine for it."

Kurt licked his dry lips. "I'm fine, James. I don't need anything. Medicine won't help."

"Stop protesting, Kurt," James sighed. His lips curved as if he wanted to continue, but he remained silent. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel, turning it to take another exit that led them up to the school.

The school building and the dorms were hardly visible through the rain and Kurt was amazed James knew the curves of the road as well as he did. The headlights provided almost no useful light and street lamps were scarce. When the car turned to head up the drive to the parking lot, Kurt clutched the door handle.

James pulled the car into a spot and let it idle, looking over Kurt. "Are you ready? You're going to get drenched again."

"That's fine with me. I'd rather get drenched while walking up to school than stay dry while waiting in a car on the side of the highway," Kurt said, but he stumbled through his words and his thought-out remark was jumbled. He didn't have to look to know that James was trying to hide a smile and he got out of the car.

The rain cut straight through his damp clothing and it felt as though ice was injected into his veins. He wrapped his arms around his torso and followed James across the greens to the dorms. When they passed a pair of double doors, they stopped and made a beeline for them.

"I'm surprised the doors are open, considering Markus' curfews," Kurt mused as James worked the handle. "I thought Simon would be too much of a goody-two-shoes to keep them open."

James shrugged and finally pushed the door open. "Oh, he locked them, alright," he said and held up a silver key that glinted when lightning struck the sky.

"You have a key to the doors? Since when?" Kurt snapped. "You know non-Precursors aren't supposed to have keys."

Unable to keep the grin off his face, James walked inside ahead of him and shook his head. "Will was getting tired of being locked out for being outside after curfew too many times, so he stole Simon's and made a copy."

The main hallway of the South wing was dark, with almost no light save for the small lamp sitting by the kitchen doors. It cast a golden glow and threw shadows.

Kurt shivered and shook water from his hair. "I can't believe him. What does he do outside so much that he gets locked out?"

"How should I know?" James asked. "He doesn't tell me anything."

"And how did you get the key from him?" Kurt asked suddenly. He rubbed his face, avoiding the pained skin around his eye.

Then he looked sheepish as he removed his jacket. He pocketed the key. "Well, actually, this one's Simon's, I think," he said.

"You stole Simon's key?" He leaned his head back and sighed. "James, you can't steal things from Precursors. What if he knows it's missing?"

James waved a hand at him and walked slowly down the hall, water dripping from the ends of his coat. "He won't know it's missing. He doesn't even act like a Precursor in the first place," he mumbled. He turned to face Kurt, walking backwards carefully. "You know, I think he uses being a Precursor to his advantage so he can wing hop whenever he wants to see Adam Harvey."

Pushing up his sleeves, heavy with water, Kurt squinted at him. "Really?"

"He doesn't come back with the rest of the wing after dinner, and instead he goes with Adam to East." He made an impatient noise. "And, of course, he doesn't come back until, maybe three in the morning. And, also of course, he doesn't get penalized because he's the Precursor." He rolled his blue eyes.

Kurt brushed his wet hair back and stopped walking when James did, at the doors leading to the dorm rooms. "You don't think he's…"

"Gay?" he asked, opening one of the doors. When he spoke next, his voice was just above a whisper. "Probably. Somewhere, deep down inside, there's just a flamboyant gay boy waiting to come out."

"And what if he's not? Gay, I mean."

"Then he really, really likes having a friend whom he knows won't turn him away."

Kurt stopped. His clothes felt heavy on his frame, almost weighing him down. He didn't move, even when James beckoned him with a hand.

"What? I'm not going," Kurt said bluntly and he saw James' face fall. He idled in the doorway. "I'm going back to North. Thank you, James, for picking me up. I really appreciate it. In fact, I'll owe you."

"You don't need to owe me." James' voice was flat.

Kurt was about to protest when, over James' shoulder, he saw a figure leaning against the wall by one of doors closest to them, arms draped over his chest. Narrowing his eyes, Kurt titled his head.

"What? What are you looking—" James started, but stopped when he saw the figure. It was Will, looking almost half asleep, his eyes halfway shut. His chest rose and fell evenly.

"What is he doing out here?" Kurt asked quietly. He took a step into the hallway. "Is he asleep?"

"No," James said darkly, not bothering to keep his voice down. He marched the short distance and shoved Will in the shoulder, making the blonde lose his footing and stumbled. Will looked up, bewildered, and he blinked tiredly.

"Hello, Snow White. I was wondering when you were going to come back," he said, his voice exhausted yet snarky. He leaned around James to glance at Kurt and his cheerful grin fell. "Fancy seeing you here, Hummel. You a refugee now?"

Kurt merely glared at him.

James wrinkled his nose, pink covering his cheeks, and he leaned into him, saying something Kurt couldn't hear from the doorway. Kurt stood with his arms around his torso, awkwardly waiting. Finally he cleared his throat softly.

"I'm leaving. Goodnight," he announced to the floor and turned to leave.

"Goodnight," Will called after him, almost teasingly. There was a smack as James hit him in the shoulder again, and he complained, "What was that for? I was only being friendly with him."

Even when Kurt had turned the corner and was in the main hallway, he could still hear the two bickering, voices faint.

"Oh, don't give me any excuses. You were waiting for us to come back, weren't you?" James snapped. "And don't lie to me, either. Why else would you be out here in the middle of the night?"

"Maybe I like sleeping in the hallway. It's more comfortable than the mattresses they give us." Will inhaled sharply when James hit him again.

Kurt felt his face heat and he hurried down the hall. He strode quickly down the main hall of the South wing and approached the doors that connected to North. Hopefully he reached out and gripped the knob, jiggling it. It turned easily and he let out a relieved sigh. He pulled open one of the doors and hurried inside, shutting it behind him.

As soon as he turned around, he let out a long sigh. The North wing was almost completely drenched in darkness, except for the small glow of light coming from the commons. Kurt crept down the hall, his heart picking up pace, and he peeked his head in.

The floor lamp in the corner was turned on, casting a golden glow over the room. The television was on, but silent, playing some movie in black and white. Books were scattered across the floor by the window seat—almost ten of them were cracked open to some page. Papers accompanied the books in heaps and unsteady stacks. In the center of the semi-circle of books sat Blaine, his hair mussed up and a pair of glasses perched crookedly on his nose.

Kurt felt his skin heat from his toes to his hair line and he took a step back when a voice stopped him.

"What are you doing here, Kurt?"

Startled, he froze where he stood in the doorway, his fingers feeling numb around the handle of the gas tank. Suddenly he was aware of how his sopping clothes clung to his body in all places, his hair dripping water and pooling in a small puddle at his feet. His mouth was dry and unresponsive.

"I thought you were in Lima for prom," Blaine prompted.

"I decided to come back a little early," Kurt stammered out, regaining the feeling in his mouth. His chest was tight.

Blaine's expression held what looked like loose humor. "Well, you're certainly early." He leaned back against the window seat with a certain casual air that made Kurt want to hit him over the head. His eyes slowly traveled up and down Kurt's sopping figure. "So, why are you soaking wet?"

"Car troubles. My truck ran out of gas on the highway," Kurt replied briskly and he weakly gestured to the gas tank in his hand. He bit his lip until he felt the skin break and the metallic taste of blood entered his mouth.

"Which involved you getting wet?" He carefully got to his feet and removed the glasses from his face, shoving them in his pocket.

Kurt swallowed. "I had James give me a ride and that involved me getting out of my car and getting in his, which exposed me to the rain, which is why I'm wet." His words blurred together at the end as he prepared to be interrupted.

But Blaine simply crossed the room in a few lazy strides, never taking his eyes from him. He ran his hand through his hair, absently trying to fix it. "James gave you a ride?"

"Yes. Who else was I supposed to call?" He desperately wanted to point out that this was the most Blaine had spoken to him in days upon days, but he remained silent.

Blaine's lips formed a thin line and he took another step forward, close enough that Kurt could see the flecks of hazel in his eyes. "You could've called me. You knew I was going to be here over the weekend."

"But that didn't necessarily mean I wanted to call you," Kurt snapped instinctively. He winced inwardly when he saw the pain flicker across Blaine's face.

"You know," Blaine murmured, his head turned to the side, "you haven't spoken to me in days."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Because I don't have anything to say to you—"

"I don't mean it like you need to strike up a conversation every single time you see me," he said snippily. "I just meant maybe a 'hello' or something in the hallway. Just something to tell me that you're still a human being."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Kurt's fingers flexed around the handle of the gas tank.

Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "I mean… God, Kurt, I don't know. Maybe I'm implying that you've been a ghost for… I don't know how long, but you've been so vacant and empty, and it's worrying me."

"Why should it worry you? Why do you care?" The words tasted vile in his mouth.

"Because maybe I made a few mistakes, and maybe I still love you," he blurted. "Maybe I never stopped loving you, Kurt."

Inhaling, Kurt was unable to move. All he could do was stare at the other boy.

"Maybe you're just the most stubborn person I've ever met in my life and you can't look past all the horrible things I've said about you and Will and James," Blaine went on, his voice rising above the sounds of the thunder outside, "and maybe that's what I love about you. I love everything about you, Kurt."

Kurt bit his tongue. "Maybe I could attempt to look past all of the things you've said, but you can't do the same for me. You only see me as the guy who you think cheated on you with two guys I don't even like in the first place. If you can't look past my mistakes, how can I look past yours?"

For once, Blaine had no quick reply, and his lips parted slightly.

"I understand that you can sometimes be a little over protective, but if you can't allow me to see my friends"—he saw Blaine withdraw the smallest bit—"then I don't know how this can fixed. Maybe it can't, and maybe we're just kidding ourselves."

"How can you say that?" His voice was dangerously low.

Kurt couldn't hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He glanced away, to the side, and the moment he heard Blaine draw a gasp, his heart jumped into his throat and he knew what Blaine's next words would be.

"Who hurt you?" Blaine was reduced to a pained whisper.

"Nothing happened," Kurt snapped, not looking him in the eye.

Blaine took a dizzy step forward. "Bull, Kurt. That's bull. You need to tell me who did this to you."

"What makes you think someone did this to me?" In retaliation, Kurt stumbled back. "I could've… run into a door, or hit myself on accident."

A shy smile flickered across his face momentarily, but it quickly fell away and was masked with concern. "You and I both know that you're too coordinated to run into a door, or hit yourself." He ducked his head. "But Kurt… Please don't lie to me about this. You can lie to me about everything else, but please, don't lie to me about this."

Kurt clenched his teeth. The way the dim lighting made Blaine's eyes glow made Kurt want to lose himself in them, tangle his hands in his dark curls. He felt the tense expression on his face slip, the blemish around his eye aching.

But the sudden boom of thunder that shook the floor ever so slightly, followed by the lightning that lit up the sky, made Kurt step back shyly, chin ducked to his chest.

"I think I should get some rest. Hopefully, James will take me to get my car tomorrow, if it hasn't been vandalized yet," he said.

Blaine's shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of James' name. "I'll take you."

"It's okay, you don't need to," Kurt said a little too quickly.

"But I want to," he persisted, taking a step closer to him. He looked tired, agitated.

Kurt said nothing.

"Will you tell me who hurt you?" Blaine asked after a long sigh. "Eventually?"

"No. It doesn't matter anymore."

Looking like he would complain, he opened his mouth. But he decided against it at the last second. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb, and he licked his lips, all signs, Kurt knew, that showed his anxiety.

Kurt ran his free hand through his damp hair and shivered. "I should probably clean up and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning, Blaine."

He turned on his heel and strode down the hall towards the dorm rooms.

* * *

"Oh, my god! I can't believe you're alive right now! We all thought you were dead!"

Kurt held the phone away from him as loud bouts of chattering came from the other end. He sat at the foot of his bed, swaddled in pajamas. He had taken a soothing, hot shower to warm to chilled nerves, but he still felt a shiver rip up his spine.

Now, he had Cody and the others on a call and he was seriously regretting that decision.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Kurt said loudly into the phone. "Just calm down. I didn't die."

"Well, of course not, because then we wouldn't be talking to you right now!" yelled Thomas.

"Thank goodness. You're back at Dalton, right?" Mercedes added.

Kurt ran a hand through his damp hair. "Yes, I'm at Dalton. I got a ride from—"

"Don't say his name!" Wes shouted.

"—James," he finished flatly. "He didn't mind picking me up, and he didn't mind getting wet in the process. And he's taking me back tomorrow to get my car from the side of the road."

Someone, most likely David, groaned in the background. "Kurt, you should know to not ask strangers for rides. More often than not, you'll find yourself at the bottom of a ravine with the guy's hands around your throat. It's like one of those crime shows."

"No, it's not, David," Kurt said. He crawled to the head of the bed and burrowed under the covers. "James wouldn't kill me."

"He wouldn't because he's in love with you," Cody grumbled bitterly. "Of course he wouldn't kill you."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Okay, if you're all going to be this negative about me _surviving_, I'm hanging up. I'll see you all when you get up here. Goodnight."

With that, he ended the call and flung the phone to the foot of the bed.

* * *

The next morning, Kurt did not want to get out of his bed. Though he always turned off his alarm clock for the weekend, he somehow found a way to wake up right at six without fail. Now, he turned onto his side and yanked the covers tighter over his shoulders.

On his bedside table, the clock stared at him with glowing green letters. His phone was hooked into it, charging, and it showed a few new text messages and a missed call. Kurt sighed and ducked under the sheets.

It had looked like this when he had woken up randomly in the middle of the night. He assumed it was Cody and the others trying to get a hold of him and he left it alone.

Finally after twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, with gentle light starting to flood through the blinds, Kurt pushed back the sheets and carefully climbed out of bed. He stretched his arms over his head and padded to the bathroom, where he dressed and smoothed out his hair.

When he returned to his bed, only ten minutes had passed. He sighed, grabbed his phone from the docking station, and headed out into the hallway.

At six-thirty in the morning on a Sunday, the corridors were eerily silent. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop and Kurt's heartbeat sounded in his ears, though it wasn't pounding erratically the way it usually did when he could hear it.

All the lights were off except one lamp that sat on a table about halfway down the hall. No light peeked out from under any doors and there were no loud noises. For once, everything looked to be simple and at peace.

Kurt eased the door of his room shut and tucked his phone in his pocket. Across the hallway, he couldn't help but notice a door halfway open; darkness was all he could see. He held his hands tightly at his sides to refrain himself from running across the hall and slamming it shut.

It wasn't like Blaine to keep his door open.

Sighing, Kurt paced down the hall.

The main hallway was no different. Most of the lights were off except one or two, and light streamed in through the glass doors that led outside. Kurt absently wrapped his arms around his torso as he walked, but he skidded to a halt when he passed the common room.

The doors to the common room were wide open, the blinds on the windows in the back drawn tightly. In the corner, the floor lamp beamed brightly. What made Kurt bite his lip was the sight of Blaine, laying on the floor at the base of the window seat.

Blaine was positioned on his side with his right arm under his head and his left curled to his chest, which rose and fell with steady breaths. His dark hair was disheveled and stuck up in some places and made Kurt want to go over and smooth it down. The pair of reading glasses that was propped on his nose was lopsided. Books formed a semicircle around him, most of them cracked open to a certain page.

For once, he almost looked peaceful.

Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek and waited before turning on his heel and striding down the hall. Only when he was in the kitchen, doors shut behind him, was he able to take a deep breath. He was pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb when he noticed that he was not the only person in the room.

From across the kitchen, Diego stared at him oddly, eyes narrowed. He was frozen in the act of pouring coffee into a mug, with the carafe in his other hand. He looked warily at Kurt.

"Are you doing alright, Kurt?" he asked quietly, then filled his mug.

Kurt slumped against the door. "I'm fine. What are you doing up this early? I didn't expect there to be anyone else here."

"Well, I didn't expect anyone else to be here, either, but I guess we were both wrong," Diego said. He placed the carafe back and cradled his mug in his hands. Cautiously he took a sip.

"Do you usually get up this early? It's a weekend, and everything, and I thought…" Kurt trailed off and gave a shrug.

Diego rolled his eyes. "Only on the weekends. Someone's got to be up to take care of the ones who don't go home on the weekends. Plus, what if Ronnie decides to set the kitchen on fire via blender and I'm at home? Then I've got hell to pay." He chuckled shortly and took another sip.

Kurt tried for a smile and he ran his fingers over the hem of his shirt to give his hands something to do.

"So why are you here? I thought you were back home for prom."

At those words, Kurt straightened and he blinked. "Um, I was. It's a long story."

Diego glanced at the clock, then back at him. "Is that were you got that shiner, too?"

Sucking in a breath, Kurt touched his eye and winced when it ached. His throat felt dry and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes focused on the other boy. "Like I said, it's a long story."

Diego glanced at the clock, then back at him. "I think we've got a good hour before anyone else decides to wake up."

"Maybe two," Kurt mused. "I mean, it's six-thirty. No one in their right mind would be up at six-thirty."

"You're up at six-thirty," he pointed, gesturing to him with his mug.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "You are, too. I guess that makes us even."

Diego nodded and leaned his elbows against the counter, taking another long sip. "So, tell me about the prom. Were there any hot girls?"

Feeling his face flush, Kurt stared pointedly at him and did not say a word.

"I'm kidding, Kurt." He cleared his throat. "But seriously, tell me everything. And don't skimp on the black eye part, either."

And for the next twenty minutes, Kurt talked. He talked about Rachel calling him to invite him to prom, and about the other boys wanting to go and coming despite Kurt's protests, and the scuffle in the bathroom with Karofsky. By the end of the story, he had set down his cup of coffee and was using his hands to animate his words. He finished with driving down to Dalton in the rain, and how he had James pick him up. Though he left out Blaine.

When he finally paused to take a breath, Diego held up his hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around his coffee cup.

"Sounds like a very eventful night," he commented and took a sip. "But really, you should probably tell someone about this guy. The one who punched you."

Kurt shook his head. "I can't. We go to different schools now. It's not like anyone can do anything about it."

"There's always getting a restraining order," Diego suggested. He pushed away from the counter and blew steam from the lip of his mug.

"I don't want to get that involved," he murmured. "I mean, he's already caused enough problems for me that the principal at McKinley made our parents come in for a conference."

Diego pursed his lips. "Then stay away from him."

"It's not that simple," Kurt shot back, gripping the edge of the counter.

"Why not? You practically live at Dalton for most of the year. I don't see why staying away from this guy is so much of hassle."

"It's in the summer, Diego. I can't stay away from my family in the summer. I have to come home."

The Precursor looked grim. "Then stay in your house, or go out when you're with other people. I don't see why it's that hard."

Kurt fell silent and he glanced at the clock on the wall; it was nearly seven o'clock. An uncomfortable stillness fell between he and the other boy, one that was disrupted by the mechanic ticking of the clock. Finally, when Diego opened his mouth to say something, Kurt pushed away from the counter.

"I should probably get going," he mumbled under his breath.

"Go where?" Diego asked, watching him closely.

Kurt rinsed his hands under the faucet to give himself something to do. "I need to find James. He's taking me to get my truck."

"Oh." Diego's expression fell, resembling something like what Cody would wear upon facing Will. "I see."

"What is your problem with him?" Kurt snapped suddenly. He wrenched the faucet off with the jerk of his wrist and roughly dried his hands on a towel. Turning, he glared at the Precursor.

Diego didn't look the least bit startled by Kurt's outburst. He calmly took another sip of coffee. "The same as everybody else's. He can hardly take care of himself, Kurt. He's a mess, and he's not exactly the likeable type."

"He's going to be fine," Kurt insisted sharply as he strode toward the doors. "James is going to be fine. I think everyone needs to lay off and keep their opinions to themselves."

"Why are you defending him?" he asked simply, his knuckles turning white as he grasped the handle of his mug. His gaze was hard.

Kurt reached for the door handle and yanked it open, storming into the hall without answering. The question followed him and felt as heavy as a lead weight on his shoulder, dragging him down as he walked.

* * *

Outside, the sky was a certain shade that Kurt supposed was comprised of yellow, pink, and orange, all swirled and painted together. The sun was just coming up on the horizon and the light it cast made the grass look brighter, if that was possible. The grass was all Kurt was staring at as he slipped out of the dorm building and headed out back to the sports fields.

After snapping at Diego, he had gone to the South wing in hopes of finding James, but he had found a very sleepy Simon in the kitchen instead. When Kurt had asked where James was, Simon had shrugged and fiddled with the toaster.

"I think he's out on the baseball field," he had murmured sleepily. "Don't ask me why; he's just crazy. I mean, it's the weekend. You're supposed to be sleeping in, for Pete's sake!"

"Then why aren't you sleeping right now?" Kurt had asked in reply.

Simon had shrugged again. "Because someone's got to be awake to keep the rest of the wing in line," he grumbled. "And besides, I'm always waiting to catch Fitzroy sneaking in after curfew. I'd love to see the look on his face if I locked him out."

Now, Kurt stared down at the grass as he walked, shielding his eyes from the sun. With each step, he felt the grass crunch under his feet. As he approached the baseball diamonds, he heard the gentle whir of a machine.

Carson was stretched out on the bleachers, one arm thrown over his face, his chest rising and falling with even, slow breaths. Kurt moved carefully around the bleachers without waking him up and came up to the chain link fence, threading his fingers through the wire.

James was at home plate. He gripped a bat in his hands, cocking it over his shoulder, preparing to swing. Instead of athletic clothes, he donned a simple pair of jeans that hung loosely on him and a plain t-shirt. Without his uniform, he looked more at ease, not as stiff.

Out on the pitcher's mound sat a tall machine with a thick wire snaking from the back that connected to an outlet in the dugout; it was a pitching machine. A blonde figure sat Indian style next to it with his hand on a small pile of baseballs in front of him, feeding them into the machine every so often, and it took a moment for Kurt to realize that it was Will.

"What do you _want, _Hummel?"

Kurt jumped and whipped around. On the bleachers, Carson had dropped his arm from his face and was looking lazily at Kurt. He scratched his head and pushed himself into an upright position.

"Nothing," Kurt answered finally. "I mean—"

"You want to talk to James, I'm guessing," Carson mumbled flatly. He collapsed tiredly back onto the bench and rubbed his face.

"No." Kurt stiffed. "I mean, yes, I do."

The blonde nodded. "Of course. You wouldn't come out here just to see little ole me."

"I don't think anyone would go anywhere to see you."

Carson peeked at Kurt from under his arm. "Ouch. That one hurt."

Kurt shrugged and set his jaw. "Why are you out here?"

"Batting practice." He gestured to the field, where Will was feeding another ball into the machine. The ball snapped into the air and James swung at it, tipping it and sending it back against the fence behind him. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his shoe and arranged the bat on his shoulder.

"That doesn't tell me anything," Kurt said. "It tells me why James is out here, not you and Will."

Carson swung his legs over the side of the bench and sat up, his blonde hair falling in his face. "He has attachment issues, if you didn't already know. He said he couldn't go out here without me or Will. As much as he needed our moral support, I think he needed someone to run the pitching machine more."

"But you're not the one running the machine."

"And we see who got the short end of the straw on that deal, don't we?" He grinned and jerked a thumb at Will, who looked close to falling asleep on the pitcher's mound.

Kurt shook his head. "How long have you been out here?"

"Since six," he answered lethargically. He hopped off the bench and stretched his arms over his head. "And I hate James with every fiber of my being for it." Running a hand through his hair, he stalked off to the dugout, leaving Kurt standing there.

Awkwardly Kurt followed him, not knowing what else to do. Carson trudged into the dugout and yanked the cord that connected the pitching machine to the outlet, and the hum of electricity ceased immediately. Out on the field, Will fed another ball into it, but it merely dropped onto the ground lifelessly.

"Will, stop playing with me. Turn the machine back on," James called irritably from home plate. He let the bat fall slack on his shoulder.

The blonde raised his head at the sound of his name, then he glanced at the machine beside him. He clambered to his feet to examine it. "I didn't turn it off. It just shut off by—Oh. Goddammit, Carson. You're an ass."

"Not my fault. Blame Hummel," Carson called defensively, striding onto the field.

Kurt felt the blood rush to his face and he lingered outside the doorway of the dugout. He avoided Will's narrow-eyed glare and crossed the field to home plate, where James was standing.

"Good morning," James said brightly, far too awake for this time of morning on a weekend. He dropped the bat from his shoulder and leaned against it.

"Morning," Kurt mumbled, chewing his lip. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but why are you out here? It's early on a weekend. You should still be asleep, not out here."

The dark haired boy shrugged. "I could be asking you the same thing." He paused to let out a long breath. "And I'm out here because I couldn't sleep. I would've been out here at three, but I don't think Will or Carson would've appreciated the wakeup call." He gestured to the pitcher's mound, where Will was gathering stray baseballs.

"I don't think they appreciated it in the first place," Kurt said. He shook his head. "I was, um, wondering if you would take me to get my truck? It's still on the highway from last night."

James raised his eyebrows with realization. "Oh, that's right. We can go now, if you'd like."

"That would be nice." Kurt shifted on his feet.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Will and Carson gather baseballs and pack up the pitching machine. James collected his bat and his bag and dug out his keys from a pocket, jingling them in his hand. Shrugging the bag over his shoulder, he headed off the field, Kurt following close behind.

"Shouldn't you help them?" Kurt asked and jerked a thumb at the two blondes, both of whom were glaring back at he and James.

James shrugged. "Eh, they'll be fine. They owe me, anyway."

"How do they owe you?" he asked. The breeze that washed over them brought scents of fresh grass and pollen, making Kurt wrinkle his nose.

"I help Carson with homework. Right now, I'm helping him cram or finals," the boy said, sighing. They reached the parking lot and he clicked his keys to make one of the cars chirp.

Kurt licked his lips. "And what about Will?"

James hesitated, playing with the keys in his hand. "I play for him. He makes me drag my keyboard out and play, and sometimes he'll sing with whatever I'm playing, even if it's something without words. I don't understand him."

Without replying, Kurt nodded as they approached a small blue car. But when James reached out to open the driver's door, he froze. Slowly he took a step back and moved to stand in front of the car.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked quietly.

James was pale, all the color—if there had been any in the first place—gone from his cheeks. "My front left tire is flat."

This made Kurt furrow his brows. But there was something stuck in the front tire, something that made it wilt and lose air. The car leaned slightly to the side from it, and James ground his teeth and dropped his bag to the ground to kneel. He ran his hand over the tire before running over something sharp. When he removed his hand, he held it palm up: a large nail rested in his hand.

"Oh, goddammit," James muttered bitterly. He got to hit feet and tightened his hand around the nail.

"Do you have a spare?" Kurt wondered.

He shook his head solemnly and he took in a long breath. "Sadly, no. I didn't think I would need one this soon. I used my first spare in February, when I came here. I ran over a broken bottle and had to pull over on the highway to change it."

Kurt pinched his lip between his teeth. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He rubbed his face, pink painting his cheeks. "I'm sorry about this, Kurt. I really wish I could help you with this—"

"Everything's fine," he said and raised a hand. "Seriously, it's okay. I can just get a ride from someone else." He tried not to think about the fact that Blaine was the only other person at the school, aside from Diego. "And you should be worried about your tire, not about me."

James brushed hair out of his face and his thin lips pressed together in a line. "I know. I'll have Will or Carson take me later."

"Okay," Kurt said and he wrapped his arms around his torso, taking a step back toward the school. "And I do owe you for picking me up last night. If you hadn't picked up the phone, I don't know where I would be right now."

A faint smile crossed his face and he glanced down at the ground, almost shyly. "It's nothing. You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you something," he persisted shortly. "James, don't argue with me. I'm going to make it up to you, even if you don't want me to."

James rolled his eyes and leaned his weight on one foot. "Alright, alright. Just nothing big."

"Darn. There goes the parade with the confetti," Kurt said mockingly. He took another step back towards the school.

"You don't have to do anything." He flushed pink again. "Seriously, Kurt."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm going back to the school to see if someone can give me a ride," he said carefully. "Do you want me to see if I can find Will or Carson for you—"

"Hey, thanks for helping us clean up!" a voice barked from behind him.

Both very exhausted and cross, Will and Carson trudged up the green toward them. Carson looked dead on his feet, practically leaning on Will. When he saw Kurt, Will slowed his pace and kept his eyes on James.

"I thought you could handle it," James said snippily.

"Oh, we did, we're just ticked that you left it to us," Carson said in a sleepy tone. He gave a great yawn and rubbed his eyes.

Will crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you actually got us up at the crack of dawn to help you practice, and then you go off with Hummel, leaving us to pack up this one heck of a heavy machine. Tsk, tsk."

James ran his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, clearly annoyed. "I'm sorry. I'll help you next time."

"There's not going to be a next time," Carson chipped in, "because if you try to wake me up on a weekend before nine, I'll slug you."

Disregarding him, James turned to Will. "You look more hospitable than Carson is right now. I need a ride."

"To where?" The blonde looked offended.

"I have a flat in my tire and I need to get another," he said and jerked his thumb at the car.

Will wrinkled his nose. "Do it yourself."

"I cannot give myself a ride, Will," he sighed, exasperated. "My tire is _flat. _I can't just drive a car with one flat tire. I'd ruin it."

Will opened his mouth to reply, then his eyes caught Kurt standing there, and they gleamed. "Ask Hummel. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you a ride."

"I can't," Kurt piped up, "because my car is on the side of the highway right now, if you don't remember. I ran out of gas last night in the middle of a thunderstorm and James had to get me. He was going to take me to get gas, but he can't." He stopped lamely and swallowed, hard.

Will raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips into somewhat of a grin. "I remember. How unfortunate."

Kurt ducked his chin to his chest. He stared at the ground before raising his eyes to James. "Thank you, James. I'll see if Diego will take me. I hope you get your flat fixed," he said, turning on his heel and walking back toward the school.

Behind him, he heard Will address James, saying, "Alright, alright, I'll take you, come on…"

Kurt approached the side doors of the dorm building and let himself in. The hallway was completely silent, except for the low rumbling of voices coming from the common room. He peeked his head through the doorway and found Blaine and Diego sitting at the back table, each with a cup of coffee.

Blaine looked sleepy and tired, his hair without gel and completely unruly. He still had his glasses on, having not changed to contacts, and he took a slow sip of coffee from his mug. Diego sat across from him and was the first to see Kurt in the doorway.

"Good morning, again," he said somewhat happily. Kurt felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

Blaine turned in his chair and he looked at Kurt for no more than a second before dropping to the floor.

"Morning," Kurt croaked, leaning his weight against the door frame. "Diego, I, um, need a favor from you…"

"Shoot," he said and pushed his coffee mug away from him.

He was suddenly aware of how tight his chest was and how his shoulders tensed. "I need to get gas for my truck," he said plainly.

"I thought James was taking you to do that," Blaine remarked sharply. He didn't turn around to face Kurt.

Kurt wanted nothing more than to slap him upside the head, but he held his arms close to his sides. "He has a flat in his tire and doesn't have a spare. Would one of you be nice enough to take me?"

"I would," Diego said, "but I have Precursor duties to attend to."

"Like what?" Blaine snapped, his voice rising. "You're doing nothing."

He smiled warmly. "On the contrary, I'm watching over the commons."

"And so far, no trouble."

"Which is how it should stay and how it will stay, because I am staying here." He took another sip of coffee and grinned, sinking deeper into his chair.

Blaine's hand tightened around his mug to the point where his knuckles turned white. Finally, he pushed away from the table, leaving his drink, and strode past Kurt and into the hallway. Kurt froze, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Precursor duties?" he irately asked Diego. "Really?"

"You two need to get back together," was all the other boy said.

Kurt stared at him, curling his toes inside his shoes.

Blaine ducked his head back into the room, almost seeming angry. "Kurt, come on. If you want to go, I'm getting my keys," he said, then vanished into the hallway.

"You're welcome," Diego said somewhat cheerfully over the lip of his mug as he took a sip. He watched Kurt roll his eyes and leave the room.

* * *

"Thank you, again."

"You've said that a few times already."

"I know, but I mean it."

Blaine didn't reply, only tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he merged lanes. He sped along the highway, the needle on the odometer just under sixty. His lips were pursed in a way that made Kurt sink back in his seat.

"So," Blaine said finally, "where's your truck? And if you say it's on the highway, I might have to hit you."

Kurt dropped his shoulders and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He pointed out the windshield to a red blur on the other side of the highway. "I think that was it," he said, turning to glance over his shoulder.

"But first, we need to stop at the gas station," Blaine reminded him, his voice without color. He jerked his chin to the backseat, where Kurt's plastic gas tank sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry about the smell." Kurt rubbed his temples.

"It's fine."

They rode out the last ten minutes in silence. Kurt filled up his gas tank at the closest station and every step he took felt like he had lead weights in his shoes and there was a brick in his stomach. He dropped down into the passenger seat and held the tank in his lap, though the smell made his eyes water.

Blaine pulled to the shoulder of the road when they came back upon Kurt's truck. Gladly and almost hastily, Kurt got out to inspect his car. Nothing had been taken or vandalized at all, and he was grateful. But, as he filled up the tank, he could feel Blaine's cold gaze on him.

He tossed the empty tank into the trunk and wiped his hands on his pants. He found Blaine leaning against his car with his arms over his chest.

"Thank you for doing this," Kurt said quietly, sure that the passing cars would drown out his voice.

Silently, Blaine pushed away from his car and walked toward him, his chin ducked to his chest. He only raised his head when he stood right in front of Kurt. His hazel eyes were warm, which made Kurt set his jaw.

"No problem," Blaine mumbled. Absently, he reached out and took one of Kurt's hands in his own.

Kurt froze, his blood turning to ice. "Blaine, stop."

"You can't hide from this forever, Kurt," he said, louder. He tugged Kurt closer to him, almost until their chests touched, and Kurt's heart hammered in his chest. "You can't hide from me forever."

Kurt's face flooded with heat. "I can if I want to."

"I can't believe you're still upset about it." Blaine tilted his head to the side. "Just because I said a few things—"

"A few things? You accused me of cheating on you and being unfaithful to you, and—" Suddenly he became aware of Blaine's thumb rubbing circles in the back of his hand, the way Blaine licked his lip nervously, the way his own knees shook. He turned his head.

"Your eye looks better," Blaine murmured and he brought his hand up to Kurt's face, tracing the sore skin under Kurt's eye.

"And I think it would get better if you would _stop touching it,_" Kurt remarked, swatting his hand away.

The abrupt blare of a horn from the road made Blaine jump back. Kurt let out a small yelp and stared at the road. A car had pulled up on the shoulder of the road behind Kurt's truck and through the windshield, Kurt could see Wes peering out at him, then turning excitedly to the backseat.

Before Blaine or Kurt could begin to say anything, a door flung open on one side and Cody burst out onto the road. He scrambled over to Kurt and nearly knocked him over with a hug.

"I can't believe you're okay!" the small boy squealed.

Kurt caught his balance. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" He cast a look at Blaine over Cody's shoulder, but Blaine was staring at Wes and David as they got out and joined them on the road, cars zipping past them.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The weekend of fencing finals and the baseball playoffs arrives and everything is up for grabs, including sanity._

* * *

Reviews would be nice. Also, I need thoughts: if I were to write another Glee fic centered around Dalton, but not around Blaine and Kurt, would you read it or am I wasting my time, even though I've already written seven chapters of it?


	33. Finals

Hello, readers.

I appreciate those of you who have stuck it out this long to read this story. It means the world to me to know that people actually like my work (hopefully) and that it's good enough to be read.

This coming Wednesday, I will be starting band camp, which requires basically every single hour of every single day for the rest of August. I really don't want to do it, but I have to. I won't be updating as much as I usually do, but I will try to pop in as much as possible.

Which really sucks because if I don't have time to update, I won't have time to actually write. Which sucks because I have a million story ideas floating around in my head. I actually have one story almost halfway written right now (it doesn't feature Kurt or Blaine, so I don't know if many of you will read it) and I'm sort of obsessed with it.

So if that kind of story appeals to you, where there is no Kurt or Blaine but it's still the Dalton Academy Warblers, I'd appreciate it if you would send me a message or review or something.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but if I did, I would keep Grant Gustin on the show until the end of time, because I adore his meerkat face.

* * *

**Finals**

* * *

**Competition brings out the best in products and the worst in people. – David Sarnoff**

* * *

Crisp, warm air brushed along Kurt's face as he stepped outside, shrugging his light jacket over his arms. It was the middle of May, but he still felt the need to wear something over his T-shirt. Since it was a Saturday, he was not required to wear his uniform.

He put his hands in his pockets and paced to the other side of the building, then paused. From where he stood, both baseball diamonds and the soccer field were visible. The diamonds were already alive with action and energy, figures darting back and forth and boys filling the stands. It was almost eight-thirty and the first game was scheduled to start in half an hour. This game would be between South and East, and Kurt started in the direction of the fields.

Today was the day of the baseball finals. A series of games would take place between the wings, and it followed the rules of any other tournament: The four teams would play until one victor pulled to the top.

Today was also the fencing finals, Kurt realized when he caught sight of the soccer fields, which were being used for that competition. Already, the green fields were dotted with figures, all clad in white uniforms, waving sabres in the air. Kurt inwardly cursed himself for immediately trying to pick out Blaine when he knew he wouldn't be able to see much of anything from such a distance.

Shaking his head, he made his way across the grassy campus to the baseball diamonds. He edged past people left and right until he arrived at one of the dugouts, the one marked in emerald green. He approached the chain link fence and peered inside, seeing the South team resting, waiting.

All eyes flew to him and he felt his face flush. They all watched him like hawks, expressions cold and piercing. Then a boy scampered off the bench after a brief moment and rushed to greet him.

"Kurt," James said with a hushed excitement. His eyes were abnormally bright and he wound his fingers through the holes in the fence. "I thought you wouldn't—I'm glad you made it."

He nodded his head once and licked his lips. "Well, yeah. It's not like I can skip out on something like this."

James' bright look wilted ever so slightly, but he smiled anyway. "So, who are you rooting for today?"

"In general or in this game?" Kurt questioned. "Because if it's this game, it's South. I don't mean to bash East, but I think you'll definitely win."

He stifled a short laugh. "Thank you for your encouragement. And in general, who do you think?" he asked. He saw the hesitation flash across Kurt's face. "It's okay if you want North to win. It's your wing, after all."

Kurt let out a long breath. "I know. Can there be a tie?"

"I don't think it's possible to spilt a trophy, Kurt," James snickered, "but good try."

"Well, you can split a trophy, if you just cut off the top. Or cut it down the middle," he said. He was about to say more when he caught two blonde figures from the corner of his eye, and he automatically stepped back.

"Two, four, six, eight," Carson chanted cheesily as he and Will sauntered toward them, "who do we appreciate?" He gestured to Will.

Will shook his head sadly. "There is no way I'm going to finish that, and you know it," he said.

"That was a lame cheer," James said blandly and dropped his hands from the fence, propping them on his hips.

"But do we get points for trying?" Carson asked hopefully.

He snorted. "I don't think you get points for anything besides showing up," he said bluntly. "And Will, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be…" He mimed stabbing someone with a sword.

Will rolled his eyes. "Yes, but right now, it's North and East. I don't have to show up for another hour, give or take. So what better way to waste my sixty minutes of down time by watching the great American pastime?"

It was then that he seemed to notice Kurt standing there, and his nose twitched. "Hummel," he said flatly.

"William," Kurt replied stiffly and swallowed. There was something about the way that Will flinched at the sound of his full name that made him smile inwardly. He turned to James and said, "I think I better head off. Cody will have my head if I'm not over watching fencing matches with him. We're supposed to be cheering on Blaine." His voice hiccupped when he said the boy's name.

James puckered his lips disappointedly. "I see. Have fun with that."

"Good luck with your game. You'll do great, I know it," he said as he inched away. He started away from the dugout and he felt Will's and Carson's sharp eyes watching him as he left.

Will had not uttered a word to him since… how long ago had it been? Had the Spring Show been nearly two weeks ago? Was it really that long? It felt like the blink of an eye. Either way, the blonde had not spoken to him since the Show. Even then, it had been clear that Will did not want to talk to Kurt, considering their clash over the past, but the Spring Show seemed to have made things worse.

Kurt shook his head as he paced away. He did not want to recall any of that, but it was difficult not to, considering he was going to watch the boy who had been tangled up in that past.

He distracted himself by opening up his ears, listening to the sounds around him. The concession stand was flooded with the aroma of popcorn and the fizzy sound of soda being poured. He latched on to conversations around him, mostly bets about the team that would win this year's title. As he walked past the East dugout, he passed Simon and Adam, who were picking out of the same box of popcorn and colorfully discussing something.

"No, I completely think that East will win," Adam was saying adamantly, adjusting the glasses on his face.

Simon shook his head sadly and stuffed his face with a handful of popcorn. "No way. South has totally got it this year. We'll make it past the first bracket this year, for sure, and you and your bunch of wimpy bookworms aren't going to get in our way."

Adam smacked him on the shoulder.

"Five bucks says South wins," the boy continued, swallowing a mouthful.

"And what if East wins?" Adam said, and his voice rose half an octave.

"Then I give you five bucks."

He wrinkled his nose, hesitating. "No way."

"Then you're basically abandoning all your hope on your team," Simon said cheekily and nudged him playfully, which made him turn red in the face. "Is that really what you want?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "I'm only saying that because I don't have five dollars. Now, shut up and give me the popcorn. We'll have to buy a new box before the game even starts if you're going to keep eating at this rate…"

Kurt covered his mouth to stifle a laugh and he ducked his head. The two boys teasingly fought like this during rehearsal, and it wasn't odd to see them fight outside of class.

Following the winding sidewalk, the sounds of the baseball diamonds began to fade, but only a little. Kurt kept walking until he reached the top of the small incline, and he was able to see the soccer field.

The grass on the field was a rich green and vaguely reminded him of South's baseball uniforms. The nets on the goal posts were removed, leaving them bare, and a long white strip was placed down the middle of the field, long ways. The metal benches were kept on either side of the field for the teams, and both sets of bleachers were half filled.

Large square boxes, four of them, sat around the mat, two on each side. They were used for score keeping. On each side, a third block sat between the first two, making three on each side and six total. The third blocks were used to display the time for each bout.

From where he was standing, he could clearly see the teams. North was on the side that faced him, and East had the other side, with their backs to him. The only thing that identified one team from another was the small bracelet of color wrapped around each player's wrist. Blue for East, and red for North.

Suddenly a face grabbed his attention. Blaine was sitting on the grass, leaning against the bench. He had his head tilted back and was listening to what three lean boys were telling him. Two of them had on their uniforms, even though it was the weekend and they weren't required to wear them, while the third had on fencing gear; they all stood with a certain kind of authority.

Kurt slowed his pace a little, keeping his eyes on them. They all seemed to be the same height, though two of them had sandy colored hair; the third donned shaggy, unnaturally colored pomegranate locks. It looked close to the color of Dex's hair, though Dex's looked natural.

The trio of boys loomed over Blaine. The boy with red hair, who was the one wearing fencing attire, leaned forward to ruffle Blaine's hair. Blaine swatted his hand away with disdain and pulled himself to his feet. He crumpled the paper cup in his hand and strode away.

For a moment, Kurt's heart jumped in his chest. Who were those boys and why were they talking to Blaine? What was wrong?

His reverie broke when he saw Cody jumping up and down animatedly in the front row of the bleachers that were facing him, just behind the North benches. He had a scarf tastefully wrapped around his neck with a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt. Thomas was beside him, sitting, and kept looking between the field and the phone in his hands.

Kurt took a deep breath before starting around the field and filing into the bleachers. He made his way down to the first row and sat down beside Thomas, who looked up at him.

"Hey. Glad you could—" he started and tucked his phone away.

"Kurt!" Cody exclaimed and tackled Kurt with a hug, throwing himself on top of the countertenor before Thomas had the chance to finish his sentence.

Kurt was nearly knocked back and he pulled the smaller boy off of him. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

"Thank goodness there's no fire! That wouldn't be good," Cody chattered as Kurt pushed him away. "I mean, that would sort of be a buzz kill for today, wouldn't it?" He said something else, but he had turned back to face the field, so his words were lost.

"He's had a lot of sugar this morning," Thomas hinted, leaning over to Kurt. "He made pancakes again this morning before Blaine headed out to meet with his team and he ended up eating a lot of the batter."

Kurt smiled a little. "Then that would explain his very… jumpy state right now."

"It would," the redhead murmured and pulled out his phone again. He looked hopelessly at it.

"Who's got you on a line?" Kurt questioned and folded his hands in his lap.

Thomas looked up, startled. "What?"

He gestured to the phone in his hands.

"Oh, this." He held up the phone weakly. "I'm waiting for Marissa to text me back. We've been talking for an hour this morning." His voice swelled slightly.

"Do you really like her?" Kurt asked him quietly, making sure Cody didn't hear. But even if he had talked through a megaphone, Cody would have been too preoccupied with his sugar high to comprehend it.

"I do, actually," Thomas said and rested his phone on his knee. "And it's funny, because I've been chasing girls all my life, starting in kindergarten, and I never have any luck. And then—bam." He paused for a second. "Here comes Marissa, punching me by accident. I didn't even have to mercilessly chase her to get her to notice me." He ducked his head and laughed.

Kurt leaned back. "Do your parents know about her?"

"Oh, of course. I think it would be a little hard to hide a girlfriend from them," he answered. "I mean, I know she's not in the state anymore, but… you know. It's just this thing you have to tell your parents about. It's like, 'Hey, Mom, Dad, I've finally found the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.'" He grinned.

"I'm glad you feel that way," Kurt told him. His eyes followed Blaine absently as the boy paced back and forth in his gear; it appeared that he would be the one fencing the first bout for North. "And now, the big question: how does Adam feel about you dating his sister?"

Thomas sighed. "He's actually okay with it, which is very surprising. I thought he would've slapped me and told me no, but he didn't. I think he's just thankful that his sister didn't end up with a crackhead or a tattoo artist."

Kurt nodded his head.

Now, Blaine was filling another cup of water from the cooler that sat at the end of the bench. He sipped on it tentatively, the way he did when he was out-of-his-mind nervous. His eyes flickered over the lip of the cup and found Kurt sitting there, in the front row.

Freezing, Kurt felt his breath hitched in his throat and he was unable to look away. Blaine stopped as well, and he must've swallowed wrong, because he started coughing. His cheeks flushed pink, either from the coughing or out of embarrassment, and the corners of his lips lifted the smallest bit.

Kurt flashed a quick smile before dropping his head. He felt Thomas nudging him in the ribs.

"If you still like him like I think you do," he said under his breath, "then just talk to him. I know he wants to talk, that's for sure."

"Really. Because his several attempts to talk to me have all succeeded," Kurt muttered sarcastically.

Thomas merely stared at him.

He cleared his throat. "How do you know?" he asked a little more sharply than he intended.

Thomas sat back and checked his phone; no new messages. "Well, because he looks at you in this sort of…" He stopped, pursed his lips thoughtfully. "In this apologetic, puppy-ish way when you're not looking. And mostly at dinner, because you don't pay attention at dinner."

Kurt felt his cheeks flame. "I pay attention at dinner. Just not to him."

He shrugged. "Either way, he looks at you like he wants you again," he said bluntly, "and I think you should give him another chance."

"I'm not going to do anything unless stops being so thick-headed about everything," he said crossly and knitted his arms over his chest. "Just because James is my friends doesn't mean that we still can't… be in a relationship. But to him, it does, and even talking to Will takes everything a whole two steps back."

Thomas licked his lips. "Okay. But seriously, just talk to him. It's sort of killing me and the rest of the guys to see you two go at it back and forth, back and forth."

"I've already made my point. I refuse to even attempt to make even ground until he apologizes." He stood up hastily and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Do you want to be happy?" he questioned and half rose.

Kurt stopped and leaned against the railing. Behind him, he heard the sounds of the coach talking and of sabres whipping through the air as others practiced. He resisted the urge to turn and look, and instead stared at Thomas.

"What?" he said faintly.

"I said," the redhead repeated, tugging at the collar of his shirt, "do you want to be happy? Because if you do, the only times I've ever seen you happy were when you were with Blaine."

Kurt swallowed over the lump in his throat and his eyes dropped down to his shoes. He could feel Thomas' gaze boring holes into his forehead.

"I'm going to see if the baseball game has started," he said rigidly, and fled the bleachers.

* * *

The game between South and East had not progressed much when Kurt returned to the fields. The scores were both at zero and they were only beginning the second inning.

Kurt climbed into the bleachers nearest the South dugout. He avoided sitting anywhere near the blondes and plopped down in front of Simon and Adam, who were whispering with their heads low and together. Simon must've said something annoying, because Adam chucked a handful of popcorn at him a moment later.

He rested his chin in his hands and watched pitch after pitch. It would have been more exciting if South had been fielding, but they were not. From the corner of his eye, he saw Carson and Will crowding the fence, talking to James.

It was a slow inning, Kurt mused to himself, and soon it was over. The score hadn't changed. The fourth inning rolled past and after it ended, Kurt jumped down from the bleachers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

* * *

When Kurt returned to the soccer field forty-five minutes later, he spotted two boys sitting where he had been earlier. Wes and David sat behind them, boring holes in the backs of the boys' heads with their stares.

Kurt climbed back into the bleachers and carefully edged around the two boys, sitting down on the other side of Cody, who was still a bit jittery.

"What's happening right now?" he asked and folded his hands in his lap.

"They're in the middle of a break," Cody answered calmly. All of the energy must have been drained from him. "It's still North against East, and Blaine's the last the play."

Kurt nodded in reply and fiddled with a button on the cuff of his jacket. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned halfway.

"Hello. I don't think we've had the chance to introduce ourselves."

The two unfamiliar boys had moved and now sat behind Kurt, leaning forward on their knees, identical smiles covering their faces.

One of them, the one with the tan skin and the dusting of freckles across his nose, continued with, "My name is Aubrey Hewitt."

"Gabriel Peterson," the other said. Unlike the first, his light complexion was completely clear of freckles and other blemishes. His eyes were the color of chocolate and his teeth, when he parted his lips enough in a smile, were white enough to be featured in a toothpaste commercial.

"Hello," Kurt said uneasily. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The first boy, Aubrey, chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not. We were only hoping to meet you."

"See, we've heard a lot about you, Kurt Hummel," Gabriel added with a grin.

Kurt straightened his posture, raising his chin a fraction. "And how exactly do you know my name?"

At that moment, Thomas leaned over, brushing hair from his face. "Hey, numbskulls. If you want to support East, you're in the wrong bleachers."

"Shove off, Reid. We're talking to Kurt, not you," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

Thomas stared icily at them. "I think Kurt would do without you talking to him."

"Oh, come on, Thomas," Aubrey said, a bit gentler, his voice fluid. "We only wanted to ask him a few questions. Nothing big."

With a huff, Thomas cast warning glances at them before leaving the bleachers, muttering something about getting food from the concession stand. The two boys shared a humorous glance that made Kurt want to hit them both in the face.

"We hear you're… involved with the popular Blaine Anderson," Aubrey said, his face lighting up when he said Blaine's name.

"Involved how?" Kurt questioned. The words made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Gabriel chewed on one of his nails; he faintly reminded Kurt of Will, with the habit of chewing his nails. "Oh, you know. Holding hands, sucking face. That sort of involvement."

Kurt felt his face grow red and he pressed his lips together tightly.

"Oh, don't be so quiet about it," Aubrey urged gently. "We have no problem with it at all. We were only hoping to meet the famous Kurt Hummel. After all, you're dating one of the best fencers on the North team."

"Dat_ed_," he corrected sharply. He saw interest flash across their faces. "We used to date, and now we're not."

Gabriel dropped his shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear that. You looked like you were a lovely couple."

"Okay, what do you want? Surely you didn't come over here to prod me about my relationship with Blaine," Kurt said flatly. He folded his arms over his chest.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow and he nudged Gabriel. "I see this little one's smarter than the average birdy," he said quietly. He cleared his throat and said louder, "Gabriel and I are on the Elites. Surely you've heard of the Elites before."

Kurt nodded his head slightly. "I've heard a few things."

"Good. Then you know we're some of the best fencers from all four wings," Gabriel cheered happily. "The Elites take the best from each wing and bam, we're a sort of club. I come from South—"

"And I'm in West," Aubrey finished.

Kurt stared at them. "And what about the other guy? The one I saw you with earlier."

"Oh, that's Jackson Finch," Gabriel said with a laugh. "He's on North, and he should be preparing to start his bout in a few minutes." He craned his neck to scan the field, where boys in white were stretching and warming up; Blaine was among them.

Kurt nodded. "So why do you want to talk to me?"

"Well, there's this little thing about Blaine that makes him positively the _best _fencer on the North team," Aubrey said without hesitating. "And even in his freshman year, he was one of the best. Even better than Jackson, in fact."

"So we invited him to the Elites and he stayed for a year," Gabriel said, his voice drooping. "But then he quit, and we lost him. We're hoping to get him back for next year."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "And you wanted me to know this… why?"

"We know you have a close relationship with Blaine," Aubrey said, "and we were hoping you would talk to him. You know, knock a little sense into him and get him to join the Elites next year. He has one more year left, and what better way to finish high school than be a part of one of the most exclusive clubs in the school?"

"I don't know," Kurt said warily. "If there was a reason to quit in the first place, I don't think he would want to join again."

"Well, that's where you come in," Gabriel said and nudged him casually in the shoulder, as if they had been friends for the longest time. "We want you to talk to him about. Work some of your Hummel charm on him."

He shook his head, wrinkling his nose slightly. Everything about the two boys made him squirm in his seat. "Again, I don't know."

Rolling his eyes, Aubrey leaned back on his hands. "Oh, come on Kurt. You'd be doing the Elites a favor. We would have our best fencer and, therefore, we would have someone to send to the State fencing meet next year."

Gabriel nodded enthusiastically. "The State meet in the most important thing we have to look forward to every year. If Blaine was still with us, we would have totally sent him, but seeing as he's not, we had to send someone else."

"Why not either of you?" Kurt said, and he kept his lips from turning up into a wry smile.

The two boys sat there, clearly unhappy.

"Let's just say we didn't want to go this year," Gabriel said briskly.

"And besides, the State meet takes place in Columbus, and it's today," Aubrey added hastily. "We've already sent someone down there to represent us. If we wanted to go, we would have to get in a car and book it. There's no time."

Kurt held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it. So Blaine is the best of the best?"

"That's correct," Gabriel said, his voice toning down a few notches.

"What about Will?"

Aubrey squinted at him as if he'd sprouted arms from his forehead. "Who?"

"William Fitzroy," Kurt said carefully. "What about him? He was on the Elites freshman year, wasn't he?"

Gabriel sighed. "Ah yes, William. Dear old Will," he said meticulously, and caught a glance at Aubrey. "He was the one who quit because Blaine did, right?"

Aubrey nodded in confirmation.

"Eh, he wasn't _that _good. We didn't lose anything special in that deal," Gabriel said, brushing the thought of the blonde aside. "I mean, he was okay, but he wasn't the best. We weren't that sorry to see him go. Not as sorry as we were for Blaine."

From his tone, Kurt guessed that Will was better than Gabriel. That much was clear.

"Whatever you say," Kurt said and faced forward.

"But seriously," Aubrey said, grabbing his shoulder, "would you consider talking to Blaine for us?"

He jerked his hand off. "Why can't you talk to him for yourselves?"

Gabriel leaned back on his hands. "We did, right before the coaches kicked us off the field, but he wasn't very hospitable with us. I swear, his glare was sharper than the point of a knife," he said. "But whatever. He'll end up coming back."

"He will," Aubrey chorused. "I mean, he should. He has nothing else to do but waste his time in the choir."

Kurt pinched his lips together.

"No bashing choir!" Wes finally said from a few seats over, as he had been silent the entire time. "You can bash everything else in the world, but if you bash choir, you're going _down_." He made the move to stand, but David held him steady.

"I'm not bashing choir," Aubrey said smoothly. "I'm only saying Blaine could be doing better things than sing in a choir."

"I have an idea," Cody said loudly and everyone looked at him, as he never usually raised his voice. His voice dropped. "The bouts are starting, and Blaine's up. I think we should be polite and watch."

Kurt sighed in relief as the chatter behind him silenced, with the exception of Aubrey and Gabriel as they whispered to each other.

Out on the field, the referee idled by the long white mat, a stopwatch in his hand. Off to the side, a boy with a bright blue band around his wrist was talking to his coach. On the opposite side, Blaine had his head down, staring at the ground; he was alone, waiting for the referee to start.

Finally, the official called every to attention after a few minutes. The East boy broke away from his coach and came to stand by the official, and Blaine did as well. They listened as the ref listed off the rules and then parted to each end of the mat, shrugging on their masks.

"En garde!" the ref shouted and his thumb hovered over the stopwatch. "Pret!"

Blaine sunk into a low, defensive crouch and raised his sabre. The East boy did as well, though he looked less confident in himself.

"Allez!"

As soon as the ref hit the button, which started the time on the bigger blocks, Blaine instantly started forward. He jabbed at his opponent with his sabre, the weapon making thwipping noises in the air with each strike.

Then, there was a petite ding, and a number appeared on one of the score blocks. Blaine had scored a point.

Kurt leaned over to Cody. "Is this an eight minute?" he asked.

Cody nodded. "Either eight minutes, or when someone reaches eight touches."

Another ding made both boys look forward. Blaine had scored another point, and it didn't look like he was going to tire anytime soon.

The bout between Blaine and the East boy didn't last more than five minutes at the most. After the first two points, it was a given Blaine would win. He moved quick, darting back and forth, dodging his opponent's strikes and attacks. Eventually, after another ding had sounded and another point appeared on Blaine's block, the referee called the game. The East boy left the mat, ripping off his mask, and plopped down on the bench, clearly disappointed.

Blaine, on the other hand, removed his mask with a sense of pride. He received a few pats on the back from the others on North, and he filled a cup of water. He brushed hair from his face, and spotted Kurt over the lip of his cup.

He smiled.

* * *

For the next four hours, Kurt paced back and forth between the two games. He spent a little while watching the fencing bouts, keeping a close eye out for Blaine, as much as he tried not to admit it, and the rest of the time was spent watching the baseball games.

The baseball games took much longer than any of the bouts and Kurt found himself spending the majority of his time there. They were tedious, tying Kurt to the diamonds for forty-five minutes at a time. Now, he rested his chin in his hand as he witnessed the last half inning of the South versus East game. Pulling out his phone, he found that it was nearly eleven-thirty. It had only been three hours since the start of the day, since the start of the game.

Tucking his phone away, Kurt returned to the game.

James was out on the mound, pitching. He had been South's principle pitcher the entire game and he never faltered, not even once. It amazed Kurt how someone could pitch for an entire inning and then head up to the plate to bat five minutes later.

The dark haired boy looked suddenly pale, as if all the color had been washed from his face in a hurry, and he kicked at the dust with the toe of his shoe as if wanting to waste time. But he had been looked washed out all morning, Kurt noticed, so why would this be such a difference now?

On the field, James stretched out his arms in front of him, the ball in his hands, and he spotted Kurt sitting in the bleachers. Their eyes met for a split second, and he saw Kurt give a petite smile. Then his eyes snapped to the figure that was slipping into the bleachers. It surprised him to see Carson daring to sit beside Kurt.

The short grunt of the umpire snapped him from his reverie and he readied himself to pitch.

In the stands, Kurt ducked his head. James had caught him staring and for some reason, he felt his face catch fire. But the heat disappeared when he spied a figure dressed dark clothing slip into the bleachers, blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

Kurt bristled as Carson sat down next to him, and he held back the urge to lean away. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be supporting Will?"

Carson rubbed the back of his neck and lifted his shoulders somewhat sheepishly. He shifted. "Will doesn't play for who knows how long. It's West and North right now."

"So you decided to come watch the baseball finals," Kurt said and raised an eyebrow.

"That's correct," Carson replied coolly.

"And you're just allowed to leave like this?" he asked. "I mean, wouldn't Will get mad at you if you left?"

The blonde gave another shrug. "No, he wouldn't. Honestly, he agrees time would be better wasted watching something entertaining than see Blaine smack down West," he said dully. "Really, because after a while, you kind of expect Blaine to win, and then it gets monotonous."

"If you don't mind me asking, why?"

"Why Blaine wins everything?"

Kurt ground his teeth together. "Why you're here."

Carson pursed his lips and folded his hands, sitting up straight and raising his chin a fraction. "Because I wouldn't miss today for anything."

He huffed. "Are you really telling me the truth or is it because fencing is just that boring?"

"Both, actually," he said. "Fencing really is kind of boring. And before you get defensive with me, Will agrees; actually, I think he might quit the team next year." He paused. "And I wouldn't skip out on seeing James kill this game." He flashed a smart grin and nodded to the game in front of them.

Kurt flattened his lips in thought. "Okay, maybe you're right," he said after a moment of silence. "I think you do have the upper hand against East, here."

Carson straightened, gaining an air of hubris. He wore a dainty smile on his face.

He rolled his eyes. "But that doesn't mean you're going to beat _us _in the final game," he added. "Because you know South and North will end up in the last game today."

"If we made it this far into the playoffs, I think we have a shot at winning. After all, we won playoffs last year," Carson reported and his posture improved.

"Why do you say 'we' when you're not the one playing out there?" Kurt inquired, not taking his eyes off the field.

"The same way you can say 'we're' going to win when you're not playing out there, either," he countered without missing a beat. "And why are you here? Shouldn't you be cheering Blaine on? He's your ex, after all."

Kurt flattened his lips into a tight line. "I have a schedule. I trade off between watching games. Happy?"

Carson wore a _so-so _expression. "Somewhat. But still. He's in the middle of a match right now with some dork from West. The least you could do is show some support."

Kurt fell silent for a moment. He had a feeling that the 'dork' Carson was talking about was one of the Elites that had confronted him earlier, and he tried to remember which one it was.

"Why do you care so much whether I'm there or not?" Kurt said finally and turned to face him. With his back to the game, he felt like he would miss everything going on.

Carson flinched slightly at the harsh tone of his voice. "I'm only wondering. As a friend, I hate seeing Will upset, especially when he's upset with Blaine, who thinks it's his fault for everything that's happened recently."

"It's not his fault," Kurt retorted.

"But he doesn't know that."

He stiffened uncomfortably. "I hate that you care so much. I hate that you care so much about Will caring so much about _Blaine. _I hate you."

The blonde looked down at his hands and fiddled with a hang nail. "Ouch. Such harsh words. And to think, I'm your former duet partner's best friend."

"That doesn't have anything to do with what we're talking about," Kurt said harshly.

"Really?" He looked thoughtful. "Because I thought that you two formed some sort of bond over that—"

"Well, you're wrong." Kurt wrinkled his nose distastefully.

Carson rolled his eyes and there was a pregnant pause, and Kurt glanced down at the space between them.

"I, um, sort of wanted to thank you, Carson," he said uneasily, his voice low. He looked up to see the blonde staring at him. "For not telling James or Will about my fight with Blaine. You know, when I told you that day in the library."

Carson raised his chin a fraction and his expression softened. "It wasn't really a big deal. I mean, everyone knew about it that same day. It wouldn't have mattered if I'd said anything or not."

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. "Still. Just accept my thanks and leave it at that."

"Okay, okay. You're welcome, Hummel," he grumbled and he rested his elbows on his knees.

Then, there was a collective gasp from the boys around them that cut into their argument like a knife. The air was still and heavy and the words that were poised on both boys' tongues were uneasily swallowed. Both stared intently at the field.

Carson blanched and for once, he looked genuinely concerned. His brows knitted together. "Oh, my God."

Eyes scanning the field, Kurt's heart jumped into his throat. Words were not possible, and he licked his dry lips.

All motion on the field had stopped. South's catcher was up on his feet and starting forward as the others were frozen. The catcher raced to the pitcher's mound before Kurt and Carson could figure out what was going on.

Then Carson was tumbling off the bleachers, tripping over his own feet, and running toward the gate. Kurt looked to him, then back to the field. He wanted to cry out, demand him to stop, when he found the figure collapsed on the field.

Out on the pitcher's mound, James was curled limply on his side on the ground, not moving except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. The catcher blocked Kurt's view of the dark haired boy and Kurt stood up shakily.

To his left, there was a hustle of shouting from the rest of the team and Carson was sprinting onto the field. The coach followed closely on his heels and both kneeled over the pitcher, fretful. The coach barked orders to the third baseman, who ducked into the dugout and came out with a soaking wash rag from the cooler.

Kurt finally gained the feeling in his legs and stumbled off the bleachers. He felt much less graceful than Carson, fumbling and tripping as he made his way to the nearest dugout. He broke onto the field and felt the heat rise off the dust. Not caring if the cuffs of his pants were outlined in a ring of dirt, he ran onto the field.

When he got to the pitcher's mound, the coach had James rolled onto his back. The boy's skin was dreadfully pale, like paper, his lips chapped and just as light as his skin. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and his eyes were shut.

Carson was on his knees beside James, clutching the green baseball cap that had been on the latter's head moments earlier. He pressed the back of his hand against James' forehead, then snatched the cloth from the third basemen's hands. He wrung the cloth out over James' face, and James turned his head away, coughing and rubbing at his face.

"What's wrong with him?" a voice asked from behind Kurt. The third baseman fiddled with his hands, toying with a loose tie on his glove.

"He's passed out," the coach grunted and waved a hand over James' face.

"What do you mean, he's passed out? He's clearly responsive," Carson snapped, worriedly. He clutched the hat and the cloth tighter in his hands until his knuckles went white. For a moment, he looked ready to spring to his feet and tackle the coach.

"It means, he fainted. And of course he's responsive," the coach growled, and Carson leaned back, looking suddenly guilty. "Someone needs to get him into the shade. Well, don't just stand there gawking! Help me get him up!"

And the coach stood up and took both of James' hands, giving a small tug. Carson and the third baseman grabbed his ankles and carefully hoisted him up. Slowly they carried him to the dugout, Kurt following alongside them, biting his lip until he tasted blood. He felt awkward and clumsy and useless, not assisting with anything.

In the dugout, the coach and the boys gently laid James across the metal bench under the shade. James' dark curls were plastered to his forehead by sweat. He turned his head to the side, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

The silence was disrupted when the coach barked out orders for one of the few players remaining in the dugout to come out onto the field. The boy followed the coach out to the mound and began a series of warm ups. If James couldn't play, even if he sat up, okay, in the next second, the game was going to resume.

Carson sat down on the bench at James' feet and folded his hands in his lap.

Absently, James slung an arm over his face and he coughed. Kurt jolted. Though he didn't want to tear his eyes away from the boy, he went to the other end of the dugout to fill a cup of water from the cooler. He hurried back and idled there with the cup in his hands.

Carson nudged James' foot gently. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Of course he's not feeling okay. He just collapsed," Kurt said snippily and his fingers tightened instinctively around the cup.

"I was only asking," the blonde murmured in defense. He wasn't angry, only worried.

James gave another short sigh and he pulled his arm away from his face, letting it hang over the side of the bench. He turned onto his side and curled his other arm under his head.

"I'm fine, stop talking about me. I can hear you, you know," he choked out, coughing.

Carson sat up straighter. "How are you feeling?"

"Like the annoying people on those stupid paranormal shows who claim they've been beyond and back," he grumbled and shielded his face with his hand.

Kurt let the corners of his lips turn up, but quickly let the smile fall flat. "Do you want any water?"

"I want to sleep," he replied sluggishly. "And I want to live in Antarctica. Why is it so warm? I've never been in a place where it has been this warm before."

"That's Ohio for you. But I think it would be hotter in California," Carson joked weakly, leaning back.

"Don't push it," James mumbled irritably. He rolled back onto his back and stared up at the mesh ceiling. "Wait, what am I doing?"

Kurt nibbled on his lip. "You may have passed out a few minutes ago."

"I may have? Did I or didn't I?"

"He means you actually did pass out," Carson clarified, eyeing Kurt viciously.

James sat up abruptly, but he ended up clutching his head and leaning back on his elbow.

Before he could say anything, a figure rushed up to the chain link fence, gasping, "Hey, Kurt, Blaine's in another bout. With West this time."

Kurt snapped his eyes up to see Thomas standing there on the other side of the fence, panting. His face was flushed and pink, red hair hanging in front of his eyes. He took a step away from the fence when he met Carson's glare.

"Oh," Kurt said, and blinked. "But I need to stay here." He tipped his head at James.

Thomas pressed his lips into a thin line and glanced at the dark haired boy for a long moment. "He looks fine. He just needs water," he said grudgingly. "And you," he said and pointed at Carson. "You need to come back, too. As soon as Blaine wins, it's South and North."

Carson glared sharply at him. "I'll go back when I want to. I don't need you telling me what to do."

"No, you're going back because you kind of have to. Will might kill you if you don't." Thomas stepped back from the fence.

"Shove off, Reid."

James sat up as much as he could without his head throbbing painfully. "Both of you," he mumbled irritably, "need to shut up. And get me a painkiller. I can't feel my head." He laid back down and stopped talking.

Kurt swallowed and approached the bench, kneeling. He gently touched James' shoulder. "Hey, James?"

"What?" he moaned, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm going to go watch Will and Blaine. Is that alright with you?"

Thomas sighed loudly from the fence. "Why are you asking _him_? Just, come on."

Turning his head to the side, James opened his eyes and looked at Kurt. "It's fine. Do as the ginger tells you," he said with a smirk. "And besides, I think I've got a pretty good nurse." He nudged Carson with his foot.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked. He rose and wrung his hands together.

"He's fine, Kurt," Thomas chipped in. "Hurry up, they won't be afraid to start without us."

Casting one last glance at James, Kurt exited the dugout. He barely looked at Carson and joined Thomas on the other side of the fence. Once they were out of earshot, Thomas cleared his throat.

"What just happened?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Kurt continued forward. "James passed out. But he's fine."

"He sounded drunk just now."

"He'll be fine," he said simply, though irritation itched under his skin. He wanted to run back and sit beside the dark haired boy to make sure he was okay, to watch him play out the rest of the game.

But he kept walking toward the soccer field, the redhead on his heels.

* * *

Back in the dugout, Carson watched Kurt start off toward the fencing field with the redhead and, as soon as they were both out of sight, he turned to James. He tossed the contents of the cup at him and it splashed against his face.

James blinked and rubbed his face, with also smeared dirt across his skin from his hands. His eyes flew wide open, bright and blue and demanding.

"What was that for?" he asked loudly, rubbing his face.

"Have you eaten today?" Carson asked bluntly. He crunched the cup in one hand.

James stared at him, water dripping down his face. "What?"

"It's a simple question. Have you eaten today? Or in the last few days, actually?" He stared pointedly at him.

James gave a weak chuckle. "Of course I've eaten. What makes you think I haven't?"

"You passed out, and it's not even that hot out right now. It's… what, not even ninety? Practically snowing," he said shortly.

"I'm simply dehydrated," the dark haired boy shot back and, feeling faint, he lay back again.

"Even after I threw a cup of water at you? What do you want me to do? Pour the entire freaking cooler over you?" Carson stood up suddenly and crossed his arms. He stared down at James.

James looked back up at him. "It's a possibility."

He frowned. "Now, enlighten me. Have you eaten today?"

"I had a slice of toast and a glass of water," he said after a moment of hesitation.

"What you had this morning, I mean."

James squinted at him. "I just told you."

"I meant _this morning, _as in between the hours of midnight and right now, not over the past three days," Carson said sharply.

He hesitated again in his words, and that made Carson raise an eyebrow. "So have you eaten anything today? At all?"

James swallowed. "Not anything solid. I've had water, definitely," he said quietly. Then he smiled. "There was that water you just threw on me. There's that."

Carson rubbed his face crossly. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you," he said lowly. "You won't eat, you won't do anything."

"So I'm basically useless, am I?" He pinched his lips together and his glare was unwavering, though there was a pounding at the back of his head. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"There is no way in hell I would tell you you're useless. You, of all people, should know that," the blonde remarked without skipping a beat. "I don't think anyone deserves to believe they are useless."

James pushed hair out of his face. "So what's your point?"

Carson stared at him, aghast. "My point is that you haven't eaten in God knows _how _long, and you sit there, completely alright with the knowledge that you just passed out on the field. Doesn't that bother you? Not even a little bit?"

"No, it doesn't," he said tartly and slowly lifted himself into a sitting position. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back out on the field and finish this game." He meant to stand up, but his knees collapsed under him and he fell forward.

Carson leapt forward to catch him by the arm and hoist him up, letting him lean against him. He smirked when he felt James grabbing at his jacket hurriedly.

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere for a while," he said, sighing and letting James lean against him.

* * *

The afternoon quickly went by in a blur, the hours passing like minutes. Kurt volleyed back and forth between each game that was played, watching the games that North competed in. In baseball, North had beaten East and West in the bracket, leaving South to play against in finals. In fencing, it was the same.

As Kurt paced away from the baseball fields after watching North come out on top over West, he bit his lip.

Blaine would have to play against Will, no doubt.

Cody would have to bat against James.

There was no telling what the outcome would be when the day was over.

* * *

Kurt shuffled into the bleachers, which were packed to watch the last fencing match of the day. Of the year. Kurt swallowed, hard, and found Thomas, Wes and David in the crowd. He sat beside them. Wes and David were too obsessed with talking to Blaine to notice Kurt. They were leaning over the railing, yelling encouragingly at Blaine.

"Just don't freak out!" David shouted positively.

"Thanks," Blaine drawled back, playing with an empty Styrofoam cup in his hands.

"No, seriously. We hope you kick Will's ass out there," Wes said, nodding his head like a bobble head toy.

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh and tore the lip off the cup.

"What? Don't sigh at us! We're trying to help you out here!" David exclaimed.

"When you learn how to fence," Blaine said and crumpled the cup in his hands, "then you can decide to help me." His eyes went past the two boys against the railing and found Kurt's. "Can you do anything to rein in these two idiots?"

Kurt froze when he was addressed. His eyes scanned Blaine's face, which was smeared with anxiety, and he pursed his lips thoughtfully. He looked to Wes and David. "Sit. Down, boys."

Blaine's lips turned into a smile.

"Oh, come on, Kurt," David whined and he wrapped his hands around the railing. "You don't have to take Blaine's side on _everything_."

"Well, I'm doing it anyway. I've known him longer, and plus, he's not overreacting right now," he retorted.

Wes rolled his eyes and turned back to Blaine. "But seriously, do awesome out there. Bring the trophy back, man." He promptly turned on his heel and dragged David with him back into the stands.

"Happy?" David yelled sharply, hands cupped around his mouth.

"Very," Blaine called out them, and turned around on the bench. Even though it was clear he was trying to not show how nervous he was, his hands picked idly at the cup, tearing bits from the top.

Heart starting to pick up pace, Kurt scooted to the edge of his seat, licking his lips anxiously. Most of the boys behind him had quieted, even though the match had not started yet. Thomas sat on one side of him and he was nibbling on his nails madly.

Behind him, Kurt caught a few murmurs along the lines of, "I bet you five bucks that Anderson doesn't stand a chance this year" and then a, "You're on." He wanted to whip around and tell them to shut their traps, but he remained facing forward.

Blaine was resting on the bench with his back to him. He stood up to fill his battered cup with water and wandered back to his seat, sipping scarcely at it. His face mask sat beside him on the bench and he fiddled with one of his gloves.

"Oh, I hope Blaine doesn't mess up," Wes muttered fearfully in the row behind Kurt.

Kurt turned around to look at him. "You sure sound confident in him."

"Well, if he wins this, it will be his third year to win the finals for North. If he doesn't do well, he risks putting our reputation at risk and basically hands the trophy over to the dark side," he said lightly. "But no pressure."

Kurt rolled his eyes and faced forward.

Out on the field, the referee idled by the mat, a stopwatch in his hand. He looked to the blonde boy sitting on the bench closest to him and nodded, then looked to Blaine.

Instantly, a hush fell over the entire field, and Kurt swore he could hear his own heart thrumming in his ears like a jackhammer.

The referee called the two boys to the center of the field to run over the regulation rules with them. Several times, they both nodded. Standing side by side, Kurt saw that Will was much taller than Blaine, by nearly a few inches. Blaine looked small next to him, and even smaller when he leaned his weight over one foot.

When the referee finished speaking, the two boys didn't even look at each other when they parted, heading toward opposite ends of the white mat. Blaine shook out his limbs and tightened his gloves, checked the straps on his face mask and made sure his shoes fit perfectly.

Will, on the other hand, simply cracked his knuckles inside the bulky white gloves and twirled his sabre expertly in his hand.

"Show off," David muttered bitterly, leaning his chin in his hand.

The ref called them both to the center of the mat, where they made eye contact, which was an obvious struggle for both of them, and then they shook hands, which was an even greater feat. As soon as they dropped hands, Kurt could've sworn he saw Will wipe his hand against his uniform in disgust.

The center block, which displayed the time, blinked to life and showed a total of eight minutes. The two remaining blocks, the ones that showed the points, flickered on, both showing a starting point of zero.

At the sight of the blocks lighting up, Cody inhaled sharply and he shrunk down in his seat.

"Alright, boys," the ref said, loud enough for the boys in the stands to hear, "are we ready?"

In reply, Blaine fitted his face mask on and picked up his sabre, clenching it in his hand. Will simply stuck the point of his weapon into the mat, leaning ever so slightly against it. Wes let out another huff of irritation.

The ref raised his hand and held up the stopwatch. "En garde!"

With those two words, the air became taut.

"Prêt!"

Kurt folded his hands under his legs to keep from chewing on his nails and his gaze darted between the two boys.

"Allez!"

As soon as the ref dropped his hand, the time on the center block began to count down from eight, slowly ticking down the seconds. The only sound was the metallic thwap of a sabre as it whipped through the air, and that was from Will, merely for show; Kurt could imagine him grinning beneath his face mask.

A total of five seconds passed before either of them decided to advance, and Blaine lunged forward. He skillfully jumped, inch by inch, while Will remained still, bent in a crouch, waiting.

Then, when Blaine was close enough, Will jolted forward, swinging and slicing. The tip of his weapon made no contact with the other boy, however, and it spliced the air with rich metallic thwangs. The two boys volleyed back and forth, testing the waters, before finally Blaine touched the tip of his sabre to Will's shoulder.

The number one appeared on the right score block, and the North side of the bleachers exploded in a round of cheers; the other bleachers, the South side, remained disdainfully silent, save for a few grumbles.

Wes immediately leapt to his feet and cheered madly, clapping his hands. David, Thomas, and Cody joined him with hoots and hollers of joy. Kurt simply smiled.

Recoiling, Will jumped back, readying himself. Blaine seemed to have a haughty air about him as he stepped back, slightly lowering the sabre in his hand.

For the next minute and a half, the two boys danced back and forth, neither seeming to want to strike again. Will looked somewhat shaky with his movements, almost clumsy, which was completely unlike him. Blaine leapt forward finally and jabbed the other boy, gaining another point.

"How many points does Blaine have to get to win?" Kurt questioned in a low voice, tearing his eyes away from the field for a brief moment.

"Eight," Thomas said quickly, fast enough to where the single word sounded like a blurred mess.

Right now, Blaine had two and Will was left with nothing.

Another minute passed, and in those sixty seconds, Will scored twice to even his score out with Blaine's. The South bleachers erupted in noisy cheers each time a point appeared on Will's block, and North grew tense, quiet, and shrunk back into their seats, practically chewing their nails off.

"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this," David chanted under his breath, eyes trained on Will as he gained another point. He winced when Will struck Blaine in the shoulder.

"This sucks, this sucks, this sucks," Thomas agreed in his own mantra. He covered his face for a moment, but splayed his fingers to see the action.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Wes jeered at them. "I'd actually like to see—Alright, Blaine! Way to get 'em!" He jumped to his feet when Blaine evened the score again.

Blaine retreated with his chest rising and falling, his pulse thunderous in his ears. He could hardly hear Wes cheering for him on one side of the field. To his right, the Souths were starting a riot, chanting Will's last name repeatedly until it became a blur and everyone just starting whooping and hollering.

Even though things were not going as smoothly as he had hoped between he and Blaine, Kurt still felt his heart pick up pace with each strike and blow. He found himself nibbling on his thumb nail more than once, and his eyes kept darting to the time and point blocks.

Then, the minutes were running out quicker than they should, and the scores were constantly the same. If Blaine struck, Will would jump right back in and score, and vice versa. Their erratic movements kept both crowds of boys on their feet.

A distant cheer from the baseball diamonds broke Kurt's trance and he glanced over at the fields. Someone must have scored, and he hoped it was North. They were playing their final game against South at the moment, and Kurt had never wished to be in two places at once until now.

Hopefully, after the eight minutes ran out, he could catch whatever was left of the baseball game.

A twingy thwap caught his attention. In the middle of the mat, Blaine and Will had collided with their sabres, making a sharp sound, cruel to the ears. The scores were tied now, seven to seven, and both crowds of boys were holding their breaths.

Another biting sound came again as they braced weapons and it sent chills running up Kurt's spine. He saw Thomas cringe as well, hiding his face in his hands.

Blaine felt the sweat drip down the side of his face, tickle his skin, and he refrained from itching it. If he did so much as blink, Will would use the opportunity to strike. His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his weapon, so tightly that his muscles started to quiver.

The eight minutes stretched out like years to him and he almost glanced to the side to check. But with Will bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to attack, he kept his eyes forward. A strident pain stabbed at his lungs when he breathed in and he licked his lips. Soon, it would be over, and soon, he could stop.

From the roars and hollers and cheers, he guessed the time was running out quickly. Distinctly, he heard Wes and David over the rest of the crowd, and they were shouting things that were absolutely not allowed to be spoken at a school-sponsored sports game.

Kurt couldn't help his heart racing in his chest. The last minute began and the roar of both crowds increased, if such a thing was possible. Around him, the boys stood on their feet, some jumping. Finally he stood up as well and bounced on the balls of his feet.

With forty-five seconds left, the scores were equal at seven. Someone had to score soon, and he hoped it would be Blaine.

A slow rumble overhead startled him and he glanced up to see dark clouds rolling over the sun to shield the campus. Another clap of thunder sounded, though it didn't faze the two players.

When Blaine raised his sabre to strike, Will met it with his own and it produced a shrill sound that made everyone cringe. They continued to block the other's moves until one of them misstepped.

Fifteen seconds remained and the boys had started to count down in anticipation, eagerness evident in their voices. On the field, the two players were physically drooping, strikes not as fierce and jumps not as quick.

But then, as the countdown reached five, Blaine jabbed his sabre forward and the tip met Will's chest protector.

A buzzer sounded almost immediately after and one side of the field let out great cheers. Wes and David practically scrambled forward and jumped over the railing of the bleachers, onto the field. Kurt sprung to his feet excitedly.

Blaine ripped off his face mask in a daze and saw the two boys coming towards him. He had a second to brace himself before they tackled him almost to the ground, shouting things like, "Thank God you won, Blaine!" and "Great job! You kicked ass!"

The North bleachers rapidly emptied and the boys flooded onto the field to surround Blaine with congratulations. Kurt found himself alone in the first row soon and he shakily sat back down. Even though he hadn't played at all, his heart was thumping wildly in his chest.

On the other side of the field, the South bleachers were dead with silence and murmurs of disappointment. Most of its occupants sulked onto the field to give Will their words of pity before filing off to catch the last inning or so of the baseball game, where South was also playing North.

Kurt noticed Carson as the last one out of the bleachers, and he joined his friend out on the matt. He clapped Will on the shoulder and gave him a half smile, and Will shrugged one shoulder, but smiled anyway. They headed off to the field house, talking with their heads together.

Ten minutes passed, and then the field was mostly cleared out, save some boys who were congratulating fencers of their own wings. The referee and the North and South coaches were picking up stray paper cups and commenting on the game. Wes and David were still out with Blaine, who was red in the face and beaming and holding a half empty cup of water.

When Wes and David saw Kurt fold his arms around his torso and start down the stairs to the bleachers, they clapped Blaine on the shoulder one last time.

"Great job, man," Wes said eagerly.

"Yeah. Sucks to be Will," David agreed and was unable to stop grinning like a Cheshire cat. Together they headed off the field, still talking about the game as they headed toward the baseball diamonds.

"So, you won," Kurt said casually as he strolled across the greens.

Blaine nodded his head once, licking his lips. His hair was plastered against his forehead with sweat and his skin was tinted pink. His chest was still rising and falling quicker than normal as he tried to even his breathing.

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, drawing a circle in the ground with his toe. "For coming to watch, I mean. It was nice to see you in the stands."

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. It was nice to see you play."

"So, um, do you know who won for baseball?" he asked, switching topics.

"No. I think they're still playing," Kurt said and stretched to the tips of his toes, scanning the baseball diamonds. "South and North are in the ninth inning, I think."

Blaine chewed on his lip. "Ah, okay. I hope we win. It'd be nice to take home the trophy for both today, wouldn't it?"

Kurt smiled a little. "It would. But I would hate to see Will's reaction to it. I mean, first he lost fencing, and then, hopefully, baseball. He doesn't do well with losing."

"Okay, that would be a little funny," he admitted and started picking at the top of his Styrofoam cup, pulling off little white bits.

Kurt wanted to tell him to stop with the cup, but didn't. "Why don't you sit down? You've been on your feet all day," he heard himself say.

Together they climbed into the bleachers that were empty by now. As they sat down in the top row, they watched a few straggling boys talk to some of the fencers from both teams, congratulating them.

"So, your little Elite buddies said hi to me today," Kurt mused, folding his hands in his lap.

Blaine covered his face. "No. No way. They didn't."

He nodded his head. "They did. Gabriel and Aubrey."

"What did they have to say?" He leaned his head in his hands.

"They wanted me to ask you to come back to the Elites," Kurt explained calmly.

Blaine peeked at him. "And what did you say?"

"I said I would talk to you about it," he said rigidly, "but I don't have any intentions to. I mean, if you wanted to be in the Elites, you wouldn't have quit in the first place. Right?"

"Right." Blaine rubbed his face, then took another sip of water. "But seriously, they talked to you?"

Kurt pinched his lips together and he concentrated on not fumbling his words. "They did. They thought that since you and I used to date, I could convince you to join again."

Blaine snorted. "Well, they're stupid. And they have been stupid for a while. I'm glad Aubrey and Gabriel are graduating this year," he said, relief flooding his voice. He stood up and folded the empty Styrofoam cup in his hand. "But since Jackson's staying, it will be hell." He looked down at Kurt.

"Oh," Kurt said, standing and brushing himself off. "You'll have to keep an eye on him, won't you?"

"As always," he sighed. "Well, I should probably get changed. If I hurry, we can watch the last bit of the game."

Kurt nodded for what felt like the millionth time that day and followed Blaine out of the stands, across the soccer field.

"You can head down there. I'll be there in a minute," Blaine said, reaching for the door to the shed where all the equipment was kept.

He shook his head and leaned against the wall, arms over his chest. "I can wait."

Smiling a small bit, Blaine ducked into the shed. He changed quickly into a pair of shorts and a shirt and was back outside in less than a minute. The walk was silent from the shed to the diamonds. Kurt kept his hands folded into his pockets, Blaine with his eyes on the field. They joined Wes, David, and Thomas as they crowded the fence, watching the game.

The score, according to the board, was tied and it was the bottom of the ninth. Two outs, with a count of two strikes and two balls. Cody was the current batter and he was tapping the bat against the bottoms of his cleats, looking antsy.

"Oh, goodness," Kurt said quietly, covering his mouth with his hand.

Out on the mound, the pitcher looked unstable, wobbly on his feet. He clutched his glove to his chest and rolled the ball in his other hand, head ducked to his chest. When he lifted his head, all Kurt could see was bright blue against the emerald green of the uniform.

James was back out pitching. Earlier, he had been sprawled across the bench after fainting in the middle of a game. Now, he was out there again, though he looked like he was going to collapse on the spot.

Kurt turned his head and, past a clump of people, he saw Will and Carson with their faces pressed to the chain link fence. Carson looked anxious, and Will was chewing on his thumb nail, eyes locked intently on James.

On the field, Cody was back at the plate, arms cocked back, ready to swing. James raised his arms skillfully above his head, glove and ball in hand, and then launched forward.

The ball sped through the air in a white blur. Kurt's heart jumped when there was a deafening smack that sounded like distant thunder, and he instinctively shut his eyes. Collective gasps filled his ears and he forced his eyes open again.

The white ball was rolling in the dirt behind home plate and the catcher was scrambling to take it into his hands. Cody was standing at the plate with his gloved hands clasped over his mouth, and he looked incredibly pale all of a sudden.

That was when Kurt saw the baseball bat lying in the space between second and third base. It slowly rolled in the dust before stopping. Everyone on the field seemed to be in a state of shock, including the umpire.

On the mound, James didn't seem to know quite what to do, except to let his arms hang by his side and to gape openly. He looked between Cody and the bat, eyes glowing.

Finally, after a vast period of silence, thunder growled overhead, dark clouds stirring. This made everyone snap out of their daze, and the umpire stepped around the catcher.

"Someone bring this boy a new bat," he barked through the heavy facemask, "and get that one off the field."

The third baseman collected the bat from where it lay on the ground and brought it to the North dugout, where the coach took it with a red face. One of the other North players rushed out and brought Cody a new bat.

With a shaky thank you, Cody took it and weighed it in his hands.

"What the—" Wes started.

"That was _weird_," David cut in and leaned on his knees. He looked over at Blaine and Kurt. "Please tell me you just saw that."

"We did," Blaine said quietly. "That was really weird. He just… let go of the bat."

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't abnormal for Cody to get so freakishly nervous that his hands shook and his breathing became erratic, but it was not normal for him to completely let go of the bat in the middle of a swing.

The game resumed with a rocky transition. James requested to throw a few test pitches to make sure his hands wouldn't shake so much, and Cody stood to the side, swinging and flexing his fingers around the bat. He wiped his hands against his pants before stepping up to the plate.

Kurt had his eyes narrowed, focusing on Cody, when he heard the rumble of sly snickers in the stands. He quickly turned around and narrowed his eyes. Leo and Dex were failing to hide their laughter, doubled over in their seats.

Blaine followed Kurt's line of sight and saw them, too. He pushed through the crowd and started up at the two boys. Kurt reluctantly pulled away from the fence and followed him.

"What do you want, Anderson?" Dex asked through giggles. He bit his lip.

"Why are you laughing? We're in the middle of finals, here," he demanded quietly.

Leo airily waved his hand at him. "Oh, no reason. Just remembered that time we got detention for putting a rabbit in Markus' office. No biggie."

"What did you do to his bat?" Kurt nearly shrieked. A few heads turned to stare at him but he ignored them.

Dex grinned widely. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You did something to his bat," Blaine said flatly. "You two did something to that bat to screw him up."

"Oh, cry me a river, Anderson. Then, while you're at it, build a bridge and get over it." Leo rolled his eyes obnoxiously. "What makes you think we did something to screw up poor old Michaels out there?"

Kurt crossed his arms. "Because you're always the cause of everything bad that happens at this school."

Dex gasped. "I'm ashamed. Why would you ever blame us for your misfortunes?"

"I'm giving you five seconds to shut up," Blaine said lowly and he jabbed a finger at him.

"Or what?" Leo asked quirkily.

Kurt reached out and touched Blaine's arm; he felt the boy tense and he withdrew his hand. "Blaine, come on. We're going to miss the game. We don't need to be messing with these two," he advised quietly.

"Your boyfriend's right, Blaine," Dex drawled. "You should be watching the game. After all—"

The sudden sound off thunder growling interrupted him. But, by all the cheering that quickly arose, Kurt guessed it wasn't the thunder this time.

He raced back to the fence with Blaine close behind him, and he pressed himself to the chain link. The ball was back out in the field again, soaring through the sky, making the outfielders scatter like bugs.

Dropping his bat, Cody took off, his feet kicking up clouds of dust. He rounded first base with ease and sprinted to second. The ball had landed beyond the centerfielder, who had nearly tripped backwards trying to catch it, and the other two outfielders were both scrambling to grab it.

Rising to their feet, the crowd of boys took a collective gasp, others jumping up and down and yelling at the tops of their lungs. Wes and David were part of the latter and they were shouting through the fence madly, using what was left of their voices. Blaine was smiling uncontrollably beside them, and Kurt couldn't help but let his heart swell in anticipation.

As Cody rounded third base and started for home, the right fielder snagged the ball first and fired it back into the infield.

Overhead, the darkening sky rumbled.

The slight noise made Cody jerk, twisting his head to look up at the sky, and he almost stumbled. But he kept running, even as the ball flew in his direction.

James dropped to his knees to avoid being smacked in the back of the head by the ball. He felt the fast air above him as the ball plummeted back home. The catcher, he saw, had his glove open and ready, guarding the plate.

Then Cody dove at the last second, jumping onto his stomach and sliding across the chalky dirt. There was a light smack, and all fell silent as the boys in the crowd held their breaths. Kurt chewed on his lower lip until he thought he tasted blood.

The call of, "Safe!" rang out moments later.

Cheers filled the air just as loud as the nearing thunder, and boys fled the stands to crowd the fences.

At home plate, Cody was weakly on his feet, ripping his helmet from his head and holding it victoriously over his head. The catcher was dusting himself off with his glove, looking scornfully at Cody, and he tossed the ball back to the umpire.

On the pitching mound, James was still on his knees, his lips parted a little in disbelief. He blinked his vibrant blue eyes and rested his hands in his lap.

The crowd was let onto the field, mostly students from North, and they joined the rest of the team in hoisting Cody onto their shoulders. The small boy waved to the others, a smile spread across his broad, dirt-smeared face.

Kurt, however, stayed behind the fence, simply watching. Wes and David and Thomas had gone to congratulate Cody, leaving Kurt behind. Blaine stayed as well, smiling faintly.

"Well, I'd like to see the look on Will's face," he said, laughing.

"Definitely," Kurt agreed and from the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine looking at him.

Out on the field, the boys were heading back into the dugout and the umpire was collecting baseballs and wiping off home plate. One of the only boys remaining on the field was James, who was cross legged on the mound. He was drawing pictures in the dust with his finger.

Will maneuvered through the crowd of sulky South students and half walked, half ran onto the field, Carson following him closely. Blonde hair fell in front of his face and he nudged James in the foot.

"What?" James asked sharply.

"Good game," Will said simply, and held a hand out to him.

He stared at it for a long moment before accepting it and getting to his feet, glove tucked under one arm. "I suppose."

"You did really well," Carson said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I don't think I've ever seen you pitch so much in one day. And passing out, then getting back in is something."

James snorted. "I guess," he said, his voice fading. "But we lost. We lost finals."

Will lifted a shoulder. "It's fine. It's just a title. I lost fencing for us, too."

"Did you do that so I wouldn't feel bad?"

Will watched him for a second, eyes flashing. "Yeah, I did," he said.

"Now, come on. You need a shower. You look like you've just gotten out of war," Carson commented.

James rolled his eyes and bumped him in the shoulder. "Gee, thanks. That's exactly what I want to hear."

"Knew it," both of them said in unison.

And then it began to rain.

* * *

"To Cody, who brought our team to victory today!" one of the boys cried, holding a plastic cup over his head.

The other boys cheered back, raising their own cups of soda. Some who were close enough nudged Cody happily, and the boy flushed scarlet.

"It was nothing, really," he insisted.

"What happened to your bat in that last inning?" one of the boys asked.

Cody bit his lip. "I'm not really sure. I just know that the handle felt really slick and I knew something was up, but I thought it was just me, you know, getting nervous…"

The commons was filled with both the fencing team and the baseball team. The back table was loaded to the edges with food of all sorts, and the coffee table in front of the TV was lined with soda bottles. Everyone had a comfy seat, either on the floor or in a chair.

Rain pounded mercilessly at the windows, the sky a stormy gray. Every few seconds, thunder rang and lightning lashed out, lighting up the sky for a split second. It hadn't let up since the end of the tournament, almost an hour ago, and it didn't give any signs of stopping anytime soon.

The boy speaking stood on the window seat and was looking out over the sea of faces. He started a cheer for each player of the team, starting with Cody, who had scored the game winning run. As he listed each team member, Kurt sipped on his soda, staring out the window.

Though he could see nothing through the darkness, he watched the rain drops race down the window pane. The soda bubbled on his tongue and he turned away from the window and leaned against it.

Wes and David were sharing the couch with what looked like eight other boys, all piled on there, stuffing their faces with snacks. Thomas was sitting on the floor at their feet, looking cheerful.

And then there was Blaine, sitting beside Kurt on one of the three window seats. His legs were curled under him and he had a cup of soda in his hands, though he hadn't taken a sip yet. His hair was damp from the shower he had taken after the game and Kurt couldn't help but notice that he smelled like mint, cool and sharp.

Blaine leaned back against the window as he listened to one of the baseball boys continue on with the cheers. He ran his finger along the edge of his cup, his eyes fixed on something Kurt couldn't see. Licking his lips, he turned his head.

"Fun, isn't it?" he said quietly.

Kurt jolted a little at the sound of his voice, but nodded. "It's been a fun day today. It definitely beats studying for my Physics test on Monday."

Blaine smiled. "Yeah. I would take this over studying, too."

Before Kurt could say anything more, someone shouted, "And to Blaine Anderson, who kicked ass today!"

Hearing his name ring out, Blaine started and looked over. Jackson Finch had taken the baseball boy's place on the center window seat and was now raising his glass towards Blaine. The cheers for baseball were over, though Cody's face was still bright red.

Blaine shook his head, flustered.

"Oh, come on, Blaine. You've got to take credit for all your work today," Jackson declared, shaking red hair out of his face. "Get up here!"

"No, I'm fine," Blaine called back to him, his voice a little nervy.

Jackson laughed, a deep rumbling in his chest that almost matching the thunder that crashed in the sky. "Don't be so modest! Get up here!"

The few boys that were on the floor prodded Blaine excitedly until Blaine finally shook them off and stood up. Cheers erupted throughout the room as he navigated his way to the window seat. Jackson thumped him on the back as they passed each other.

"Um, thank you," he started off, rubbing the back of his head, twisting wet curls between his fingers. "As you know, we won the baseball tournament today. Kudos to you, Cody." He tipped his cup in the direction of the small boy.

"But you don't play baseball," Cody remarked. "So tell us, what happened today in fencing?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Well, we won."

At that, the room exploded in hoots and hollers, and Wes got to his feet and clapped wildly. This caused others to join in and soon applause was the only audible thing.

Blaine raised a hand and the noise instantly died down. He cleared his throat shortly. "Anyway, we beat East in the first bracket at the beginning of today. In the second bracket, South went against West and won overall."

A few boos interrupted him.

"The final bracket was between us and South," he continued on, raising his voice a little louder. "And I went head-to-head with Will Fitzroy."

"Sucks to be him!" David called over the chatter, which brought up a chorus of laughter.

Blaine grinned and let his head fall forward. He stared into his drink until the talking became a low buzz. "So, in the end, I beat Will, and we ended up having enough wins overall to come out on top," he finished almost breathlessly.

"Three cheers for Blaine!" Jackson declared and raised his glass.

As everyone yelled out, Blaine jumped down from the window seat and returned to his seat.

"You're quite popular today, aren't you?" Kurt said once Jackson had taken center stage again and everyone was looking at him.

Blaine gave a simple shrug. "I guess. But I'm glad we won."

"Yeah. Me, too," he said quietly, and looked down at his hands. But he swore he saw a grin flash on the other boy's face.

* * *

"James, calm down. It was only a game," Carson said tiredly from the back table. He leaned back in a chair and watched the dark haired boy pace back and forth across the room.

"It was finals! We had a chance to win everything, and we lost, so shut up," James snapped under his breath, staring at the floor.

Carson sighed. "But it's okay. It's not like finals meant anything."

"Will you be saying that when Nationals rolls around?" Now, he turned to stare murderously at the blonde and he paced toward him. "What if we lose Nationals? Will _that_ mean nothing then?"

"James," Will said sternly from his place at the window seat. He had a packet of homework on his lap and a pen in his hand. His hair was still wet and dark from a shower.

"What?" he said loudly to him.

Will simply clicked his pen repeatedly and he only stopped when James' face twisted in irritation. "Calm down, please. It was only a baseball game. And it was a team effort, so I'm pretty sure the rest of the team is feeling just as bad as you are right now."

James covered his face. "I feel awful. Bad doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Well, at least you didn't single-handedly let the entire South fencing team crumble in the last eight seconds," Will said briskly.

"I guess." He was silent. Then he ran his hands through his hair. "But we lost! We lost everything, and North got it all."

The two blondes shared a look, and then Will pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed James by the wrist and pulled him out of the room, down the hall. They only stopped once they were inside the kitchen. Simon was the only other occupant, and he was leaning against the counter, chewing on a granola bar. He spotted the two boys and smiled.

"Good games, guys," he said flatly, jerking his chin at them.

"Shut up, Dougray. I don't want to hear it," James snapped. He struggled against Will's grip and looked ready to throw a few punches.

Behind him, Will raised an eyebrow warningly. Simon saw him and nodded his head, crumpling the plastic wrapper in his hands.

"I'll see you around," he said as he disappeared through the doors. At the last second, he poked his head back into the room. "Oh, just so you know, I lost my bet with Adam today. I bet South would win, and now I have to be his book lackey. You know, I have to carry his books around."

"Oh, what a tragedy. Now leave," Will remarked and moved toward the fridge.

Simon rolled his eyes and vanished.

Huffing, James crossed his arms and turned away from the doors. He faced Will questioningly, watching him pull the carton of milk from the fridge and a ceramic mug from the cabinet.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"You're not being calm about anything today," Will muttered and poured the milk, then placed it in the microwave, "and you're obviously hungry, seeing as you haven't eaten all day. Which is why you fainted today." He turned to look at him. "I can't believe you _fainted _today, James."

James shook his head as Will dug through the pantry for a box of powdered mix. "What? It's not my fault."

"Yes, it is," the blonde said firmly. The microwave beeped and he carefully removed the hot, steaming mug of milk. He ripped open a packet of powder and poured it in, plucking a spoon from the drawer to stir it. "This is serious, James. You have to eat something. You can't just get through every single day on water and, like, a spoonful of something. You actually have to eat."

"I'm fine."

Will narrowed his eyes. "You fainted from lack of food. In the middle of a game." He looked like he wanted to say more, then broke off, looking to the side. He brushed his hair behind his ears and sighed. "Do you know how worried I was when Carson told me you fainted? I almost had a heart attack."

"Well, I'm sorry for worrying you, but you don't need to care about whether I eat or not," James said crisply. "It's my body, and I'll do what I want with it."

Silently Will pushed the mug of steaming chocolate toward him.

"I don't need any damn hot chocolate," James said adamantly, even when the mug was pushed across the counter to him. "I'm not drinking it. Why do you think I need it?"

Will stared at him. "Because you're being stupid about everything, you haven't eaten all day, and hot chocolate is the only known cure for irritableness," he recited. "Now drink. And I'm not leaving until you finish it."

"You're acting like a mother," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I don't care if that's supposed to make me feel like I'm a little less manly," Will said, "but please, drink it for me. You've obviously had a very rough day, and—"

James sniffed. "Obviously!"

"—I think it would be good for you to tone it down a bit," he finished. "So drink it. Please?"

"No. I don't like hot chocolate." He wrinkled his nose.

Will stared at him, somewhat amused. He pointed a finger at him. "That is a lie, and you know it. You drank this stuff in February like it was water. I'm not leaving until you drink some of it," he said.

"Then you're going to be here all night," James remarked bitterly and turned on his heel, waltzing out the door.

* * *

"Cody, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

The small boy picked up his head to stare at his friend, who sat on the other side of the table from him. Cody set down his pencil slowly and pushed away his homework that was due on Monday.

"What brought about this question?" he asked and folded his hands in front of him.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder and ran his finger around the lip of his drinking glass. "I don't know. I'm always wondering that, because you seem so into singing and so into cooking and so into baseball," he said. He dropped his hand. "So what is it?"

"What is what?" Cody blinked.

"What do you want to be? A chef, a baseball player, or a singer?" he questioned.

Cody leaned back in his chair and reached for another handful of chips from the plastic bowl between them.

It was nearly ten at night, the darkness having settled over the sun hours ago. The boys who had stayed the weekend had retired to their rooms and Kurt and Cody were the only ones left in the kitchen, alone. Food leftover from the celebratory party crowded one half of the table, from chips to popcorn to small cupcakes.

Chewing thoughtfully, Cody lifted his shoulders. "I don't know."

"But you're so good at all three things," Kurt said, narrowing his eyes. "Can't you pick?"

"I guess. It would be easy for me to follow in my dad's footsteps and become a chef." He sighed, chewing on another chip. "I don't know. That's what my dad wants me to do, anyway. Be a chef."

Kurt leaned his head in his hands. "And what does your mom do?"

"She stays at home, working on numbers. She's a stock broker," he said. He saw Kurt's blank look. "My mom and I live in Ohio; my dad has a small apartment in New York."

"Are they…?" He stopped and furrowed his brows.

Cody chuckled. "No, they're not divorced. My dad just thinks it's easier to have a residence in the state he works in. It beats flying between here and the big city every weekend."

Kurt nodded in understanding. "And your dad. Is he a big time chef?"

"Eh, sort of. He's pretty well-known around Manhattan and caters a bit here and there," he said. "Oh, one time, he carved this gigantic goose out of ice for a wedding, and planned all the courses for the reception. It was pretty neat."

"A goose? At my wedding, I would have a statue of a—" He stopped when the creak of a door caught his attention.

The door to the kitchen had opened a little. Blaine sheepishly peeked his head inside and his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Before he could stutter out an apology, Cody waved him in.

"You're not interrupting anything," he said as Blaine let himself in. "We were talking about ice sculptures."

A bewildered look crossed Blaine's face, and then he nodded. "Ah, you're talking about your dad."

Cody smiled and turned back to Kurt. "Now, what were you saying? You'd want a statue of what at your wedding?"

Kurt was unable to pull his eyes from Blaine, who was rummaging around in the pantry. "Doves," he said quietly. "I would have an ice sculpture of doves at my wedding."

"Doves are better than geese by far," the small boy agreed. "But seriously, my dad is just a chef."

"Just a chef?" Blaine piped up from the pantry. "Your dad is an _amazing _cook. I remember freshman year when he had that massive holiday gala in one of the hotels his company booked."

Cody nodded eagerly and curled his legs under him. "I remember that. He made us all desserts, like this phenomenal blackberry pie that was to _die _for," he sighed happily.

"Is he having another one this year?" Blaine asked curiously, appearing from the pantry with a jar of peanut butter. "You know, since he skipped out on this past year?"

"I think so. If he's not, then I will have to talk to him about that." Cody looked to Kurt. "Every year, my dad and his cooking company throw this lavish ball in some hotel in Manhattan. And since I am his son, I get free admission, along with a few friends."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't he have one this past year?"

He gave a shrug. "I think it was because it fell on a weird date, and there were complications with the hotel they wanted to book," he sighed, waving his hand, "but that doesn't really matter now."

"What matters," Blaine said as he wandered over to the table and pulled out a chair, sitting down, "is that he's having one this year. I enjoyed the one we had freshman year."

Cody grinned. "That was the year we had chocolate volcano cake as one of the desserts."

Blaine hummed delightedly as he brought another spoonful of peanut butter to his lips. "I would kill for that recipe, you know," he mentioned.

Kurt found himself watching the two boys as they conversed about the past. The minutes dragged on and he tried to keep up with their conversation, which bounced back and forth between desserts to foods to Christmas that year. He rested his chin in his hand.

Then the door to the kitchen swung open behind them and Kurt looked over his shoulder.

Striding into the room, Wes had his phone pressed to his ear. He briefly made eye contact with the boys sitting at the back table, gave a short wave, and went back to the pantry to rummage through it.

"…yes, I'm fine," he was mumbling. He shook his head, coming out of the pantry with a box of Lucky Charms in one hand. "Hmm… Yeah, classes are okay. Is Gabe alright—?" He was cut off as the person on the other side of the phone interrupted him.

Blaine had dropped his conversation with Cody and now both of them were watching Wes, who was digging through the cabinet for a bowl and a spoon. He propped the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he popped the box open, pouring cereal into the bowl.

"Sheesh, I was just asking, Mom," Wes grumbled, frowning. He set the box aside and spooned cereal into his mouth. Chewing, he said, "Yeah, I know, I know. Okay, I will… Sure. Okay. Love you, too. 'Night."

Sighing, he clicked a button on the phone and set it down. He lifted his head to see everyone staring at him.

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Was that your mom?" Cody asked carefully, folding his thin hands in front of him.

Wes nodded slowly and chewed. "Yeah. She was just checking up on me."

"How are things going?" Blaine asked in the middle of a mouthful of peanut butter. "I mean, the whole thing…" He trailed off, looking uncertain for once.

"Things are alright." Wes leaned his weight against the counter and stirred his cereal around idly. "She's got another job, so she's definitely putting food on the table for her and Gabe, and we've got enough to pay the bills and put me and Gabe through school, so…" He shrugged. "I guess things are alright."

"They sound better," Cody commented, content. He smiled at his friend.

Wes grinned back. "They are. My mom was asking earlier about Nationals, and when we were leaving." He flattened his lips. "She wanted to come see us in New York, and maybe bring Gabe with her, but there's not enough in the budget to buy round trip tickets. And it's kind of expensive when you don't have someone else paying for you." He jammed a spoonful into his mouth.

Kurt leaned over the back of his chair. "I'm sorry, Wes. Maybe we could—"

"I don't want any of you putting together a fund raiser to get my mom and kid brother tickets," he said tightly, chewing. "But thanks for the offer. It's only Nationals. There's always next year."

"But what if we don't make it next year?" Blaine questioned, licking the back of the spoon.

Wes lifted the bowl to his mouth and swallowed the rest. "Then we don't make it," he said and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. He put the bowl and spoon into the dishwasher, collected his phone, and headed out the door without another word.

Kurt turned back around in his seat, feeling hollow. "Poor Wes. I wish we could do something for him."

"It's better off if you don't," Blaine muttered and stirred the peanut butter. He looked up to see Kurt giving him an odd stare. "I mean, I know you want to make him feel better, but it only would make him feel worse. Last year, we tried singing to him when he got sick for two weeks and he nearly punched me in the face."

Cody nodded in agreement. "He's very… against any acts of kindness. He wants to do everything himself. Very stubborn."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I see that. But surely there must be _something _we can do," he mused. "It doesn't have to be singing to him, or pulling money together for his mom and brother to buy tickets."

"We could bake him a cake, but I think he would smash it in our faces," Blaine sighed.

The boys nodded in agreement.

Then, Cody said, "I think we should get him an ice sculpture. All those in favor?"

No one raised their hand.

"Okay, never mind."

"Yeah, I think all he would do with an ice sculpture is smash it to pieces," Blaine chuckled.

Kurt shook his head. "So the ice is a no-go. I still think we need to pull together a Warbler fundraiser."

"Kurt," Cody said, slightly annoyed, "I don't think we can raise enough money by the time Nationals rolls around. Which, might I remind you, is in five days."

"I know," Kurt replied. "But the least we could do is send a little up to his mom. If he's able to go, she should, too."

Blaine folded his hands on the table and stared down at the grooves in the wood. When he spoke, his voice was muffled. "How much do plane tickets cost?"

Kurt smiled the slightest bit.

* * *

_In the next chapter: The Warblers board a flight for New York. Nationals is in three days and no one is sure how to feel, whether they should write their wills now or later, and if peanuts from the wet bar cost extra._


	34. Nationals, Part 1

Hello, readers.

Well, it's been quite a while since I updated this story. Curse you, band camp, for taking away my last month of summer... but now we're only doing one rehearsal a day instead of three, so maybe I can catch up on writing. And my summer reading, which I have neglected the entire summer.

Anyway, this was actually one of the first chapters I wrote when I started this story. It was kind of funny, because I edited it a few days ago and I found that I had everyone calling Will 'William' instead of 'Will.' Because in the beginning, I never planned to use 'Will' at all, just 'William', but I liked 'Will' better because, really, who calls anyone 'William'? So, yay, fun facts.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but if I did, I would give Blaine ALL the solos. And that promo for season four... sigh. Klaine feels.

* * *

**Nationals, Part 1**

* * *

**Don't wait. The time will never be just right. –Napoleon Hill**

* * *

"Have I ever told you that I am afraid of heights? And that this is my first time on a plane?" Kurt turned away from the window to the boy sitting next to him. His hands shook slightly and he tucked them in his lap.

"Maybe once or twice," Wes answered and fiddled with the knob on the tray table. He kept swinging it down so it was flat, then back up into the upright position. "But you don't have anything to worry about. Planes are stable. There's, like, a one in a million chance of this thing taking a nosedive and crashing."

The statistic made Kurt press his lips together and he shot Wes an evil look.

"And we're only going from Ohio to New York, not Ohio to Europe. I think we're pretty safe," he added. He finally pushed the tray table up and locked it in place.

Kurt raised one eyebrow and averted his gaze from the window. "Why would we be flying to Europe, anyway?"

Wes shrugged. "My first year at Dalton, one of our alums sent us to London. Actually, I think it was Will's dad." He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde, who was sitting two rows back with Carson; currently, he was leaning across the aisle to say something to James.

Kurt stared at him and said bitterly, "I can't decide whether to hate you or to be jealous of you."

"Either works for me." Wes grinned and settled into his seat.

"And Will's dad is an alum?" he said questioningly. "Since when?"

Wes crinkled his nose in thought. "For years now. He's been a big part of Dalton, and an even bigger part of the Warblers. He makes sure we have the money to do whatever we want. We keep telling Lovett we want to get our own uniforms, you know, just for the choir, but she doesn't want to. She always says it's too much money, and then we bring Will's dad into it and she ends up getting mad." He grinned.

"Hey, Kurt," Cody said from the row behind them. He sat with Thomas, who was either completely captivated by the sight of clouds passing outside his window. "We have pictures from that trip, if you want to see them. Everyone looked really dorky, considering it was freshman year. Wes had glasses, and Blaine had long hair _and _glasses. Here." He passed forward his iPhone, open to a photo album, and Kurt scrolled through them.

Wes cracked up with laughter after seeing a few pictures and turned around in his seat to face the other boy. "Oh, yeah, it was, like, Attack of the Killer Afro that year."

"It was pretty bad. I think everyone was thankful when he cut it," Cody said, smiling as he recalled the memories.

"Blaine had long hair?" Kurt asked, but the flat tone of his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he scrolled through the album.

"It's much better now, though," Wes said. He turned back around in his seat and dug through the seatback pocket for a Sky Mall magazine. "Believe me. It had a mind of its own before he cut it."

Kurt scrolled past the pictures one by one. There were over two hundred, all of the boys in London. Wes had glasses, like Cody had said, and Blaine had unruly, long hair that extended in a cloud over his head. Glasses were also perched precariously on his nose and in the shot Kurt was looking at, he had both thumbs up and was smiling widely, posed in front of Big Ben.

"Hey, are you guys talking about me?" Blaine leaned forward and called from across the aisle.

Wes snickered into his hands. "No. What gave you that idea?"

"I heard my name and you talking about my hair," he said lowly. The way he had his hands grasped around the armrests made Kurt think he was about to unbuckle his seat belt and stalk across the aisle. "Are you showing him pictures of the London trip?"

Kurt refrained from wincing at the way Blaine didn't mention his name at all. It was _him, _not Kurt. Just _him._

"No, not at all," Wes said and took the phone out of Kurt's hands. He quickly passed it back to Cody, who clicked the screen off and smiled toothily.

Blaine rubbed his face and caught Kurt's eye briefly; Kurt hurriedly looked away.

In some ways, he was pleased he had chosen Wes as his partner on the plane, not Blaine. Conversation would have been nonexistent if Blaine had taken the seat next to him. He could imagine what would've come out of his mouth, or what would not have, in more accurate terms. They would have spent the duration of the flight avoiding eye contact and all excuses for conversation.

Earlier, Wes had explained that the last thing he wanted was for Kurt and Blaine to have to deal with each other if there wasn't a need to. He had offered to sit by Kurt, and David by Blaine.

Kurt was more comfortable with Wes by his side, and likewise. Wes knew he wouldn't be able to crack jokes if he sat next to Blaine, and David was okay with the silence Blaine provided. Some part of Kurt almost missed sitting by Blaine, but he knew that if he asked to change… he couldn't even begin to think of what might happen.

"But seriously," Wes whispered giddily when Blaine was occupied with staring out the window, "his hair looked crazy, didn't it?"

Kurt offered a weak smile.

The flight to Nationals had taken off at twelve o'clock sharp, nearly twenty minutes ago. Airtime was estimated at an hour and a half, and then they would land in New York. From there, luggage would be collected. Charter buses were scheduled to meet them in the parking garage to shuttle them over to the hotel they were staying at over the course of the trip.

After being dropped off, Ms. Lovett would check them in, give the room captains their keys, and set them loose to do whatever they wished until rehearsal, as long as they didn't leave the building or cause trouble.

To Kurt, that meant taking in the as many of the sights as he could before rehearsal. There were so many things he wanted to do, yet so little time allotted for all of it. They only had three days to spend in New York.

The first one would be used to settle in. The next was arranged to be a free day, in which they were allowed out on the streets to do what they wished, so long as they stayed in a group. The third and final day was the day of the competition. The morning after that, they would pack up and take one of the earlier flights back to Ohio. Though it was stretched out into three days, it was sure to fly by.

Suddenly, Ms. Lovett snapping at someone broke Kurt out of his train of thought. He turned over his shoulder to see their director leaning across the aisle and hitting Ronnie in the shoulder for playing with one of the drop-down oxygen masks.

Ronnie found it absolutely hilarious to snap it to his face repeatedly, but Lovett and the stewardess who came back to see what the fuss was about did not. To make matters even worse, Ronnie pulled out the camera that was hanging around his neck and snapped a picture of the two women, both with furious glares.

"I thought cameras weren't allowed on the flight," Cody mumbled to himself. He looked over at Thomas hoping to get some sort of answer, but Thomas merely shrugged.

"I swear," Wes sighed and flipped through the magazine in his lap, "I'd pay big bucks to see what goes on in that kid's head."

"I would, too," Kurt replied. He stared out the window, feeling the pulse of the plane beneath his feet, and his eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

"Hey, wakey, wakey, sleepy head."

A hand nudged Kurt in the shoulder and he shot into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, he looked around. Wes was out of his seat and standing in the aisle with his laptop bag looped over his shoulder. The rest of the plane's occupants were up and pulling their bags from the overhead bins. The familiar whirring of the engine was gone.

"How long was I out?" Kurt asked dumbly. His fingers worked stiffly at the clasp on his belt and he clumsily stood up.

"Most of the flight," Cody told him from the row behind and he stretched his arms over his head. "It was good because you weren't freaking out over your fear of heights, but it was also pretty funny because you talk in your sleep."

Kurt froze. "What do you mean, I talk in my sleep?"

Wes chuckled. "It means what it means. You talk in your sleep."

"What did I say?" he asked dreadfully.

Cody lifted a shoulder. "Nothing much, really. But I think everyone knows you're really freaked about having to sing a solo in front of hundreds of people if they didn't already." He smiled and pulled his backpack over his shoulders.

Kurt's face went up in flames and he bumped his head against the low ceiling trying to stand up.

Luggage claim was next, and the choir exited the plane. Lovett held up the rear to keep others from falling back, and Diego led the charge at the front. As the Precursor walked with his head high, Wes mocked him by sticking out his chest obnoxiously and puffing out his cheeks. David snorted loudly and covered his mouth.

Diego whipped around to glare at them and Wes slumped back into his usual posture, smiling in that cheerful way that said _You know I did something, but you can't blame me because you didn't see it. So there._

They came up on the luggage rotators and suitcases started to spit from the hole in the wall. All shapes and sizes of bags came through and rotated around an oval conveyor belt with the screen above showing their flight number in bright green.

At the back of the group, Simon mentioned something to Adam that completely broke him down in laughter, and Kurt could only wonder what it was.

One by one, the boys scooped their luggage off the belt until everyone had what they had brought with them for the trip. However, Ms. Lovett was the only one who was without her bag. She stood stiffly as she waited for her oversized suitcase and she tapped her toe impatiently. Finally she spotted it, but when she stepped forward to grab it when, she shrieked and jumped back.

The cry attracted everyone to her like moths to light. The group of boys broke into outrageous laughter when they saw a boy pop up from behind her bag.

"Gotcha, Ms. L!" Ronnie exclaimed and held up his camera for a quick snapshot. It snapped with a blinding flash and he looked down at the screen with happy results.

He had been safely hidden behind her bag for the longest time and planned to jump out at her as a little joke. To him, it may have been a little joke, but she wasn't laughing in the least; in fact, her face was colored bright red.

"Mr. Starr! What in the world are you doing? Get down! And bring my bag with you!" she snapped maliciously and pointed a sharp fingernail at him as the conveyor belt rotated on.

Ronnie, still pink in the face from laughing, grabbed her bag by the handle and jumped down from the belt, landing smoothly on his feet. He rolled it over to her, his white teeth bared in an appreciative smile. "Here you go, Ms. L."

She uttered something most likely bitter and cruel and stormed away from the belt in the direction of the parking garage. The boys settled from their laughing fit and quickly caught up with her.

When they arrived in the parking garage, a charter bus was waiting for them, idling by the curb. Kurt took a breath and inhaled a mouthful of exhaust. He coughed and boarded the bus behind Cody. Suitcases were stacked on a three-shelf rack and they all took seats, eager to see what would be past the walls of the garage.

Driving out onto the highway drew the boys to press their faces against the windows to peer out. Instead of the sunny, blues skies they imagined from countless movies, dreary clouds and the promise of rain in the forecast greeted them. The sky was so dark that most of the streetlights they drove under were turned on, casting a golden glow over everything.

No one said much for the majority of the ride. Lovett barked a few shrill orders to the driver, who seemed to not know the streets of New York as well as she did.

"She's a native New Yorker, you know," Wes mentioned when he found Kurt staring at the director and the driver.

"Really? I never would have guessed," he murmured.

"Oh, yeah. Born and raised, from what she tells us. She came to Dalton straight from NYADA," he said. He tucked his laptop bag in his lap to keep it from sliding off.

"NYADA?" Kurt repeated, astounded. "Why did she leave? It's an amazing school to teach at."

Wes raised his eyebrows. "Teach at? She didn't teach there."

Kurt licked his lips. "Then why was she there, other than to teach?"

"She went to college there, Kurt," he said with a grin. "She's not as old as you think she is."

"Then how old is she?" he questioned.

Wes gave a shrugged and held his computer bag against his chest when the bus took a sharp turn. "Who knows? Every time we celebrate her birthday, she switches up her age."

The bus abruptly ran over a small pothole then and the entire vehicle shook, shifting everyone in their seats. Cody was thrown from his seat and he landed promptly in Diego's lap. Before Diego could give him a stare, Cody shot up and was back in his seat by Kurt in an instant.

After that point, the ride only lasted for about twenty minutes. Lovett had finally steered the driver in the correct direction and they pulled up smoothly at the curb of a lavish hotel.

A fountain made from some kind of white stone stood before it, a large fish at the top squirting water from its mouth. The hedges around the building were clipped and trimmed to perfection and the flowers planted beneath them bloomed in all colors that were vibrant, even in the darkness of the weather. The building donned a shade of cream with other neutral colors.

Ms. Lovett thanked the driver as politely as she could, though it was obvious she was more than ticked at him, and deboarded the bus. The boys claimed their suitcases from the rack and tumbled out of the bus after her. The air had cooled down significantly over the course of the bus ride and Kurt shivered under his jacket. In a pack, they entered the hotel.

The first thing most everyone took note of was the high ceilings. They seemed to extend forever and were painted beige. The floors were flat white marble, swirled with black. Elevators with gold-plated doors stood off to the side. To their left, there was a sectioned off area with couches and chairs and a long counter with several computers.

Doors to the right led to various meeting rooms and the dining room; plush maroon rugs were placed here and there, and specifically under the sparkling ivory grand piano that stood off to the side. A man in neat dress clothes plucked away at the keys to produce a wonderful harmony and some of the hotel's patrons stood by to watch.

Kurt looked over his shoulder and as he expected, James' sapphire eyes were locked on the piano. Kurt smiled the tiniest bit and turned to face front.

"Stay here," Lovett told them sternly. The faint tremor in her voice told them she was as struck by the hotel as they were. "I'm to go check us in and get the keys. When I get back, I want to see everyone here and not hiding somewhere." She directed the last part of her sentence at Ronnie and whisked away to the front counter.

"This is absolutely amazing," Cody breathed and spun around in a circle to see all parts of the lobby. "I can't believe we actually get to stay here!"

"I don't think we're that lucky, Cody," Diego muttered and jerked his head in the direction of the elevators.

A gaggle of girls stood close by them, all wearing the same bright blue skirt and white blouse with something stitched on the breast. The doors slid open and a handful of boys in slacks and white shirts came out to join them. One of the boys, one with curly brown hair, cast an odd look toward the Warblers.

Blaine, who had been silent nearly the entire day, shook his head. "No way. Please tell me we're not sharing the hotel with other choirs."

"I think we are," David said sadly.

"Wonderful."

Kurt had gone still at the sight of the brown haired boy. His jaw was set tensely, strong, and his eyes were as sharp as the edge of broken glass. The light reflected off of them and they appeared to be a piercing hazel. The other boys in the group with him wore a similar uniform, but he was the only one wearing a dark leather jacket and tight jeans that almost hugged his legs.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Cody whispered, nudging him in the arm.

Kurt snapped his head away from the boy for a split second, but looked back. "Oh, nothing. I thought I recognized someone over there. But I don't."

"Are you sure, Kurt?" he asked and his eyes darted to the other choir. "Because one of them is certainly staring over here like he knows _you._"

Shaking his head blindly, Kurt broke eye contact with the boy, his muscles locking. He self-consciously nibbled on his lower lip and kept his eyes forward, willing Ms. Lovett to hurry up with their room keys so they could get out of there—

"Well, well, well. I'd never thought we would cross paths again, Kurt Hummel."

At the sound of his name, Kurt let out the breath that had been trapped in his chest. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, then looked at the boy coming toward him. Up close, his eyes were more deadly, his hair curled tighter at the ends, and his complexion was flawless. His smile was one that put Will's malicious one to shame, venomous, and pearly white teeth appeared when he parted his lips.

"Jesse St. James," Kurt said in a long breath and he heard his voice break. He knew Blaine and the others were watching closely, studying Jesse with suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"The same reason you're here, of course," Jesse explained coolly. He motioned to the group of girls and boys behind him, waiting at the elevator. "Vocal Adrenaline is performing in Nationals. Did you think we weren't going to be here?"

Kurt shook his head once and flexed his fingers over the handle of his suitcase. "I knew _they _were going to be here, but not you. I thought you were in Ohio, helping the New Directions still."

"The New Directions? Are you kidding me?" He said the name as a joke and Kurt gripped his bag to avoid swinging. "After they lost Regionals, I knew there was nothing left for me to do with them. They were utterly hopeless. So what did I have better to do with my time other than assist my old choir? At least they can actually put up a legitimate fight." He gave an eye roll.

"Excuse me," Diego interrupted, "may I be of some service to you?" His voice was taut and serious, and he held himself high, almost standing taller than Jesse.

Jesse stuck out a kind hand. "Jesse St. James. I am the assistant coach for Vocal Adrenaline," he introduced and flashed his poisonous grin.

As much as he didn't want to, Diego shook hands anyway. "Again, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, I know Kurt," Jesse explained casually and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We were in the New Directions together once upon a time. After he left McKinley, I was so eager to see where he had transferred. Then, a few of the guys gave me a little insight on where he had gone and when you guys won Regionals, it all clicked. I knew he would be here for the weekend and I was only hoping to catch up."

"The only reason you sung with us was because you wanted _Rachel_, not because you actually wanted to sing with us," Kurt corrected hotly, and hoped Lovett wouldn't come back and see Jesse. "And now you know I'm with the Warblers, so why don't you scurry along? Your choir is waiting for you."

Jesse bristled and turned sour, but hid it with a cheerful smile. "Yes, indeed, they are waiting for me. I'm sure we'll see each other several times over the course of this competition. And if you ever need another school to transfer to"—he cast a dirty look at Diego, and the rest of the boys that happened to be listening in—"you know we can open a spot in VA for you. Don't hesitate to call; I'm sure you can still get my number from Rachel."

He smiled one last, blinding time and turned on his heel, retreating back to his choir.

"What in the world, Kurt?" Wes asked as soon as Jesse was at least five feet away, not caring that he could be heard clearly. The rest of the Warblers crowded forward to hear what was being said.

Kurt waved a hand at him. "He wasn't lying. We do know each other, sadly, which is something I wish wasn't true. He's nasty, and vile, and—"

"His hair looks odd," Cody pointed out.

"I don't care if his hair looks weird or not. That won't give them extra points, or take them away," Kurt said tartly. "We _have _to beat them. They're pulling out a lot of good stunts this year, I'm sure, and if we placed below them—"

"You wouldn't be able to look that Jackie guy in the face?" Thomas guessed and pretended to shine his nails on the lapel of his blazer.

"Okay, boys," Ms. Lovett said as she came back to them with a bundle of envelopes in her hand. "I've got our room keys and we're all checked in. We can just—" She stopped and followed their line of sight to hit Vocal Adrenaline.

"Oh. That's another thing I didn't mention. Most of the competition is boarding at this hotel, so I don't want any funny business. Got it? No challenging them to sing-offs or 'getting up in their grills', if you will. Nothing of the sort," she said, meeting every pair of eyes. "You should be on your best behavior. You're from a disciplined boys' school, for crying out loud, not a preschool."

The boys nodded but were either too absorbed in the hotel or in the fact that they were sharing the hotel with the choirs they would have to sing against in two days. They followed her to the elevators, where Jesse and his choir stepped aside.

Jesse smiled sweetly at Lovett and dropped it once she was in the elevator. One of the boys with white-blonde hair smirked as they passed, and Will sneered at him. Carson hit him in the arm before Lovett could notice.

Half the group split into one elevator, and the other half in the second one. Kurt opted to go in the one without Lovett and stayed near Wes and David. The walls were painted with the same color paint as was out in the lobby and the ceiling was paneled with a reflective material, like a mirror, and the floor was layered in thin carpet.

Blaine reached forward and hit the correct floor level and the doors slid shut. As soon as they started to move, Will made a face from where he stood in the corner, Carson and James flanking him.

"Did you see the way those jerks were looking at us? It was like they hadn't seen an all-boys school before," he scoffed. "I can't believe that one guy had the nerve to look at me like that. I mean, really. If you want to be a good sport, don't stare down your competition like they're tonight's meal."

"Relax, will you?" Diego ordered tensely. He stared up at the ceiling, up at the wavy mirrored material. "At least they think of us as competition. That's a good thing, because it means we're somewhat of a threat to them."

"But it's not such a good thing if they look like they want to kill us," James muttered lowly as he drummed his fingers against the railing behind him.

Kurt watched him do this, and the thought hit him abruptly. The last time he had been in an elevator was back at the school, when Dex and Leo had taken Pavarotti and sent the boys on a wild goose chase to get him back. It was when Kurt had found out about James and the scars running up and down his arms.

But the way the dark haired boy acted at the moment seemed so calm and at ease, and Kurt glanced away.

The Precursor rubbed his face in aggravation. "Relax. You heard what Lovett said: no picking fights with the other choirs, no matter how many dirty looks they give you, or what they say to you."

Carson looked down from staring at the ceiling. "But what if they outright tell you they're going to beat your ass? Don't you have the right to tell them the same thing? Or at least slug them?"

"If you do that, _I'll _slug you."

The elevator dinged promptly and the doors parted to reveal an endless hallway, lined with doors and thin, red carpet. Every so often there was a window accompanied by a small loveseat, a table, and a potted plant on the left side of the hall. The windows looked out over some of the city, the glass buildings shining with what light broke through the clouds. Even from eight floors up, the piano could still be heard, but barely, almost like an afterthought.

Diego led the way out into the hall and as they stepped out, the elevator next to them dinged. Ms. Lovett arrived with the other half of the choir and she distributed the keycards to the room captains.

"Alright, boys. Follow me," Wes said cockily to David, Blaine, and Kurt. He waved the cream envelope containing the room keys in front of them.

"I still don't like the idea of you being our room captain," Blaine grumbled, but clicked up the handle of his suitcase and followed anyway.

Wes grinned. "Maybe Lovett didn't feel you were up to the job."

"Maybe she did it just so she could shut you up," Kurt said airily, before he realized what he was saying.

Blaine snorted and the smallest smile graced his pink lips. David snorted and covered his mouth while Wes stiffened and stopped suddenly in front of a room. Their room was near the end of the hallway, close by the ice machine and the vending machines.

"Yeah, just keep thinking that," Wes grumbled under his breath and shoved one of the two keycards into the electronic box on the handle. The lights blinked green and he pushed the door open.

The room was lavish, similar to the lobby. The beds were draped in layers upon layers of tan sheets and a white duvet. Fluffed pillows sat at the headboard. Across from the beds was a stained bureau with a large flat screen television. The closet was empty and a walk-in, hangers hanging from an iron bar inside. The drapes were neatly pulled back from the windows to reveal a lovely view of the city, though the weather was less than pleasurable.

"I call the bed by the windows!" David shouted and raced past Wes into the room. Wes stuck out his foot and snagged the other boy's ankle, tripping him, and Wes hurled his suitcase onto the bed in triumph. Scrambling to his feet and abandoning his bag, David tackled his friend and they both tumbled to the floor.

Kurt took in a deep breath, inhaling the strong scent of soaps and air fresheners, and stepped into the room. He was sliding his suitcase onto the other empty bed when Blaine's hand brushed his elbow. Kurt looked over at him, surprised, expectant, and almost dropped his suitcase on his foot, but kept a tight hold on the handle. His throat closed up when he found Blaine's expectant hazel eyes.

"Hey," Blaine said shortly and he dropped his hand quickly to his side, "can I talk to you?"

Kurt swallowed and flexed his fingers around the handle. He was sure David and Wes were too absorbed with exploring the room to notice that he and Blaine were almost utterly silent. "Um, sure. What?"

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck and cast sideways glances at the two other boys in the room. He propped his own suitcase against the wall by the second bed. "I meant… not here."

"Then where did you want to go?" Kurt asked incredulously, as if he'd asked him to rob a bank.

"Out. Just to get away from here. We can go somewhere. You know, just walk around," Blaine answered.

He bit his lip and went to the door to peer into the hallway, where the others were standing with their luggage, getting settled into their rooms. "Are we even allowed to leave in the first place? Won't Lovett get upset with us?" he asked cautiously, coming back into the room and carefully watching Wes and David.

"Not if she doesn't know we're gone." He flashed one of the smiles that made Kurt go weak in the knees. "We won't be gone long, I promise."

"Can't we talk about whatever it is here? We can go down in the lobby," Kurt suggested almost pleadingly. He was not in the mood to leave the hotel, let alone get in trouble for it later.

Blaine was quiet for a moment. "There are a few things I want to talk about that I don't want the others listening in on. Some people more than others. It's important to me, Kurt. Please?"

Kurt watched him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he ducked his head, mumbled a quick confirmation, and brushed past him to the doorway. Neither Wes nor David noticed them leave, as they were too busy fighting over which side of the bed they would sleep on.

Blaine followed him, hands stowed away in the pockets of his jacket. Kurt's heart did backflips in his chest as they made their way down the hall and away from the rest of the group. No one seemed to see them leave, but if they did, nothing was said about it.

"Where exactly are we going, if I may ask?" Kurt sputtered, heading into the elevator with him. While the doors slid shut, his chest tightened.

"Somewhere quiet," Blaine said right off as he punched buttons, "somewhere we can talk without people eavesdropping. You know that if we talk in the room David will be all over us, and Wes will want to know what's going on, and next thing you know, we've got the entire group knocking on our door."

"We're quite the hot topic, I suppose," he mumbled and he kept his lips flat. The way Blaine rambled on and on, usually when he was anxious over something, made him want to smile, but he swallowed the urge.

The elevator ride was slow and tedious, going from the eighth floor to the main level. Kurt found himself staring at the floor most of the time, examining his shoes. He heard a clipping sound and looked over, only to find Blaine nibbling on one of his nails out of nerves. He held back from telling him to stop.

Eventually the elevator slowed to a stop and it chimed as the doors slid open fluidly. The two boys hesitated. They both had the intention of letting the other go first until, at last, Kurt stepped out first. Blaine followed him and the doors slid shut behind him.

The lobby was half full. People milled around with cups of lukewarm coffee in their hands, rolled newspapers folded under their arms. The manager standing behind the main counter looked bored and balanced his chin in his hand and his elbow on the desk.

Vocal Adrenaline was still in the lobby, seated in the front room as a thin man with even thinner arms, who was most likely the director, talked to them. Jesse met Kurt's gaze and it made Kurt bite his lip.

Kurt kept his eyes down and cut through the lobby to the doors. A tugging feeling in his stomach told him he didn't need to look back to check if Blaine was following. He knew he was.

Outside, it was cool, almost like fall. Dark clouds filled the sky and the air was thick with moisture. Kurt zipped up his jacket and idled by the doors. Blaine appeared a moment later, tucking himself in his own jacket, and he spared Kurt a longing look.

"Well?" Kurt said almost sharply and he looked away, toward the streets that were busy with cars and trucks. "We're away from everyone. What did you want to talk about?"

Blaine lifted a shoulder. "I was thinking… a little farther from here," he suggested and took a lazy step forward.

"What? Ms. Lovett will kill us if she finds we actually went into the city, alone," he told him strictly, standing still. "She'll kill us if she finds out we even stepped outside the hotel without her permission. We're already breaking the rules. We can't afford to break any more."

"It'll be fine," Blaine promised with a look back at the hotel, taking a few more steps forward. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Kurt stared at him. "You sound exactly like Will," he said, and then he decided that that wasn't the best thing to say at the moment. "She'll know soon enough, Blaine. Can't we just talk inside? And it looks like it's going to rain, anyway. I'd rather not get wet."

This made Blaine stop and he turned, and for once, he looked irritated. "Can you trust me right now, Kurt? You used to trust me like it was second nature. Can't it be that way for ten minutes? Long enough for us to go somewhere, away from everything?" His hazel eyes glimmered and he pulled his hands from his pockets, as if he wanted to take Kurt's in his own.

"What about rehearsal? Lovett said she wanted us to rehearse later on," he stuttered, the last thing that came to his mind.

Blaine blinked as if he only now realized they had a rehearsal planned later that night. "We'll be back in time for it, I'm sure," he said and amusement colored his tone. "We've got a few hours."

Kurt's face went up in flames and he glanced down at the cracked pavement under his feet. He absently worried his lower lip and shifted his weight back and forth between both feet. He was caught. He wanted to go away with Blaine, follow him wherever he went, but the nagging urge to hold back in fear of being caught weighed him down.

"As long as we don't get caught," Kurt said carefully. _As long as this is worth it._

The response made a faint smile appear on Blaine's face and he lifted his posture. Together they paced away from the hotel and reached the street corner, where they waited for the light to change. Once they crossed the street and were out of the way of cars speeding back and forth, Kurt licked his lips.

"So we're away, just like you wanted," he started and resisted looking back at the hotel that was now on the other side of the street. "Talk."

Blaine pursed his lips and kept his eyes forward while they walked, passing small cafes and boutiques and other people who were unfolding umbrellas and hoisting them over their heads. He ground his teeth in thought.

"I'm sorry. That's the first thing I want to say. I'm sorry," he blurted.

But before he could continue, Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop, Blaine. I know what you want to talk about, and I don't want to talk about this right now."

"And when are we going to talk about it?" Blaine snapped back, using a tone of voice Kurt had seldom heard him use. It sounded like a jagged edge of glass. "Until after the competition? After finals? No, Kurt. We're going to talk about this now, because if we don't, I don't…" He trailed off, struggling. "We might not be able to fix this."

Kurt curled his hands into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared straight forward, not at the other boy. His mouth was incredibly dry, unable to produce words. Taking a deep breath, it was a few moments before Blaine said anything again.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened. Sorry for making accusations and being jealous. It wasn't right of me to act that way toward you." He paused and he glanced shyly at Kurt. "I should have accepted that you and Will had nothing going on when you told me the first time."

"I can't really blame you on that one," Kurt mumbled before the other boy could go on. "If you were singing with my ex, if I had one, I would be a tad jealous, too." He turned his head to look through the filmy glass of a toy shop to his right. The colors of the signs and trinkets in the window were dull from the darkness of the sky.

Blaine nodded his head once in understanding. "And now, once I think about it again, I shouldn't have thought he liked you in the first place."

"Will does not like me," Kurt said hastily. "I still don't know where you got that idea."

"That's what I figured. You're too much of a goody-two-shoes for him." He backtracked. "Not that that's a bad thing, of course. I like goody-two-shoes."

Kurt barely smiled. "Nice save."

Blaine let out a slow breath and his face was pink from embarrassment. "And I also wanted to apologize for my stupid reasoning. I should have thought better than to suspect you for… wanting to be with Will, I suppose." The words came out hesitant and unsure. They sounded like he had tasted something bad and was spitting out whatever was left.

Stealing a glance at the darkening sky, Kurt inhaled the smell of rain that reminded him of what the beach smelled like, of what his house on stormy days smelled like.

"I didn't. And I don't. And I still can't fathom what you saw in him when you were still dating." The sentence came out funny and tasted sour on his lips. "He's boastful and rude, and self-absorbed and… everything you're not."

"He was nice to me a few years ago," Blaine stated simply, burrowing deeper in jacket, maybe hoping it would swallow him up. "I was having issues with my family at the time, and he was nice to me, and he was there for me. He was all I could have ever asked for at the time."

Kurt's eyes drifted from the shops to his feet, where they stayed, watching his Doc Martens move across the pavement. He felt numb, not from the chilling temperatures, and it was almost like he was outside his body, looking down on everything.

They had walked far beyond the hotel. Their surroundings gradually began to melt into something different—the shops around them were different, and none of the familiar street signs were at any of the corners. Realizing this made Kurt fret and he had half a mind to turn back, whether Blaine went with him or not. He slowed his pace slightly.

Blaine shook his head and his eyes were fixated in front of them. "But we're off topic. I don't want to talk about Will."

"Really. I hadn't noticed," Kurt replied without missing a beat, his tone flatter than he had intended.

He seemed oblivious to the sarcasm, and if he wasn't, he wasn't showing it.

"I didn't come out here to talk about Will," he went on in a relatively calm manner, though there was venom when he said the other boy's name. He stopped pacing the sidewalk and reached out for one of Kurt's hands. "I came here to apologize to you personally, Kurt. I was being… well, frankly, I was being an ass. I shouldn't have argued with you like that. I don't care if you plead that it was your fault. I started it."

Kurt unhappily clenched his teeth and took a step back. The contact with the other's boy skin sent electric zaps up his arms that made him want to jump. "Blaine, just—"

"No, listen to me," he persisted and clasped Kurt's hand between both of his own. He took another step forward until the flecks of gold were visible in his eyes. "I realize the mistakes I've made with you, from the moment I argued with you until right now, and I want to go back and erase them. Give me a chance to fix everything, Kurt. Do this for me, and I—I promise I'll make everything okay. I promise."

Kurt's chest compressed, like there was stitching above his sternum and it was pulling tighter by the minute. Soon breathing was no longer an involuntary action—he actually had to focus on the breaths he needed.

_Breathe in, breath out. Not that fast, you don't want to hyperventilate. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't forget to breathe again._

Another object of focus was staying on his feet. His knees felt lifeless under him and he was to the point of collapsing, right on the spot. Overhead, a single clap of thunder struck and the ground trembled the smallest bit.

"Blaine," Kurt said and turned his head to the side. The motion made his head spin and he shut his eyes in an attempt to steady things.

"Can we try again?" he whispered, and his warm breath brushed Kurt's face. "Please?"

Kurt steadied himself and braced one hand against Blaine's shoulder. "I don't know…" he said, exhaling.

The other boy pulled away from him. He licked his lips. "Just listen to me."

"I want to go back to the hotel," Kurt protested weakly.

"Hear me out," he said firmly. He licked his lips again and started singing, in a low voice, _"I had a house while you were gone, the week after you left me."_

Kurt blinked and he took a step back. He raised his eyebrows, his heart jumping.

"_I found a couple acres near Severna Park. I had a house while you were gone," _Blaine continued, the words fluid and soothing, _"a house with silver shutters, and a driveway laid in marble, and thousands of rooms to fill, and miles of space to fly—"_

Kurt held up his hand to stop him. The way Blaine was moving his lips didn't match up with the words that came out and he was sure he was going to faint any second. "Please, stop."

Then Blaine grabbed his elbows tenderly, and it made Kurt gasp. Blaine's eyes glowed in the dreary light. "Come on, Kurt. I know you know this song," he said with quiet enthusiasm. His lips appeared almost ready to form a smile.

"But that doesn't mean I want to hear it," he said fixedly, even though the corner of his lips twitched.

"_And I tried to believe it, it was better without you," _he continued without dropping his hands or listening to Kurt's protest. _"I was safer alone."_

Kurt shook his head and did not look him in the eye as he continued to sing.

_No, I'd give it all for you,_

_I'd give it all for you by my side once more,_

_Oh, I'd give it all for you,_

_I'd give it all to hold you again, to feel I'm completed,_

_To know there and then, that all that I needed was you to fight the fear,_

_And now you're here…_

Blaine trailed off. He lifted Kurt's chin gently with his fingers, looking at him hopefully. Kurt was frozen in his grasp, muscles locked. He was unmoving, not even able to protest. But then his lips trembled and his voice cut through the silence.

_I took a trip while I was gone,_

_I cashed all my savings and bought an El Dorado,_

_Drove to Tennessee,_

_I took a trip while I was gone,_

_I drove across the counter and I stopped at lots of diners,_

_And I started at a million stars and I thought I could touch the sky,_

_And I tried to believe it,_

_It was better without you,_

_I was finally free_

Kurt took a shuddering gasp after the words left his mouth and he could feel the backs of his eyes prickling with tears. His mouth felt as dry as parchment and his hands shook by his sides. Blaine's warm hand on his shoulder was felt through the thick fabric of his coat and his fingertips were soft against his skin.

He wanted to stop right there, but the look from Blaine was pleading. He took another deep breath.

_No, I'd give it all for you,_

_I'd give it all for you by my side once more,_

_Oh, I'd give it all for you,_

_I'd give it 'cause the mountains I climb get higher and higher,_

_I'm running from time and walking through fire,_

_And dreams just don't come true,_

_But now there's you_

Blaine took up where he left off. _"God knows it's easy to hide, easy to hide from the things that you feel. And harder to blindly trust what you can't understand…"_

Kurt felt his lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners as he sung. _"God knows it's easy to run, easy to run from the people you love. And harder to stand and fight for the things you believe…"_

Together, they joined, voices melting into something gracious to the ears.

_Nothing about us was perfect or clear,_

_But when paradise calls me,_

_I'd rather be here,_

_There's something between us that nobody needs to see_

Kurt lifted his chin. _"There were oceans to cross."_

"_There were mountains to conquer," _Blaine sung, beginning to smile himself.

"_And I stood on the shore."_

Blaine pulled him closer, reaching up to thread his fingers lightly, almost cautiously, through Kurt's hair. _"And I stood on the cliff."_

_And the second before I jumped, _

_I knew where I needed to be_

Blaine carefully took the other boy's hand and rubbed his thumbs in slow circles on the back of it. Kurt's skin was cool and his hands were shaking a little. He squeezed Kurt's hand and was relieved to have him give a squeeze back.

_Oh, I gave it all for you,_

_I gave it all for you by my side once more,_

_Oh, I gave it all for you,_

_I gave it 'cause it's harder to touch,_

_The things that are dearer,_

_I love you too much,_

_To trust something clearer,_

_I know I fell too far,_

_But here you are…_

Kurt was unable to breathe. It was as if there was no air left in the world and he was struggling to take one last breath. His lungs felt sharp pains and he reminded himself to at least attempt to breathe.

But before he could suck in a gulp of air, or add his actions together, his forehead was pressed against Blaine's shoulder and his arms were wrapped around him, holding him tightly.

Immediately Blaine enveloped him in a thick embrace, his face buried in Kurt's hair, taking in the sweet smell of Kurt's salon shampoo. Kurt leaned into him to the point where he wasn't sure whether he was supporting his own weight or not. Blaine's fingers brushed like whispers over his skin, burning and light. He held the other boy in silence. In that instant, there was nothing either of them wanted more.

Except, maybe to be dry.

Above them a dark storm cloud had burst, spilling rain across the city. It drenched the streets entirely in sheets of water and ran down the sidewalks in small, gushing rivers. The water soaked through the boys' clothing like a knife through butter, and Kurt shrieked, jumping back. Every muscle in his body locked and he stiffened. Water panned his face and he rubbed shaking hands over his eyes to clear them.

Blaine had his hands tangled through his damp curls, which had taken on a darker color, and he was laughing, low and warm. With his head titled back, he opened his mouth to catch raindrops on his tongue. His cheeks were flushed pink and the rain made his clothes cling to his lean frame. He shook out his hair and opened his eyes.

"Does this mean we're okay?" he called over the roar of the thunderstorm rolling overhead. Lightning struck and lit the city for the briefest of moments, and then it was dark again.

"I may be soaking wet," Kurt began through chattering teeth and stretched his hands out in an attempt to collect water in the palms of his hands, "freezing cold, and a tad irritated that my hair is messed up, but yes, I'd say we're pretty okay."

Before the sentence had even been finished, Blaine reached forward and grabbed to lapels of Kurt's jacket to pull him forward. Their lips crashed together in a hurry. Kurt kept his arms locked around his neck, even after they had pulled apart. He pressed their foreheads together and smiled faintly.

"It's like a movie," Blaine whispered, amused, his eyes slowly studying the other's face to memorize every feature. "You know, singing a ballad and being kissed in the rain on some street in New York. Pretty movie-ish to me."

Kurt lifted one shoulder. "It is a little movie-esque," he murmured, then waited. "And the song. How did you know I knew it?"

Blaine grinned. "It's a musical. I had a feeling you would know it."

"And if I didn't?" He raised an eyebrow.

He bit his lower lip in thought. "Then I would've looked pretty stupid."

Kurt placed his hand on the side of the boy's face. He used the tip of his finger to brush away a hint of either tears or rain drops from the corner of his eye. Blaine's skin was hot under his palm.

"You wouldn't have looked stupid," Kurt told him. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Well, I was thinking 'Moulin Rouge', but it seemed a little too overused," Blaine said and shrugged.

"I don't care what it is. Just to hear your voice is… nice," he said bashfully and hid his face in Blaine's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Blaine."

Blaine nodded once. "I'm sorry."

They stood there for a long moment, Blaine clutching Kurt to him, the rain soaking their clothes straight through. It came down in sheets around them and drenched the streets in a murky gloom. The sound of tires squealing against the road made Kurt look up.

"You know I would love to hang around New York with you," he said quietly, even though there was hardly anyone else around to hear him, "but I'd like to do it when we're not soaking wet."

"Agreed. Let's head back," Blaine said, feeling lightheaded.

Walking back to the hotel was quite a feat. The constant sheets of rain that soaked them also made the roads and sidewalks slick, and twice Kurt slipped in small puddles. And both times, Blaine was there to catch him. They made it to a familiar corner and crossed the street as quickly as they could without falling on the pavement.

As soon as they reached the other side of the street, the lights changed from red to green and the cars shot forward. The taxi cab nearest them took off and the spinning wheels sent water flying. It came over the two boys in a wave and both lifted their arms over their heads in protection.

"And there's another stereotypical New York movie scene," Kurt whined once the car had passed. He rubbed his coat sleeve against his face. "Getting splashed on by an angry driver in the middle of a thunderstorm."

Blaine knew it was wrong to laugh, but he did anyway.

The lobby radiated heat. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed, and most everything was the same. The manager behind the desk still looked bored and the pianist was still plucking away at the ivory keys. Vocal Adrenaline, however, was long gone, and that was reassuring. Kurt could only imagine what kind of stares he would receive, especially from Jesse.

He stopped to wipe his feet against the wide mat, but eventually gave up, as his jacket dripped water everywhere. He and Blaine headed straight for the elevators without looking behind them to see who might've been ogling.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Kurt peeled the sodden jacket from his body and slung it over his arm. His sweater underneath was soaked through as well, his pants clinging to his legs. The rain had forced his hair into a flat state and he peered up at the mirror-like ceiling to attempt to fix it.

As he shuffled his bangs around, he caught Blaine's reflection. The boy's skin was sickly white and he appeared to shiver from the icy rain.

"Thank God for heating," he muttered and removed his jacket.

Kurt simply nodded and ducked his head. His heart fluttered in his chest and he found it difficult to breathe. He raised his head to look at the dial above the door when he felt a hand on his waist, pulling him.

"What are you doing, Blaine?" Kurt laughed when the other boy started to press kisses against his neck.

"I love you," Blaine said simply and pulled back to scan his face. "And I never want to let you go." He shook his head and scrambled for the right words. "Letting you go was stupid. Can I make an analogy?"

Kurt couldn't help but smile. "Go ahead. Is it going to be cheesy?"

Two bright spots of pink appeared high on Blaine's cheeks. "Probably."

"Then go ahead."

Blaine grinned a kind of grin that made one dimple appear on his cheek and he seemed flustered. "You're like… my puzzle piece."

"Your puzzle piece?" Kurt covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Like the Katy Perry song?"

"Exactly like the Katy Perry song." He pressed his lips to Kurt's, long and full.

The elevator dinged and the doors fluidly slid open. The two boys broke apart instantly. Kurt stuck his head out and scanned the hallway. All the doors were shut and there was not a sound.

"I think we're safe," he whispered and stepped out into the hall. Blaine followed him and threaded their fingers together absently.

Kurt missed the feeling of holding another person's hand, the feeling of heat from someone else's body against his palm.

Their shoes, Kurt's Doc Martens and Blaine's Vans, squished audibly against the thin layer of carpet under their feet. Kurt winced until he couldn't stand it anymore. He dropped to the floor and untied his shoes, carrying them by the laces in his free hand. He ignored the funny look Blaine gave him. They were almost to their room when the muffling of cloth against carpet made them whip around.

Ms. Lovett stood near the end of the hallway. She paced down the hall with a full ice bucket in her hands and narrowed her eyes. Her lips parted as she was about to say something, but her eyes scanned their clasped hands and glowing faces and wet clothes.

"I don't want to know what you boys have been up to," she said in a long breath, "and I'm not going to ask. All I want is for you to not get in any trouble that could possibly get us disqualified from the competition. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both answered at once.

"Good. Remember, rehearsal at six in one of the meeting rooms off the lobby." She gave them a tired smile and disappeared into her room.

"That was close," Blaine said as soon as the door shut firmly behind her. He dug out the damp room key from his jeans pocket and slid it in the small box on the handle.

Kurt nodded and glanced both ways down the hall. "I'll say. Let's hope no one else saw…"

"Speaking of, where is—" Blaine had the door opened halfway when he cut his sentence off. "Oh, h-hey, guys. How's it going?"

Wes and David sat on the foot of the bed they would be sharing in similar poses, arms knit over their chests, eyebrows raised. They had the appearance of angry parents, waiting for their teenager to sneak into the house after curfew. Blaine would have thought it amusing, but had a feeling they were serious.

Kurt took the first step into the room, cautiously, and hung his coat up on a hanger and placed it on a rod in the shower to dry properly. Blaine entered behind him and acted like the floor was laced with mines.

"Where have you two been?" Wes asked skeptically.

"Out. Did you know it's raining outside? It's actually really nice," Blaine said merrily and put on his best smile. He hung his coat up next to Kurt's in the bathroom and removed his shoes and tossed them by the door where two other pairs sat.

"I think, from the massive amounts of thunder and lightning, we do. Now, would you care to explain where you two have been?" David said shortly.

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Lovett did a role call and we had to say you"—he gestured to Kurt—"were changing clothes in the bathroom, and that you"—he pointed accusingly at Blaine next—"were taking a shower. We could've gotten in serious trouble, guys."

Kurt shared a look with Blaine. "Actually, we did have a run in with Lovett just now, if you were wondering."

"And she didn't get mad at you?" Wes gasped in disbelief.

"Far from it, At least, she didn't seem mad. If she was, she's good at hiding it," Blaine said thankfully and reached for the television remote that sat on the bureau. David lunged for it and stole it before Blaine could take it. "

David held it away from him, and Blaine gave up. "Back to the main question: where were you two, exactly? Last time I checked, you can't get wet from standing inside."

"And last time _I _checked," Wes interjected and slid off the bed, "you two were still having a fight and refusing have anything to do with each other." He stared at them pointedly, expecting one of them to contradict him.

"We may have gone outside," Kurt said as he peeled off his socks and tossed them on top of his suitcase.

"And we may not be fighting anymore." Blaine positively glowed while he said this. He unzipped his suitcase and dug through it for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. "And now, I think I may go change clothes." Before anyone could say anything, he shut himself in the bathroom.

Kurt caught himself watching the door longingly and when he turned back around, Wes was staring up at him from the bed, lying flat on his stomach with his chin propped under his hands.

"So," he said in a slightly girlish voice, "tell me everything."

"What is there to tell?" Kurt asked carefully and tried his best not to laugh at him. He went over to his suitcase and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a shirt. The sweater he wore currently clung to his skin, but somehow he didn't mind, even though it was dry clean only.

Wes rolled his eyes flamboyantly. "There's _everything _to tell, darling."

"He means to ask if you and the hobbit are off the market again," David interjected and plopped down in the desk chair, kicking the floor and spinning himself around in a few circles and tossed the remote up in the air to catch it.

Kurt watched them through narrowed eyes. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"Are you and Blaine dating again?" they both burst out at once.

"I—I think so," he stammered and clutched his dry clothes to his chest. "Why do you ask?"

"Good," David sighed and spun himself in another circle that made Kurt's stomach churn just watching him. "I don't want to be between you two anymore. It gets really awkward after a while when neither of you refuse to talk to each other."

"It was like two puzzle pieces that don't fit," Wes added. "If you're into crazy soul mate stuff like that."

Kurt worried his lower lip. "I mean, I think we're okay."

At that moment, Blaine opened the door and came back into the room, wearing long shorts and a sports t-shirt. He had hung his wet clothes in the shower and his hair was damp.

Kurt used that opportunity to escape the conversation. With his clothes tucked to his chest, he passed Blaine and whispered, "Watch out. They're interrogating us on the status of our relationship."

Blaine's lips curved in a wicked smile and he turned his body to stay face-to-face with him. "What did you say?"

"I told them we were—" Kurt started, his fingers digging into the clothes in his hands.

Then Blaine kissed him quickly, right there on the mouth, and Kurt's face turned scarlet.

"Oh, gross! PDA, PDA!" Wes shrieked behind them. He fell backwards off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thump, hands over his eyes; David simply spun himself around in the chair to put his back to them.

"I think you should go change," Blaine whispered against Kurt's lips, his eyes fluttering open. "Otherwise I think Wes and David will absolutely die."

Kurt nodded numbly and vanished behind the bathroom door.

* * *

Rehearsal was held in one of the many meeting rooms off the lobby. The long table was pushed against the wall and the many chairs with it. Even though it was a meeting room, Ms. Lovett was indifferent about the lack of risers in the room, seeing as there would be risers on the stage at the competition. But they dealt with what they had with them, which included an iPod with the musical selections and a small portable speaker.

When Kurt's solo came up, James was dying to head into the lobby and tap out the music on the grand piano, but Lovett decided against it.

"It might disturb the residents of the hotel," she said stiffly. "And plus, do we really want the other choirs to know what we're playing? Now, take it from the top."

The rehearsal lasted from six to seven with limited breaks in between. When they had run through each piece three times and run through the show entirely without any stops, she let them leave and head off to the dining room for a late dinner.

"Thank goodness," Thomas mumbled, stretching his arms above his head. He rubbed his throat soothingly. "I don't think I would've lasted one more run through. I can hardly even talk without sounding like a dying horse."

"Oh, you sound fine," Cody told him with the wave of his hand. He got to his feet and started out of the room.

"Remember," Lovett called as she collected her iPod, "after dinner, get some sleep for tomorrow. We're going out and I don't want anyone to be left behind because they're too tired to lift a finger."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "That's right. We get to see the city tomorrow," he said softly to Blaine, leaving the room and following Thomas and Cody down the hall; the rest of the choir was behind them.

Blaine nodded and twined his hand with Kurt's. "I can tell you're excited."

He nearly squealed in delight. "Of course I'm excited! Oh, I hope we stop at Radio City Music Hall. That would be amazing to see the stage. Or at least the outside of the building, should we be so lucky."

"I think we'll get lucky enough," Blaine said and nudged his shoulder contently. "And you know," he added in a softer voice, holding the door to the dining room open for him, "tomorrow is your birthday."

Kurt's excited state vanished. He covered his face with his hands. "Please don't mention that to anyone. I would absolutely have to chop off your head if you did. You wouldn't have a head, and then what would happen to your precious singing career? Think of yourself in this case, Blaine."

"Why the violence? It's only a birthday. It's not like we're giving you up for sacrifice or anything like that. They're fun," he said.

"I know, but birthdays are a little silly to me," Kurt said and dropped his hand from Blaine's.

They were in the dining room. It was grand, like the room they had just rehearsed in, with circular tables covered in floating table cloths and two tables leaning against the wall with food for a buffet.

"All they're good for is keeping track of how old you are. Sure, they're good for doctor's papers and renewing driver's licenses, but it only makes me feel like I'm not living. I'm almost seventeen and I haven't done much," Kurt continued sadly and got in line. He took a ceramic plate in one hand.

Blaine sighed, taking a plate himself and drifting down the line until he found something he liked. "Relax. You're under twenty. Most people don't do things with their lives until they're at least twenty-one. After then, they get good jobs, graduate from college, get married…" He faded, and turned to look at Kurt.

Kurt laughed nervously and picked up a slice of bread. "I don't want to start thinking about marriage yet, for goodness sakes. I've barely gotten through high school without losing a limb. The last thing I want to plan right now is marriage." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Although I have planned possible themes for a future ceremony, if it should ever arise."

With that, Blaine fell silent and spooned pasta onto his plate. He waited for Kurt to fill his plate, mostly with salad and bread, and they sat down. The Warblers dominated three tables in the corner of the room. The rest were taken by normal occupants of the hotel, and Vocal Adrenaline crowded in the opposite corner.

Kurt ducked his head. He hoped that they wouldn't see them, but most likely, they had spotted them the moment they walked through the door. He could feel Jesse's scrutinizing gaze boring holes in the back of his head.

Conversation at dinner was kept to a minimum, the boys' voices mere hums in the air. Thomas talked about he and Marissa were still very much in touch and talked often, and he glowed brighter with each word. Cody, who sat beside him, leaned his elbow against the table and tried to look happy for his friend, but he seemed glum.

Diego had to sit between Wes and David to keep them from jabbing at each other with forks. He kept having to use his elbows to block blows from either boy as they tried to sneak around him.

"What are we, seven years old?" Diego demanded with quiet fury and snatched their forks. He tossed them across the table, where they bounced and landed in front of Ronnie. He pulled out his camera and snapped a picture.

Kurt blinked at the flash as he tore off the crust of his bread. He turned to Blaine, his head low. "Did I say something to offend you?"

"Offend me?" Blaine looked up, startled. He swallowed his bite of pasta. "Of course not."

"Then why did you get quiet?" he questioned, then backtracked. "Wait, I was talking about marriage. Explain."

Blaine turned red, and even in the low lighting he knew it was visible. "I was only rambling. Usually, marriage comes sometime after graduating from college, though some people do marry after high school."

"What are you trying to say?" Kurt asked and he heard his voice rise half an octave. He kept his voice low enough that the others wouldn't be drawn to it, and he felt his shoulders rise with tension.

"I'm only saying it. Did you think—?" He stopped, then laughed and covered his face with one hand. "Kurt, did you think I was proposing to you, or something?"

Kurt felt the blood spill into his cheeks. "If I did, would you be angry with me?"

"I would never be angry at with something like that," he said and poked at his pasta idly. "I was only bringing it up because that's what usually comes next. Trust me, Kurt, as much as I would like to marry you, I think I would be smart enough to wait until we both finished college. I know you want to come back to New York and perform. I wouldn't get in the way of that."

Kurt smiled at him, still in a daze. He simply licked his lips and looked down at his half-empty plate. "Oh. Okay."

"Why? What's wrong?" His tone carried hints of curiosity.

"Nothing, nothing," Kurt said hastily and looked back at him.

"Are you sure everything's alright?" Blaine nudged his hand under the table, and wrapped his fingers around Kurt's.

"Everything's fine. I was only thinking," he mumbled. "But before you say anything more, I just want to say that I'm sorry about everything that's happened. I never want to do something like that with you again."

Blaine watched him with shining eyes. "I know, and I'm sorry that we fought. I should have believed you when you said you were telling the truth. And if you decide you still want me, we'll probably have another fight in the future, no doubt. But next time, we'll learn how to handle it."

Kurt rubbed his thumb in slow circles on the back of the boy's hand and smiled. "I'm sure. But what you said… about if I decided I still wanted you."

"I will always love you, Kurt, no matter what happens. You could go insane and I would still love you," he explained quietly and pushed his plate away from him, not wanting to finish the rest.

"I can see myself going a little insane," Kurt admitted. "I mean, it's completely plausible."

"If you still want me," he added, "I'll be there for you. And if you decide you don't want me, I'll still be there. As long as you're happy."

Kurt looked at him. "I don't think it is possible to be happy without you, Blaine. In all honesty, I was a mess when we were apart."

Blaine simply smiled at him. "I think I was more of a mess than you were," he said.

"Were you the one who skipped class the morning we broke up?"

"Well, no, but—"

Kurt pointed at him and stood up, noticing as the others around them stood up. "My point exactly. From day one, I was worse off than you were."

"Are we really arguing about who had it worse?" he asked weakly, with somewhat of a smile.

Kurt paled. "Oh, no. We just need to stop talking about this. Right now, I mean," he said hastily, collecting both their plates and standing up.

The boys, with their dishes set aside and stomachs full, headed out of the dining room, all eagerly chattering on about the day they would have tomorrow. Shopping, eating, and sight-seeing.

The boys returned to their separate rooms with another reminder of the call time form Lovett and the first thing Wes did was fall flat on his face on the bed he shared with David. He kicked off his shoes and propped his head on his hand.

"So, Blaine," he said casually with a glance at the boy, "I see David and I are sharing a bed."

"Very good, Wes," Blaine mumbled in reply. "I'm glad you two are finally deciding to come out about your sexualities. But don't you think you're bringing it to the bed a little too early?"

Wes flushed bright red, but kept a calm face. "I was hoping you would catch onto the fact that since David and I have one bed, you and Kurt basically have to share the other bed." He waggled his eyebrows.

"You're so immature," Kurt told him and rubbed the back of his neck, which felt hot under his palm.

David rolled his eyes. He reached for the remote and clicked on the television to search for something suitable to watch. Purposefully he kicked off his shoes and flopped back on the bed, landing on Wes, who gave a grunt.

Grinning, David struggled to keep him pinned to the bed and click through the channels at the same time.

"Let me up!" Wes mumbled, the bed sheets muffling his voice.

"Nope," David decided ultimately and tossed the remote to Blaine. "I think I'm happy with this."

"See? You two make a nice couple," Blaine commented happily.

Kurt chuckled at the boys and knelt down at his suitcase. He unzipped it and pulled out his bag of toiletries, a change of pajamas, and his laptop case. He set the device aside to charge against the wall and took his pajamas and his cosmetic bag to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

In the mirror and the golden lights, his skin was yellow. He knew it looked much paler than that and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. Travel always wiped him out. He stripped down and folded the worn clothes on the vanity by the pajamas and turned on the shower. It spurted out cold water at first, but transitioned to a moderate temperature.

Kurt stepped in hesitantly and drew the curtains back, letting the spray wash over his body. It felt nice to not have to be anywhere at the moment, or not have anyone demanding anything from him. He ran shampoo through his hair, then conditioner, and scrubbed down his skin until it was rubbed raw and pink. He climbed out of the shower nearly fifteen minutes later smelling of honey and vanilla. He quickly dried off, dressed, and ran the hotel's blow drier over his hair until it was mostly dry.

Smoothing face cream over his skin, he followed his nightly routine, followed by brushing his teeth until he was sure his tongue burned from the acid. He collected his clothes and went back out into the room.

"Thank God! I need to pee!" Wes claimed and rushed past him, slamming the door.

Kurt blinked unsurely and dropped his clothes in his suitcase. "That was interesting."

"At least you didn't have to listen to him complain for twenty minutes about it," David mentioned dully. He had changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a shirt that showed off the prominent muscles in his arms. He had the remote now and was flipping through TV shows.

"Be glad. It was awful," Blaine agreed. He hugged a pillow to his chest and was sitting at the head of the bed.

"I can only imagine." Kurt flipped the switch on his laptop and carried it with him to the bed, where he settled at Blaine's side. "What's on right now?"

"Not much," David reported sadly and flipped through the rotation once more. "Damn you, hotel TV networks and your lack of good channels." It appeared that there were about only twenty channels, and they were all either news corners, nonstop shopping networks, or movie channels that played cheesy Hallmark productions. He eventually stopped on one that was news channel.

Blaine lasted about two minutes watching a grave story about a ten-car pileup on a highway before he turned his attention to Kurt and his laptop. He peered at the screen. "What are you doing?"

"Skyping Rachel and Mercedes," Kurt answered. He worked his finger over the track pad and opened the program. The main menu was familiar and he dialed Mercedes. "She and Rachel told me they were going to have a study session tonight, and I promised I would give them a call once we settled in."

Blaine nodded and tuned in to the screen as it tried to connect. There was a minute of waiting. David got bored with what was on TV and absently transitioned through all twenty channels again, and Wes came out from the bathroom, looking pleased with himself. He flopped back on his bed and stretched his arms behind his head.

The call connected and Rachel appeared on the screen. A yellow pencil stuck out from behind her ear and her ponytail was loose, her chestnut bangs sweeping in front of her eyes.

"Kurt!" she squeaked happily once she took notice of the call. "Are you in New York already? How do you like it? Is it amazing? Have you taken any pictures yet? Oh, you have to show me!"

Kurt laughed and adjusted the computer on his lap. "Rachel, calm down, please. Settle down with all the questions," he said. He glanced over the top of his laptop and found David and Wes watching him curiously.

"Oops, sorry." She clapped a hand over her mouth and was quiet. Then, "Do you have this entire hotel room to yourself?" She looked past Kurt at his surroundings.

"Sadly, no," Blaine chipped in and leaned into view of the web camera, almost to the point that he could turn his head and kiss Kurt on the cheek without any effort at all. "He has to share it with me. And Wes and David."

"And you're all lazy roommates," Kurt joked.

"Hey!" Wes chirped from his bed. He sat up and faced him. "We are not!"

Blaine laughed. "Well, you guys are. I bet I'm the perfect roommate, aren't I, Kurt?" He turned to look at the other boy from under his thick lashes. Kurt's face turned pink for what was the hundredth time that day and he blinked, embarrassed.

"No fair! No playing the boyfriend card! Against the rules!" David accused and swiveled in his desk chair.

"I'm most definitely not playing the boyfriend card. Nope, not at all." He leaned against Kurt as he said his and smiled innocently.

Kurt swatted his arm. "Yes, you are. Hush," he said. "All of you. If you keep this up, you'll scare Rachel off." He turned his attention back to the screen.

Rachel was still connected. She sat on a familiar bed, her legs curled under her. The laptop she was using was set aside and she was leaning back. Now Mercedes was in the picture and she had a good grip on Rachel's thick hair, pulling it into a braid. Mercedes noticed the lack of arguing and nudged the computer towards her with her foot.

"No, keep going," she insisted and waved her hand, which had freshly painted nails, at them. "I like hearing you guys fight. It gives us an excuse to take a break from studying."

"Were you even studying in the first place?" Kurt asked them, amused.

Rachel pinched her pink lips together sheepishly and Mercedes focused on twisting Rachel's hair to absolute perfection.

"That's what I thought."

"Hey," Mercedes said defensively, "we were studying, but then you had to barge in with your call, and that threw us off our schedule. If we're going to be blaming anyone around here, it's you bunch."

Kurt stared flatly at her. "Thanks, girls, I'm definitely feeling the love over here."

"Not a problem," Rachel said delightedly.

"So, go ahead. Rub it in our faces that you're in New York for Nationals and we're not," Mercedes said with a huff. She finished braiding Rachel's hair and wrapped a hair elastic around the end. She shifted the laptop so Kurt could see both of them. Rachel grabbed a folder sitting by her foot and took the pencil from behind her ear and started scribbling notes on a worksheet.

"And just FYI," she interrupted as Kurt was about to speak, "I'm only jealous because you're in New York, not because you're in New York for _Nationals._" As she finished her sentence, she choked on the last word and broke the tip of her pencil against the paper.

Mercedes handed her a small plastic sharpener. "She's jealous because of both," she whispered as Rachel sharpened the hell out of her pencil.

"Don't worry, Rachel, we'll take a couple hundred pictures. We've got a pretty good camera man on board," Blaine promised, thinking of Ronnie, and he scooted closer to Kurt to get into view of the camera. Wes and David joined them as well and they all piled onto the bed.

Rachel merely sniffled.

"So," Mercedes took over, since Rachel was clearly not in the mood to talk, "it's nice there, isn't it? I mean, all the shops and Central Park and everything, right?"

David stifled a laugh. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Our director won't let us go more than, like, twenty feet away from the hotel."

"Unless the entire group is with us. Then we can go _forty _feet," Wes finished teasingly.

"And why is that?" Mercedes asked them.

"She doesn't want a few of us to get lost. She'd feel so responsible for losing us she'd probably throw herself from a window, or something dramatic like that."

She looked horrified. "That's terrible…" She faded. "But it sounds like you're having fun so far. We totally wish we could be there."

Rachel mumbled something under her breath, most likely something bitter, Kurt figured, and she didn't raise her head from her work.

Kurt smiled. "Thanks. It's been nice talking to you, Mercedes. We'll bring back lots of souvenirs and pictures," he said. Blaine, Wes, and David said their goodbyes, and Rachel muttered hers, obviously still upset with not winning Regionals.

Kurt made the promise to call them the next day and then the day of the competition, and he ended the call. He closed the laptop and settled back.

"That was cool to see them again," David commented as he and Wes climbed back onto their own bed. "But Rachel seemed… venomous." He shuddered.

Kurt cracked another smile. "Venomous is certainly a word to describe her."

"Not to be mean or anything, but I'm glad we're here in New York. That way there's distance between her and me. I'd rather keep my head, thank you very much."

Blaine looked at him funny. "I don't think Rachel would go to such extremes. It's not like she would actually take the time to catch a flight to New York _just _to rip off your head…" He trailed off and looked to Kurt for confirmation.

"Don't look at me if you want backup," Kurt said defensively and got off the bed to plug the laptop back in. "She would do anything to rip your head off. I'm sure a two hour flight wouldn't get in her way."

A terrified expression crossed David's face. "Thanks a lot. Now she's going to haunt my dreams as a crazy, psycho murderer with an axe." He groaned and flopped down, his face making contact with one of the several pillows stacked at the headboard.

"You're in good company. It's not the first time that that's happened to me," Kurt remarked and pulled the sheets up past his shoulders.

For the next thirty minutes, the boys were unusually still and quiet. Not because there was nothing to talk about, or because there were others on the same floor as them, or even because they were too tired to do much of anything, but because Lovett was only a few rooms away. If she found them being rowdy or causing trouble, heads would roll and that was the last thing anyone wanted.

The only thing for them to do was talk and watch TV, if there was anything interesting on, which there wasn't. Finally Wes broke into the mini-fridge that sat under the vanity in the bathroom.

"If we eat those, don't we have to pay for them?" David questioned as the other boy came out with an open bag of cashews in his hand.

Wes paused with a handful of nuts to his mouth. "Oh well. Too late for that. Besides, how much could one bag of peanuts cost?" He popped them in and chewed happily. David rolled his eyes.

Blaine carefully slipped out of bed. He grabbed a bottle of hair product from his suitcase and said, "That's it. I'm going to take a shower. That's probably the most interesting thing that will happen all night." Without another word, he locked himself in the bathroom and the faucet squeaked a second later.

With Blaine gone, Kurt spread out in the bed, snuggling under the covers and trying to focus on the show playing on the television. He'd been following it off and on for the past half hour, but caught himself dozing off as he did so.

Wes finished his snack and tossed the wrapper on the bureau. He plopped down on the floor in front of it and pulled open the cabinets.

"What in the world are you looking for?" Kurt asked him.

"The damn ice bucket," he said and stuck his head in a cabinet. "I can't find it in here."

David spun in the desk chair again. "That's because it's in the bathroom." As soon as he said this, Wes crawled to his feet and made his way to the door. "But I think you're going to have to wait for Blaine to finish."

Wes shrugged. "I don't think he'd mind if I popped in for a moment…" He tried to door, but the handle didn't budge. "Why does he have to have it locked? We're all guys."

"No, we're girls, Wes. I'm pretty sure we're girls."

Wes stuck his tongue out at him and gripped his chest.

"Maybe it's this little thing called privacy?" Kurt said, as if the answer was obvious. He reached for his phone and his headphones and clicked on music to block out their talking.

"Oh, who needs that anymore in this society?" Wes teased and in the end, he waited for Blaine to finish his shower.

Once Blaine appeared with his skin pink and his hair wet, Wes and David stole the ice bucket from under the counter and left the room to find the ice machine.

Blaine padded out into the room, rubbing his damp hair with the towel, then tossed it on the bureau. He sat down on the edge of the bed near Kurt and gently pulled out one of the earbuds.

"What are you listening to?" he asked and stuck the bud in his ear. After a few seconds, he pulled it out and stared pointedly at Kurt. "I know you have a thing for Billy Joel's music, but I'm not sure it's a coincidence that you're listening to the same song that you'll be singing in two days."

Kurt buried his face in the abundance of sweet-smelling sheets. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I want to do well on this solo. It's probably the only solo I'll get at a competition like this and I want to make sure I nail it," he rambled and peeked up at Blaine.

"You're going to nail it, Kurt," Blaine said warmly and placed his hand over his. "You shouldn't feel nervous about it."

Kurt shook his head and balanced his chin on his knees. He took a deep breath to sigh and also inhaled the thick scent of Blaine's shampoo. He watched Blaine pull a pillow into his lap. His damp curls glistened in the light of the single lamp on the bedside table, along with his chocolate eyes. They always seemed to sparkle, no matter what, Kurt realized.

Half smiling, Blaine lightly tugged on Kurt's hands and pulled him down so that his head rested in his lap.

"How many times do I need to tell you? You're going to be just fine," he whispered and leaned down to peck Kurt on the lips.

Kurt's breath caught in his chest and his eyes fluttered. "If I keep complaining that I'm nervous, will you kiss me again?" But the last part of his sentence was nearly lost in the breathy state of his voice. He tilted his head up and began to sit up.

"Either way," Blaine said the second before their lips met again.

The conversation was quickly stopped and the boys favored gentle touches instead of words, hot breath instead of verbal assurances. Kurt let out a soft squeak when his pajama top rode up, and it revealed a pale sliver of skin around his stomach that was met by the tips of Blaine's warm fingers.

He let himself relax as Blaine pressed one hand against the small of his back, pushing him back against the bed. Then Kurt's hands braced the soft material of the comforter and Blaine was above him, lips trailing his jaw.

Recollection of the conversation they had just had was starting to slip from both their minds. Kurt tiled his head back. Almost instantly, Blaine's lips found a patch of tender skin that made Kurt inhale sharply. He raised one hand and his fingers knotted in the other boy's wet, curly hair. Then, as Blaine's fingers drifted down to the edge of his shirt, tugging gently at it, making Kurt's stomach twist and turn—

—the sound of water and shouts echoed out in the hall.

Both boys froze.

Kurt opened his eyes, almost surprised that both of them had fallen shut.

"What was that?" he asked in a near whisper.

Blaine swallowed and carefully sat up. He helped Kurt into a sitting position and they looked in the direction of the door. There was another gleeful shout, and the sound of water again. Blaine slid off the bed, tossing the towel aside, and padded to the door, a flustered Kurt close behind him.

The door should not have been opened after all. It would have saved Kurt from nearly screaming and having to change and Blaine from having to dry off again.

"David! Wes!" Blaine shouted, infuriated at the two boys standing on the other side of the hall, laughing their heads off. He angrily shook water from his eyes.

The boys held slippery water balloons in their hands, colorful and slick with water. The remains of a green one and a purple one lay at Kurt's and Blaine's feet, a dark patch of growing on the carpet where the water had hit.

Kurt spit water out of his mouth and pushed sopping hair from his eyes. The front of his pajamas was drenched and he was starting to shiver. The water was frigid and he hugged his torso.

"I hate you both," he said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry… guys… we thought…" But Wes was laughing too hard to finish his sentence. David was laughing too hard to even start one.

Blaine, instead of saying a thing, marched across the hall to where they stood and snatched a balloon from Wes' arms. He held it over Wes' head and squeezed it until it burst, drenching him and instantly putting a stop to his laughter.

David finished chortling at Kurt and Blaine and found Wes as a new source of his laughter. In retaliation, Wes smashed one against his shoulder, covering his left side in water.

"That's what you get, man!" Wes declared happily.

David set his jaw but he didn't throw one back. Instead, he turned to Blaine, a sudden fire of a new idea lighting his eyes. "Which room is Fitzroy's?"

Kurt lifted his hand and pointed to the door across the hall and one over from his own in response. Wes and David thanked him and idled outside the door. Unable to resist seeing Will being pelted by water balloons, Blaine and Kurt stayed out in the hall.

Standing at the door, Wes knocked a few times and stood back, both of them bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement. Kurt chewed on his nail, trying to imagine what would happen if James opened the door in place of Will. He hoped it wasn't James.

But it was the blonde who lazily opened the door. He only had a moment to glare at them with his sharp cat eyes before a water balloon hit him squarely in the face. He let out a yell and jumped back, shaking water from his eyes.

"You two are so dead," he growled lowly.

Wes bit his lip and eagerly raced the opposite direction down the hall, with David following behind him. Will bolted out of his room and Kurt and Blaine had to jump out of the way to avoid being knocked over by him.

Carson appeared in the doorway a moment later, bleary eyed and wondering. "What happened?" he asked incredulously.

"Water balloon fight," Blaine said and crossed his arms. "I expect Will is going to strangle the crap out of Wes and David before the night's over."

"What's going on? What happened to Will?" James came to stand by Carson in the doorway and craned his neck to look down the hall. He met Kurt's eyes for a quick instant before looking away.

"Water balloon fight," Kurt said this time. A shiver ripped up his spine that made him shudder and he excused himself to change.

Stealing back into the room, he shut the door behind him. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and started digging through his suitcase for another pair of sleepwear, cursing himself inwardly when he didn't find the extra pair he thought he had packed. He stood up and hesitated for a moment. Blaine wouldn't mind him borrowing a pair of his shorts, and a t-shirt, would he?

Deciding that he would not, Kurt crossed the room to his suitcase and neatly rifled through it. He stumbled upon a pair of short and a long cotton t-shirt. Stripping of his soaking pajamas, he slipped on Blaine's clothes and made his way into the bathroom. He hung the wet clothing on the shower rack and combed through his hair. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he examined the shirt he was wearing.

It was a plain navy blue shirt with the Dalton logo on the breast pocket. It was made of soft cotton and it hung down to mid-thigh. The shorts he wore were longer than the shirt, thankfully. He arranged his hair into something halfway presentable and braced himself for whatever was probably happening out in the hallway.

When he opened the door, he was greeted with an odd sight.

Wes and David and Will had returned to the hallway. Wes was sprawled across the floor at Kurt's feet with Will on top of him, mussing up his hair like a boy would do to his little brother; Wes' face twisted as he squirmed.

Blaine stood off to the side, watching them with an amused expression. Ronnie had appeared by his side. It was no surprise to see his camera locked in his hands, no doubt recording what was taking place. Meanwhile Carson and David were having a dispute over the clear trash bag of balloons in David's hands.

Simon was there as well, watching Wes and Will wrestle it out on the floor. He cocked his head to the side and his lips were pursed interestedly. Beside him, James had his arms wrapped around his own torso and leaned against the wall, distant. He looked up when Kurt opened the door.

Kurt stepped over Wes and Will without raising his head. He made it to the other side of the hall without getting yanked down in the process.

"Fun, isn't it?" James said to him with a slight smile.

"I don't know," Kurt mused and twisted the hem of the shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm worried that one of them is going to get hurt."

James shrugged. "I think they'll be fine. Will's pretty tough—"

In the middle of his sentence, Wes pushed Will off of him and sent the blonde rolling across the carpet. He came to a stop right at Kurt's and James' feet and he looked up at them, startled.

"Or not," James finished with a short laugh.

"Hello, boys," Will said smoothly, a chunk of blonde hair hanging over his eyes. He casually brushed it back.

"You know, I have a very, very good opportunity to step on your face right now," Kurt said severely without missing a beat.

"Do it and I'll grab you by the ankle and pull you down with me." His eyes glinted. "Your choice."

But Kurt didn't have the chance to reply, as Wes had thrown himself on top of Will, making the blonde gasp. Kurt and James jumped out of the way to avoid being hit. Wes pulled Will into the wall with a muffled thud.

Another door down the hall opened and Adam peeked his head out. His eyes widened behind his thick glasses. Quickly he ducked back in and slammed the door, and the lock clicked audibly. Even through the door Kurt could hear Nick asking him what was going on.

"Okay, I know Wes and Will hated each other a lot, but this doesn't make sense." Thomas was stepping out of a room at the end of the hall as he said this. He held an empty bucket of ice in one arm.

Cody stepped out into the hall beside him and his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Oh, no. Not water balloons."

Despite Cody's complaint, David plucked one out of the bag. Carson made a grab for it and they grappled over it. The bag dropped to the floor, balloons scattering everywhere. The one in Carson's hand slipped and it went airborne.

The recipient was James and it broke over his head. He flinched when it hit him and swore colorfully under his breath. His sapphire eyes were alight like fire was behind them. The water doused his hair and plastered curls to his forehead; to Kurt, he almost looked like a cat that had gotten caught in the rain.

Cody stretched onto his tiptoes and whispered something into Thomas' ear. He said something in agreement and together they rushed into the room they shared with Ronnie and Diego, slamming the door. A moment later the lock clicked, but it flew open almost right after.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Diego thundered as he strode into the hallway. He shot daggers at every boy and evilly eyed the two boys wrestling on the floor in front of him. Will had Wes pinned to the floor by his shoulders, both of them panting. "Wes, what did I tell about starting random fights with Fitzroy?"

Wes sputtered, at loss for words, and tried to kick Will off of him.

"Lay off, Diego," Blaine said lightly. "It's not every year we get to go to Nationals. He should be able to have at least one random fight with Will."

"Plus, it's amusing," Kurt added, only to be in line of the Precursor's glare. He fell silent.

By this point in time, Wes had peeled the blonde off of him, both of them scrambling to grab a balloon. Wes backed into one of the doors with a soft thump and Will advanced on him with his arm wheeled back, ready to launch a balloon at him. He let it fly forward and Wes dropped to the floor to dodge it.

Then the door behind Wes flew open.

There was a sharp screech as the woman behind the door was hit, and another when Wes tumbled back almost onto her feet. Ms. Lovett scooted backwards to avoid him falling into her.

Kurt gasped and covered his mouth, and Blaine gnawed on his lip nervously. The rest of the boys blanched when they realized who it was. Will stood as still as a statue, frozen in the horrible reality of hitting his director in the face with a balloon. He took a great step back and held up his hands defensively.

"Ms. Lovett, I am so—" he started to say.

She stopped him with a raised palm. She stepped over Wes and into the hall, gesturing to Blaine and Kurt, the first ones she saw. "You two. Go to bed."

The boys complied quickly and hurried to their room. They flipped the handle and scrambled inside, shutting themselves behind the door. Kurt shot a glance at the other boy and they pressed their ears to the door, listening desperately.

Next, she pointed at Ronnie with a long fingernail. "Get rid of that camera and go to bed. I expect nothing of this to be documented. Understood?"

He hid the camera behind the back, even though she had already seen it, but he nodded and scurried to his room.

Lovett gestured to James and Carson; both of them were wet and blinking. "Dry off, then go to bed," she told them, and they didn't hesitate.

"Diego, I'll handle it from here. Get some sleep," she said to the Precursor. He started to protest, but she cut him off and sent him into his room. He jiggled the handle, but found it locked. For a full minute he pounded on the door until Thomas opened up. The redhead saw Lovett and quickly ushered him inside.

The three remaining boys were frozen in fear. Wes was still in his position on the floor and he dashed to his feet. Will strategically avoiding looking his director in the face. David nudged a balloon out of his way with his foot sheepishly.

"Wesley, David," she said sternly, "I thought you promised to not bring your silly shenanigans to competition. That was part of our agreement. Am I correct?"

Wes drew a circle in the flat carpet with his toe. "Yes, ma'am," they both said.

She jabbed a finger at them. "We will have a discussion with Markus when we get back home. Go to bed, and I don't want to see anything like this for the rest of the trip. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And William," she said and turned on the blonde. "I know you and Wesley have some sort of thing against each other—I still don't understand that—but there is never a good reason to fight with him, especially in a hotel. There are other people on the floor besides us, believe it or not, and we could get called out for it."

Will sunk back on his heels. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Spur of the moment, you could say."

"I don't care if it was 'spur of the moment' or not," she spat, wet hair dripping in front of her face. She pushed it out of the way. "There is no good reason to start a water balloon fight. Don't be surprised if the manager complains to me tomorrow about other people on this floor complaining! And don't cause any more trouble for the rest of the trip! I don't want to hear it from the three of you. Clear?"

The three boys nodded quickly.

"And I'll take that, David," she said and expectantly held out her hand. David surrendered the half-filled bag of balloons and she dismissed them to bed. She shut her door so hard, the frame shook.

"Nice going," Will muttered to the other two.

"Us? What on earth did we do?" Wes said. He gripped the knob of his door in his hand and glared at the blonde.

"You're the one who brought the balloons. How you managed to smuggle them here without anyone seeing is beyond me."

With that, Will shut himself in his room.

David rolled his eyes obnoxiously and he and Wes were the last ones to be in the hallway for the rest of the night.

* * *

_In the next chapter: Time to see the sights, smells, and sounds of New York. _


	35. New York, New York

Hello, readers.

I apologize for the lack of updates. I started school a few weeks ago, which, combined with AP courses, marching band, and learning French, prevented me from updating. It kind of sucks.

But yesterday, I turned seventeen, which is sort of exciting. I actually got more 'happy birthday's on Tumblr than in real life, which is sad... but Glee is here to make me happy. Yay.

And actually, I'm supposed to go to Homecoming tonight but I decided not to. Mostly because I didn't have a date and because I wanted to watch 'The Hunger Games' with my mom.

That's about it. So, I hope that all of you will forgive me for lack of updating. I have about two or three more chapters until this story ends. Gosh. Okay.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but if I did, I would pair Marley and Sam instead of Marley and Jake. Oh, look. He's dating Kitty. Yeah, I ship her and Sam.

* * *

**New York, New York**

* * *

**One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years. –Thomas Wolfe**

* * *

The next morning, Ronnie snapped open the map with a loud, papery _crack _that made Kurt nearly drop his coffee mug. The blonde boy spread it out across the table, completely ignoring the silverware and china that was already there, and panned his finger across its bumpy surface.

"Ronnie, what in the world do you think you're doing?" Diego demanded through a mouthful of peanut butter toast. He set down the other half of the toast on his plate and stared crossly from the other side of the table.

"I'm planning our day," the photographer said cheerfully and beamed with the intensity of a one million-watt bulb.

Kurt cast a weary glance at Blaine, who sat next to him. Cody and Thomas fidgeted uneasily in their seats around the circular table, and Wes pulled at the collar of his shirt. David simply kept his eyes down.

The dining hall at the hotel was lavish. The palette was crèmes and whites and light pinks, all pastel colors. The only vibrant stand-outs were the luscious potted plants that stood in each of the four corners of the room and the tall doors in the back that led to the kitchen. The carpet was thin and tan, without any pattern, and the tables were draped in the same color of cloth.

The china that they ate off of was pure white and very basic, the silverware simple and light. In comparison to the dullness of the room, the breakfast menu was to die for.

Ms. Lovett had planned out three mornings of cereal, yogurt with granola, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and anything else that came to mind. Coffee was poured in all ways, including black, with sugar, half and half, with so much milk it wasn't even coffee, and with whipped cream.

When Diego had asked—he had almost sputtered instead—how they were able to have a breakfast buffet like this every morning, she had replied that it was all under the school board's budget. The budget covered the meals, the rooms, and the transportation. Diego had paled while thinking of how expensive the entire trip would be.

"I think Lovett's got our day planned out, Ronnie," Wes said over the lip of his mug.

"If we let her plan our day, we won't get as far as the corner," Ronnie remarked in a lower voice so as to not attract the attention of the director, who sat a table away, pettily picking at cereal with the Souths.

Thomas choked on a bite of his apple in laughter and his face turned red. He swallowed eventually. "I don't think we'll even get out the door."

As much as he tried not to, Kurt snickered into his hand. At his side, Blaine's lips turned up in a slight grin.

Diego wore a sour face on the other side of the table. "We're fine without you messing everything up, Ronnie."

"I'm not going to mess everything up," he defended and squinted down at the map.

He had tacked a bright red sticker, right in the middle of Manhattan, on what was assumed to be the hotel they were staying at. Small, veiny red lines snaked their way through the city, along streets. Blue lines sometimes met with them, and there were green lines, too.

"What's the blue line for?" David asked and pointed a jelly-covered finger at one of them.

"It's for midday," Ronnie explained matter-of-factly. "If we stay on schedule, the red lines represent our path in the city from ten in the morning until noon. The blue lines represent noon to three, and the green lines are for the pre-evening and the evening, three to six."

Diego sat back in his chair in awe. "You've really got this figured out, haven't you?"

"Right-o, all mighty Precursor," he said with glee. "Hopefully Lovett will keep on schedule and we are able to follow the map accordingly."

"And if nothing falls on schedule?"

"It will be a mess and my beautiful map will have gone to waste."

Diego raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

As Kurt watched them shoot remarks back and forth across the table, he slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the time. It was nine in the morning already. They were set to leave for their day out on the town in half an hour and Kurt thought the time couldn't go faster.

From the moment he heard that they had an entire day to see the city, he hadn't stopped thinking about it. It would be his first time to see Central Park and all the stores that lined the streets and maybe even Radio City Music Hall, if they ever got around to it. If they ended up at the music hall, he wouldn't care if they didn't get to go anywhere else.

Okay, he would, but that was beside the point.

Kurt was snapped out of his reverie when Blaine nudged him lightly in the ribs.

"Oh, by the way. Happy birthday," Blaine whispered, so soft Kurt almost didn't hear him, and he had to lean in.

Kurt felt the blood rush to his face. He had almost forgotten about the day he turned seventeen. He didn't feel any different, turning a year older. Yes, when people asked how old he was, he could say he was seventeen, not sixteen, but other than that, there was nothing special. Just another date in a string of them.

"Don't say that," he hissed.

Blaine flattened his lips. "What's the big deal? You're a year older."

"And that's all there is to it," Kurt finished. "There's nothing satisfying in a birthday other than being a year older. I don't find them very exciting."

"Then you are about to eat your words," the other boy said, a devious grin snaking onto his face, "because today will be the most exciting day of your life, and there is not a single thing you can do to stop it."

Kurt rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, looking at Blaine curiously. "What have you got planned for me? I want to know."

Blaine motioned zipping his lips tightly. "Can't say. It would ruin the surprise."

"Oh, please tell me. I'd like to know what's coming at me," he whined.

"Then it wouldn't be so much of a surprise if I told you," Blaine objected. "That's no fun."

Kurt nodded. "For me, it would be as fun as a barrel of monkeys. I would be able to prepare for what you've got up your sleeve."

Blaine picked at the sleeve of his shirt. They weren't required to wear their uniforms and they were given the freedom to wear something casual. He had paired a pair of salmon-colored pants with saddle shoes and a blue checked shirt. Kurt was surprised by the outfit; he'd pictured Blaine's sense of style outside the blazer to be somewhat more laid back, like jeans and a t-shirt. Suddenly Kurt felt underdressed in his simple red racing jacket, white V-neck, and black pants.

"Nothing up my sleeve," Blaine teased, folding his hands in his lap.

Kurt jabbed him in the ribs and rolled his eyes. "I don't want to see hide nor hair of anything festive this entire day. No hats, no cakes, no flowers, no lavish gifts, no killing your wallet, no nothing. Do you hear me, Blaine Anderson?"

"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Wes suddenly crooned from the other side of the table.

"What? Why?" Kurt sat at attention.

"You only use Blaine's first and last name in the same sentence when you're mad at him," David commented and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. He smirked.

Kurt bit the corner of his lip. "Blaine's not in trouble, and I'm not mad at him. I—"

"It's Kurt's birthday today, and I wanted to do something nice for him, but he won't let me," Blaine butted in with a smile on his face. He leaned forward in his seat eagerly.

Kurt widened his eyes, flushed, and bored holes in Blaine's forehead with his stare.

"Hey!" Wes shouted, and he was on his feet now, hands braced against the table. As was intended, the four tables of Warblers, including Lovett, turned to stare at him flatly. "It's Kurt birthday today. The least we could do is sing for him."

"Wes! Shut up!" Kurt hissed. If he could, he would've grabbed Wes by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the floor and stuffed a napkin in his mouth. But he couldn't, as they were on opposite sides of the table.

Lovett peered over at them and parted her lips in a kind smile. "Mr. Hummel, why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?"

"I, ah…" He trailed off and scrambled for words. With everyone watching him, he wasn't able to get more than that out. Past Lovett, he saw a pair of sapphire eyes trained intently on him. James looked very enticed in the conversation, while Will and Carson looked as if they couldn't care less, both staring at their plates or the floor.

Finally, he stammered out, "I didn't want my birthday to take away from the fact that we're here for competition. It would be a distraction."

Lovett swept to her feet and clasped her hands, her bracelets and rings clanking together. "My, Mr. Hummel, something as coincidental as a birthday wouldn't stand as a distraction. And even if it was, I think we all could use one to get our minds off the competition," she said warmly. "Now, how about we all sing?"

Kurt buried his face in his hands and propped his elbows on the table. He desperately wished that a circle would be cut in the floor beneath his chair and he would fall through, like in a cartoon. But he found that wasn't the case, as the boys left their tables to stand around him, chorusing in 'Happy Birthday.'

Their voices filled the air and Kurt clapped his hands over his ears to block them out. Blaine pulled him by his shoulders into a sitting position and his lips moved as he sung. Kurt leaned into him and hid his face in his shoulder.

Once the song was over and done with, Wes and David let out collective cheers and threw bits of torn-up napkins in the air to replace confetti. Lovett scolded them for that, and everyone returned to their chairs, resuming previous conversations.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Blaine said after it had quieted down and the boys were eating again.

"It was _awful_," Kurt said dramatically and sat up. He brushed a flurry of napkin bits off his shoulder and sniffed. "I hate it when people sing to me. For my birthday, I mean."

"Why? It means people care enough to celebrate you." Blaine took another sip of coffee and he twined his fingers through Kurt's, holding his hand under the table.

Kurt snorted, feeling his face warm. "Yeah, right. It's an excuse to embarrass me."

"Did it work?" Ronnie questioned. "Embarrass you, I mean."

He glared at him. "What do you think?"

Ronnie beamed. "I'd say it did. Now, say cheese!"

Before Kurt knew what was going on, Ronnie had whipped out his camera out of nowhere and snapped a picture, the flash blinding him momentarily. Kurt rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"What in the world was that?" he stammered.

"It's called a camera, and I often use it to—"

"I _mean, _why did you take a picture of me?" he rephrased.

Ronnie puckered his lips. "Oh. Well, I've got to fill up this year's slideshow somehow! What better way to do just that than by taking pictures of a fellow Warbler celebrating his birthday?"

Diego leaned his elbows against the table and lazily drug his finger around the lip of his mug. "You can always focus on our trip in New York. That's a start."

"If it was your birthday, Diego, instead of Kurt's, wouldn't you want me to take pictures of you to capture and save the moment forever?"

"No."

"What about if—"

"No."

"You didn't even hear what I was going to—"

"Shut _up, _Ronnie," Cody said firmly. It was the first time the small boy had spoken the entire morning. He nibbled on a slice of toast and looked particularly exhausted.

Ronnie curled his lip in distaste, swiped his map off the table, clipped the camera to the thick band around his neck, and huffed. He knitted his arms over his chest. "Fine. If you're all going to be that way, then I'll be quiet."

"This won't last long," Blaine joked. He got a hard glare from the other boy.

Everyone at the table paused their eating to watch Ronnie sit there and look every one of them back in the eye. Kurt kept his gaze down, staring into his coffee, his stomach clenching and unclenching. His hand felt warm and sweaty within Blaine's, but he didn't want to withdraw it to wipe it on his pants.

As the others waited for the magical moment when Ronnie would give in and start blabbering again, Kurt turned his head and studied the other tables.

Simon sat away from his own wing, choosing to sit with the few from East and West. As expected, Adam was sitting next to him, keeping a conversation lively with the animated motions of his hands. He had hardly touched the full plate in front of him and his glasses repeatedly slid down his nose. Each time they did, he jammed them back up without pausing his sentence. Simon watched him intently, completely ignoring his food.

The other half of North sat at the table next to them. Kurt was ashamed to not know any of them, having been in class with them for a semester and a half. He knew the faces well, but no names came to mind.

The South table was the last one he turned to. Lovett sat there with her back to Kurt and she was fiddling with the watch strapped to her wrist, trying to turn the knob on the side. Carson sat in the seat to her right and he appeared bored out of his mind; he sat there playing with the paper napkin that was folded under his plate and he made small shapes with them.

Will sat in the next seat. His blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and he looked much slimmer in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt than in slacks and a blazer. It was weird seeing him out of the uniform that Kurt was accustomed to; he looked almost normal, in a sense, not like he attended a private school in the middle of Ohio. Almost normal enough to jump into a public school, like McKinley, and blend in flawlessly.

Almost. He still had that air of confidence around him that would easily rat him out.

And finally, James sat beside him, the fork in his hands inattentively prodding at the clumps of fruit on his plate. He gave a petite yawn and blinked, moving dark locks from his face. But there was one curl that wouldn't stay in place, and it kept falling in front of his eyes. Eventually, he stopped bothering with it.

At that moment, James raised his head and looked past Will, who was in the middle of carrying on a conversation. Kurt froze and merely blinked.

"Happy birthday," James mouthed with a stray smile that ghosted over his lips.

Kurt nodded once, slightly returning the smile, and faced the table, staring down at his empty plate.

Then, Lovett clapped her hands twice and stood up, pushing her chair in. "Alright, boys. It's time we head out," she announced and shouldered her oversized purse that most likely carried everything from pain killers to a first aid kit.

Everyone gathered the things they had brought down with them, including cameras, phones, and hats, and shuffled to the door.

Kurt pushed his plate to the middle of the table and pulled his hand from Blaine's. He brushed imaginary lint from his jacket to keep his hands busy, his eyes down until he saw the two blondes and James pass out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his head and looked over at Blaine.

"Are you ready to start your totally awesome birthday celebration?" Blaine said quietly, his voice overflowing with anticipation. He wrapped his arm around Kurt's waist and pulled him close to peck him on the cheek.

Kurt covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "I don't know. It depends what you have planned."

"Again, I'm not telling you a single thing," he said smartly and let his arm linger around his waist. "You're going to have to wait."

"I hate waiting." He followed behind Ronnie and Thomas, the former toying with the camera around his neck.

Blaine chuckled and they walked out into the lobby. "You're an impatient person," he observed.

"You've only just noticed that now?" he asked somewhat hysterically. "You've known me for months and now is the time you see that?"

"No. I noticed it the first couple of times we started meeting up for coffee," Blaine said. "There was the very first time we were meeting up at the Lima Bean, I think it was the week after we met—"

"A week and three days," Kurt corrected without meaning to.

Blaine looked at him funnily. "You remember."

"Like you remember?"

"I was testing you." He wrinkled his nose as he smiled. He continued, "Anyway, I come into the Lima Bean, ready to look for you and get something, when I see you up at the counter, arguing with the barista. I cut the line, which made quite a few people very cross with me, and asked what the problem was, and they had gotten your drink order wrong twice." Blaine laughed softly at the memory.

Kurt bristled. "That was only because I was nervous about meeting you and I wanted to be at a table when you showed up and I wanted to seem casual, which obviously didn't happen. That was not a fun afternoon," he said solemnly and stopped as the group halted by the front doors.

"I thought that was a fun afternoon." Blaine nudged him gently. "I got to know you."

A calm blush spread across Kurt's cheekbones. Blaine may have leaned forward ever so slightly, and Kurt found himself doing the same as well before he realized that there were patrons of the hotel wandering about. He fell back on his heels, his face an even brighter pink.

"Okay, boys," Lovett was saying from her position at the front of the group, "today is supposed to be a fun day. But it will not turn out a fun day at all if anyone starts trouble. I don't want anyone getting away from the two groups I have assigned."

She dug a folded square of paper from the bag on her shoulder and handed it to him, along with a pen. "I have two groups assigned for today's activities. I've split it up between wings: North and South will stay with Mr. Blackwood, and East and West will stay with me."

The group elicited moans of protest and cheers of excitement.

She raised a hand to silence them. "I know it's a little unfair of me to throw you in groups by wings instead of personal choice, but it is a good way to keep everyone together, alright? We have a checklist and everything, and we have good authority watching over both groups." Diego beamed. "So Mr. Blackwood has the checklist for North and South, and I've got East and West.

"You may go anywhere in Manhattan, just so long as it's not too far from here. Feel free to try and hail a taxi over to Central Park, but good luck." She made a smug noise. "Anyway, have fun, go shopping and indulge yourselves. We meet back up for lunch at Ellen's Stardust Diner on 51st Street at twelve-thirty, and it says so on the checklist," she said over their murmuring.

"After lunch, you may go wherever you want to go, again, so long as it's not more than a few miles from the hotel; I don't want anyone getting lost," she said firmly and read down her own checklist. "Then, we meet up at four-thirty in front of Radio City Music Hall. Can everyone handle that?"

Kurt nearly shrieked, but instead he curled his hands into tight fists and he shot an excited glance over to Blaine. On the other side of Blaine, Cody looked thrilled enough to start bouncing from wall to wall, and he was gripping Thomas' shirt sleeve in a death grip.

"I'm going to let you go now, but I want you all to be very careful out there! No jaywalking or jumping in front of cars because you feel like it. And, please, don't get in so much trouble that you have to call me and ask for bail money, because I'm not sure I have enough on me to pay for twenty-seven fines," she sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

Lovett finished her speech of regulations and found several pairs of eyes studying her.

"Okay, go ahead," she said. "East and West, you stay with me. Mr. Blackwood, make sure everything—and everyone—is in order."

The Precursor gave a small salute. "Yes, ma'am," he said importantly, following the other boys of his wing and South out the large glass doors.

Already, the group of Norths and Souths was talking anxiously to one another. Diego tried to gather their attentions, but failed, even with waving his arms like a bird.

"Shut _up_!" he yelled finally, and all talking ceased. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to run the checklist, even though I know you're all here. It's just a safety thing, and—" He stopped and furrowed his brows in puzzlement, leaning to the side to peer at the back of the group. "Adam? Why are you here? East is with Lovett."

The boy with the glasses shrugged and jammed the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I didn't feel like staying with my wing," he said lightly.

At his side, Simon was having trouble hiding a satisfied smile, and he pursed his lips. When he met Diego's eyes, he merely shrugged.

Diego sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Whatever. As long as you're alive and you stay with someone, that's all that matters," he said. "So, according to the checklist—"

"Lovett already ran over the checklist," Carson said, interrupting him. He turned over his shoulder to see the director lead East and West away from the hotel, starting towards the street corner.

"I don't care if she already ran over the damn checklist. I'm doing this for myself," Diego snapped and the paper wrinkled as he clenched his hands. He dropped his gaze to the paper and instead of reading it aloud, he muttered it to himself.

While he took the time to do this, Kurt threaded his fingers through Blaine's and leaned against him.

"I can't believe we're actually here," he said in a thrilled whisper. "We're in the city of opportunities."

"Opportunities for what, exactly?" Blaine asked and he tilted his head back to look up at the clear blue sky.

"For one thing, to shop. With all the stores, there's more than enough clothes to try on," he started. "For another, Music Radio City Music Hall is only a few blocks away from where we are now, Blaine, and that is where we meet up at the end of the day. We're so close to where so many musical legends have occurred." By the end of his sentence, he was clutching Blaine's hand tightly.

Blaine hummed appreciatively and smiled gently, trying to feel his fingers. "That's true. It would be amazing to see the inside of it."

"Do you think we could?" Kurt inhaled sharply. "Oh, because I would _kill _to even take one step inside the lobby. It would be more than amazing, it would be a—"

"Once in a lifetime opportunity," Blaine interrupted, and his eyes gleamed. "Like you said. It's the city of opportunities." He gave Kurt's hand a tender squeeze. He held back the urge to just reach out and kiss him, right there in front of everyone, and he bit his lip.

"Let's go!" Diego eventually called out and waved his hands over his head. He tucked the checklist in his pocket and herded the boys forward.

The blondes brushed past Blaine and Kurt, James trailing behind them, with Will mumbling, "It's about time."

* * *

Twenty minutes of walking and four close calls of getting flattened by taxis, the North and South bundle found themselves in one of the many designer clothing stores that bordered the streets. Needless to say, half of them roamed the store while the other half filled up the dressing rooms with armfuls of random clothing.

Diego, however, was not stuffed in one of the eight dressing rooms, struggling to pull outrageous clothes on. He sat patiently on a chair against the wall, legs crossed, watching the time, though it had only been half an hour.

Since there was only one chair, Ronnie sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. He had his camera strung around his neck and was flipping through photos on the tiny screen.

Diego nudged him with his toe. "Why aren't you trying stuff on?"

"I don't like shopping," Ronnie murmured absently, as most of his focus was on his pictures.

He made a _hmph _noise. "I thought you'd be in there. You know, seeing as you're crazy and all."

Now Ronnie lifted his head and he grinned pleasantly at Diego. "Thanks for the compliment. But I don't think I'm crazy enough to act like a girl on a no-budget shopping spree."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Nope."

Thomas tumbled out of dressing room number five with a fedora and a pair of aviator sunglasses shielding his eyes. He wore all white, from the shoes to the pants to the button-down shirt. He placed his hands on his hips and struck a broad pose. "Okay, guys, what do you think?"

"I think you should stay like that so I can get a picture," Ronnie commanded and flung his camera to his face. The flash went off before Thomas had the chance to protest. "That was good. I think you'd fit in well with the airplane pilots in the sixties."

Diego shook his head. "Not even they would accept him. I mean, I don't think anyone wears all white anymore." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually, when did they ever?"

Thomas dropped his hands and tore off the glasses. "Gee, thanks. And I thought nearly three years of singing together would have made you a little bit more complimentary towards me," he said sarcastically and stalked back to the dressing room.

When he rapped on the door, Cody popped it open and stuck his head out. He caught Diego and Ronnie staring at him and his face flushed. Yanking Thomas into the room, he slammed the door shut.

* * *

The third door popped open suddenly and Adam nearly face-planted coming out of the dressing room. He adjusted his glasses, flustered, and straightened the outfit he was wearing: a pair of dark slacks that hugged his thin legs and a striped turtleneck sweater that was so big, it swallowed him.

"I hate this," he protested and kept his hands in fists tight at his sides. It was impossible for his face to get any redder.

"I don't know about you, but I _love _this," Simon crooned happily a moment later, stepping out behind Adam. He donned a sharp suit with a purplish hue to it, the buttons nearly gleaming in the light. He examined himself in the reflection and ran his hands through his hair to give a tousled look. "What do you think?"

"Snazzy," Diego said with a short laugh.

"It looks fine on you," Adam said, "but I hate this sweater. Why did you have to pick this out?"

The black haired boy gave him a pointed look and stuffed his hands in the pockets of the pants. "Well, you didn't want to try on anything else. I tried to get you into that Gucci shirt, but you said you didn't like the swirls."

"That's because the swirls were completely atrocious!" he flared. He reached up to rub his face and the sleeve got in the way, the result of being too long. He shoved them up his arm, frustrated, and he jumped when the flash snapped. "Ronnie!"

The blonde dropped the camera innocently. "What?"

"Stop taking pictures! And I don't want to hear about that damn slideshow! Put it away!"

He let it hang from his neck and raised his hands in defense. "Okay. It's away."

Adam rolled his eyes obnoxiously and stomped back into the dressing room, nearly shutting the door in Simon's face had he not caught it with his hand. Simon gave a smile and disappeared to change.

* * *

The next dressing room held three boys, and one of them was lounging against the bench, his head resting against the wall.

"Does this sweater make me look fat?" Carson asked after he'd tugged a sweater over his head. He examined it from all angles in the mirror.

"I don't think anything could make you look fat. You're much too thin," James murmured, studying the price tag that was hanging from the shirt in his hands. He was holding it as Will stripped off his polo.

Will dropped it on the floor and held out his hand for the shirt. James handed it to him without another word or without lifting his eyes to meet the other boy's. The blonde shrugged on the shirt and shook out his hair.

"I like it," he said excitedly and looked past Carson into the mirror.

"Check the price tag, smart one," James muttered scornfully.

Will gave him a weary glance but did so. He let out a sigh and tugged it back over his head, tossing it back on the bench.

"You could've just let me revel in finding something I actually like without letting me know that it was nearly two-hundred dollars," he said and crossed his arms over his broad chest. When James didn't reply, he looked at him. "Are you okay? You've been quiet all morning."

James lifted one shoulder and he tucked his knees to his chest, leaning against the wall.

Caron gave a flat look. "Really, man, you woke up looking depressed, and you still look depressed. Something's got you upset."

"I'm not upset," James protested politely.

"Well, you're certainly quiet," Will said. "And you've haven't made the effort to try on anything since we got here. We're in a Bluefly store, for crying out loud. This place practically oozes amazing clothes."

The dark haired boy sighed, long. "When did you become a fashionista?"

Will bristled. "At least you could act excited for the sake of Lovett."

"She's not here right now. I don't see why I need to act if she's not here," he replied.

"Fine. Be that way," Carson told him. "I guess you'll have to spend the rest of the day acting like you don't want to be here."

James sat up straight at this and stretched his legs across the bench. "Of course I want to be here. I mean, I don't want to be clothes shopping, but of course, I want to be in New York."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic," Will mumbled and yanked his own shirt back on. He plopped down on the bench beside James, lifting his feet before he sat and placing them on his lap after he was comfortable.

James stared oddly at him, but didn't protest. "I'm enthusiastic. I just don't show it as much as others," he explained, pausing between words. "What do you want me to do to show my enthusiasm? Jump up and down and scream like a little girl?"

Carson snorted and slapped his hand over his mouth. "No, but if you did that, it would brighten my day very much so."

"Thanks a lot," James drawled and shot him a dirty look. "But I don't think I'd be willing to sacrifice my own sanity and risk my embarrassment to ensure your amusement."

"Are you sure?" The blonde put forth a Cheshire cat grin.

James covered his face with his hands. "Yes, I'm sure."

Will rolled his eyes. "Shut up and try something else on, Carson. You've got enough stuff there to keep you busy for at least ten minutes," he said.

As Carson wrinkled his nose but reached for a tacky polo shirt that hung on the bar, James checked his phone and sighed. He leaned his head against the wall and tried to move his feet without hitting Will in a rather unpleasant place; the thought made a blush creep across his face.

"How much longer do we have to stay here?" he asked to no one in particular.

"Hey, it was your choice to come into the dressing room," Will pointed out and rested his head against the wall, tilting it back to stare at the ceiling. "You could be out in the store, innocently browsing the clearance racks with clerks on you like hounds." He turned his head and found James staring at him with narrowed eyes. "What? That's what actually happens."

James licked his lips. "I know that's what happens. But I think that's exactly what I'm going to do." He cautiously lifted his feet from Will's lap and swung them over the bench, standing up and brushing himself off. He reached for the door handle and slipped out, making sure Carson was clothed before, and was faced with a bright pop. He blinked rapidly and froze, a deer in headlights.

It did not surprise him to see Ronnie taking pictures with that damn camera like it was his job. It _did _surprise him, however, to see Diego sitting in the chair next to him, not snapping at the other boy or hitting him over the head or doing anything of the sort. He simply sat there and watched as the others popped in and out of dressing rooms, donning their pricy apparel.

"Hey, James! Pose for me," Ronnie said eagerly and readied his camera.

Blood rushed up to his face. He raised his hand to brush back hair, coincidentally hiding his face in the process. "Oh, no. I'd rather not, please."

Ronnie let out a whine but dropped the camera. "Oh, come on, James. Stop being such a stick in the mud. You're always so boring," he said.

The door to the dressing room James had just came from popped open, and Will stepped out, shutting it behind him.

"Will!" Ronnie said and his disappointed expression instantly vanished. He scrambled for the camera again. "Picture time!"

Will shut his eyes for a long moment, and stepped forward to stand beside James. He put his hands on his hips and stared pointedly at the photographer. He wrinkled his nose, about to say no, when the flash snapped and bright light blinded the two boys.

"I was going to say no," Will said, rubbing his eyes furiously, "but it looks like it's a little too late for that."

Ronnie climbed off the floor and went over to them with the camera clutched in his hands. He held it out for them to peer at the large screen, and they squinted at it.

The picture was random, with Will's nose scrunched up and his hands on his hips, evilly glaring at Ronnie. James wore a skeptical look and his vibrant blue eyes were locked on Will. With the flash on, his skin looked sickly pale, the purple marks under his eyes incredibly prominent.

"You look like a pug, but that's just me," James said lightly and nudged Will in the shoulder.

"Erase that, please," Will begged and rubbed his temples. "For the love of all that is good and mighty, please erase it. I do not want that showing up in the slideshow."

James raised an eyebrow. "Why? Afraid to see yourself up on the big screen in the same picture as me?"

He sputtered for words and eventually ended up saying, "Just forget it," and he stormed off into the clearance racks, James struggling to contain his laughter.

* * *

In the last dressing room, the one at the end of the line, Kurt sat on the bench and ran the soft fabric of the V-neck sweater over his hands. He kept his eyes down to avoid looking up as Blaine began to unbutton his shirt.

"I like the sweater. Blue is definitely your color," Blaine told him and his fingers fiddled with a button.

The corners of Kurt's lips twitched and he fingered the price tag. The sweater, no matter how fabulous it happened to be, would always be out of his price range at nearly three-hundred dollars. Even though it was such a high price, he enjoyed getting the chance to try it on.

"Are you okay, Kurt?" Blaine asked and lowered his voice. He stopped halfway down his shirt and dropped his hands to his sides. "You haven't said a word since we got into the dressing room."

"I'm fine." Kurt nodded, not raising his head. "Go ahead, try on the shirt."

Blaine chuckled, leaning his weight from foot to foot. He noticed how modestly Kurt sat, with his legs crossed, sitting in the middle of the bench, almost as if he was trying to shrink the amount of space he was taking up.

"There's this thing called space and I'm pretty sure we have a lot of it at our disposal right now. It's not like we're in the same room as three other guys," he said, tilting his head to the side.

Kurt pulled his head up finally and tried not to stare at the exposed V-shaped section of Blaine's chest that showed. He swallowed and his eyes darted up.

"Space isn't the issue," he said shortly. He let his nose wrinkle for a brief second, setting the sweater delicately on the bench and placing his hands on his knees. "Don't you think it's a bit… brave, so to speak, to be changing? I mean, in front of each other."

Blaine let out a relieved chuckle and his posture visibly relaxed. "That's all? I thought something was horribly wrong. Usually when you're that quiet, you're sick or your Physics grade has just taken a nosedive."

"'That's all?'" Kurt repeated and stood up shakily. "It's sort of a brave move for me. I can change in front of my dad, yes, but not in front of someone like…" He stopped right then and clenched his teeth.

"Like me? What's wrong with someone like me?" Blaine raised one eyebrow and concern washed over his features, sharpening them.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Because I love you, and you're perfect. I'm not. I'm not used to being judged by my body and, to be honest, it feels awkward. I've never stripped in front of another boy, and—"

"Oh, Kurt," he said and hesitantly placed his hand on the boy's waist. He pulled him closer to the point where their chests were touching. "I would never judge you on anything like that," he said quietly.

Kurt let his eyes widen. "You wouldn't?" he said dumbly.

"Of course not. I would never do that to you, ever. It would be completely unfair," he chuckled.

"How is it unfair?"

"To me, you're the perfect one. You have skin to die for, your hair is always perfect, and you never cease to look amazing," he said, and raised his hand to smooth his fingers delicately across Kurt's cheek. "You're beautiful to me, Kurt. Whereas I have scars from… years ago that look awful, ones that won't go away." He stopped a moment and his hand froze.

"Will may have mentioned that. When he told me about you and your dad fighting," Kurt said, his voice barely above a whisper. He placed his hand over Blaine's, pressing it against his face and feeling the warmth his palm emitted.

Blaine's muscles locked. "What did he say?"

"He told me about the one on your back. The one you got from the chair your father hit you with." The words came out in ragged strips and the two sentences tasted funny in his mouth.

The other boy pulled away and ducked his chin to his chest. "There's that one," he mumbled and his fingers worked diligently at the buttons of his shirt again. He let the shirt slide from his shoulders and he placed it on the bench. Underneath he wore a plain white undershirt, very sheer and thin.

Blaine turned his back to the mirror and stared at his reflection over his shoulder. He placed his fingers at the top of his left shoulder and pulled the strap aside to show the beginning of a pink, puckered line.

"It starts at my shoulder," he mumbled dejectedly and it looked like saying the words physically pained him, "and it goes down to almost my waist. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad of a wound, not a lot of blood, but very long and needing a lot of stitches. May I…?" He looked to Kurt and gestured lifting up his shirt.

Timidly Kurt nodded and stood still as he watched Blaine tug the undershirt over his head and wad it into a ball, discarding it on the floor.

The scar was an angry pink, and raked its way down Blaine's back in a diagonal, from his left shoulder to almost his right hip. It tarnished the otherwise smooth skin. Kurt felt a pang of remembrance, recalling what Will had told him about that night. He swallowed, hard.

"It looks better than it did a year ago," Blaine said easily, without pain. He touched the end of it, near his hip. "And it definitely looks better than it did two years ago. Maybe it will go away in time."

Kurt made himself nod his head again and he found himself reaching out to touch the middle of the scar. Under his fingertips, Blaine's skin was hot and radiated heat that sent Kurt's heart into his throat. He withdrew his hand quickly and threaded his fingers together.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, meeting Blaine's eyes in the mirror.

Blaine shook his head. "Not anymore. If I sleep on it wrong, it'll hurt a little in the morning, but not if I move around," he answered and traced the scar with his eyes. "It used to be so much of an issue for me that I couldn't move for hours at a time, or else the skin would break. I was out of school for a while as we waited for this to heal, and as we sorted everything out."

"Was Will?"

"Was he… what?" He narrowed his eyes.

Kurt hesitated. "How bad was hurt? I mean, I knew he…"

"He stayed out for a week and a half with minor injuries. A few cuts here and there and some medication to calm him down, but his hands looked like he had stuck them in a paper shredder. He had to pick up the pieces to that damn mirror." Blaine tensed at the thought, and his jaw set.

The mention of the mirror made Kurt tense. He faintly remembered the small mirror that hung on Will's wall in his room back at Dalton, the one with the hundreds of cracks splitting the smooth surface.

"Medication?" Kurt repeated after breaking out of his reverie. Each time he spoke, he found his voice growing softer and softer.

Blaine took an impossibly long breath. "He underwent trauma from the fight and had to be put under strict medications. After the incident, he got a lot of mood swings. He got medication to help him," he explained.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Kurt asked, "Does he take it anymore?"

"Carson told me he stopped right before this school year started, actually. Hasn't taken it since and he seems to be doing alright."

Kurt nodded his head and did not reply, and Blaine didn't say anything, either. The sounds of the boys' murmuring from the other dressing rooms drifted over and Kurt was now fully aware of them. If he listened hard enough, he could pick out individual's voices:

Adam, protesting in his higher-than-average voice about Simon wanting him to try on a suit; Cody, as he interrogated Thomas on whether he looked good in burnt orange jeans; and Thomas, as he replied that the jeans made him look like he had carrots for legs.

"I hate this scar. I want it to go away," Blaine mumbled suddenly, fiercely, and shook his head once more. He turned briskly away from his reflection.

Kurt touched his shoulder lightly to console him. "I hate my scar, too," he blurted. He scratched his neck and his fingers traced the line that was hardly there anymore; he stopped.

This made Blaine peek up at him past his lashes and he appeared to have forgotten about his own blemish. "What scar?"

Carefully, Kurt took Blaine's hand and led it up to the side of his neck, leaving it there. The realization soon widened the boy's hazel eyes, moving his fingertips across the short line. It was nearly invisible, puckered the slightest bit.

"Kurt, what happened?" he breathed and took a step closer.

He turned his head to the side, to stare at themselves in the mirror. "I had surgery when I was young. There was something wrong with veins and tendons, and they put me under the knife to fix it," he explained, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end at Blaine's touch.

"How have I never noticed this before? I mean, after all the times I've…" he said. His hand moved around to the nape of Kurt's neck, and it was soon joined by his other. "After all the times I've kissed you there. I haven't noticed it."

"It's hardly noticeable. You have to look in exactly the right spot, in the right lighting. It's no wonder you've never seen it. Even I try to find it in the mirror every morning, and sometimes my eyes trick me into thinking it's gone when it's really not…" He caught himself babbling and snapped his mouth shut.

He drew in a breath and for a moment, he stood frozen. His legs felt like they would give way at any time and he was thankful Blaine was there to catch him. His heart was caught in his throat and he could hardly breathe.

Then, he found his hands moving up to Blaine's chest, resting lightly against his shoulders. His face felt hot like embers and his stomach turned. The sensation reminded him of the night before, when Blaine had tugged at his shirt. Kurt let out a short breath.

"Are you alright?" Blaine asked with a laugh. "You look kind of flushed."

"Believe me, I am…" He faded. He moved his lips, but nothing came past them. Licking them, he cleared his throat. "You're so beautiful, Blaine. You're more beautiful than I could ever be, and I'm grateful to have you," he said, leaning his forehead against the other's.

"And I'm grateful to have _you_." Blaine swiftly placed his lips against Kurt's, warm and inviting and smooth.

At that point, emotions took over. No words were said, and soft gasps were given in place. Kurt's hands curled around the small of the boy's back and rested there, pulling him closer. Blaine's fingers twisted in the feathery hair that rested at the base of Kurt's neck, and it sent shivers up his spine.

Blaine moved his hands down from Kurt's neck, smoothing down his back, tucking into the back pockets of his jeans. A rush of adrenaline zipped through Kurt and his stomach churned.

The feeling of Blaine's hands in his pockets made him pull away from the kiss, a gasp escaping his lips. Instead of Blaine questioning his actions, he pressed his lips against his neck, planting small kisses. Kurt tilted his head back and finally, his knees too weak to stand. He found the bench and tumbled backward, Blaine going with him, losing his balance.

Kurt covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. Above him, Blaine dropped his chin to his chest, his face flushing bright pink.

"Note to self," Blaine mumbled, amused, as he tried to keep his balance, "never do that in a dressing room. Ever."

"I second that," Kurt agreed with a nod. He pushed himself onto his elbows to peck the other boy on the lips and pulled back with a smile.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rap on the door that startled Blaine, making him tumble off the bench and onto the floor. Kurt jolted into a sitting position.

"Blaine, Kurt," barked Diego's voice from the other side, "come on. We're leaving and we don't want to leave you two behind."

"Got it. Be out in a minute," Blaine choked out. He waited a moment before looking back at Kurt with a shaky smile.

He got to his feet and grabbed his undershirt, yanking it over his head. He found his shirt and threw it on. In the mirror, his hair was mussed in the back and he fixed it.

Kurt slowly sat up and ran his fingers over his lips. It was odd to feel them so numb. He discarded the numbness and stood on his feet, pushing the folded sweater to the side. Blaine had replaced the shirt he had been ready to try on, and it was hanging on the bar from a hanger.

"Are you ready?" he asked and checked his hair one last time in the mirror.

"Whenever you are," Kurt said, short of breath. He followed him out of the dressing room.

Outside, everyone was waiting, talking in low voices. Thomas had on a white fedora and it looked like he wanted to buy it, but even from a distance, Kurt knew it was completely out of his price range. Ronnie was bobbing up and down within the group, trying to snap pictures here and there when all he got was a hand to the lens.

Diego spotted Kurt and Blaine over the group and called out, "You guys ready?"

Blaine gave him a thumbs up, and the Precursor took that as an affirmative to lead the group to the front of the store. Kurt lingered in the back with Blaine instead of heading up to where Wes and David were.

As they approached the wide glass doors, Diego stopped to call for the blondes, who were in the middle of trying on sunglasses and hats from a small stand. James stood between them with a poofy white scarf tied around his neck and it alarmingly blended in with his skin tone. The three boys abandoned their accessories and caught up with the group.

"Where to now, all mighty leader?" Wes asked almost mockingly as they pushed through the doors.

Diego checked the watch strapped to his wrist. "Well, considering we have about an hour until lunch, we can go anywhere."

"I vote the Nintendo Store!" David declared, which got many cheers. "We'll have to take a taxi, but you know…" He looked pleadingly at Diego.

"That's, like, five streets over! No way! And besides, it's not on our list of approved stores," he snapped and fumbled for the folded piece of paper. He hastily flipped it open and scanned it.

Wes snorted. "You do not have a list of approved stores. All you have is the schedule," he said knowingly. "Come on, Diego. Be a little adventurous here. Color outside the lines."

"Fine!" the Precursor burst out and he jammed the paper back in his pocket. "We'll go to the damn Nintendo Store if it'll make you all shut up. But if we get into any trouble—"

Wes strode past him. "Calm your balls, Blackwood. We're not going to get into trouble. Now if you'll excuse me… _Taxi!_"

* * *

"_Told _you we wouldn't get in trouble!" Wes crowed happily nearly forty-five minutes later. He swung a small plastic bag from his wrist and it bumped against his leg whenever he took a step.

The group had spent the majority of the next hour taking over the Nintendo gaming store. By the end of it, some of the boys had purchased key chains and small momentos, while Wes and David had run into a pair of twelve-year-olds that bet they could beat them in one of the Mario games on display. Needless to say, the two Warblers challenged them to best out of three, which turned into five, which turned into seven.

"You nearly got into trouble with those two twerps!" Diego said hotly, leading the group down the sidewalk. His frantic pace said he wanted to get to the restaurant, and quickly.

"Hey, they were asking for it," David commented and jabbed a finger at him.

"And we showed them!" Wes cheered and they shared a high five.

Diego rubbed his face in irritation. "Just… never do anything like that _ever again. _You're lucky I'm not going to tell Lovett when we get to the restaurant," he said sternly.

"Oh, thank you, Diego, for saving us! Because we don't want to get any more on her nerves than we already are!" Wes said with mock fear, and he rolled his eyes.

Diego waved a hand at them, dismissing them, and fell silent.

The rest of the group stayed in a close pack as they paraded the sidewalk, most of North clumped together in the front with Wes, David, and Diego. The Souths retired to the back and kept up steady conversations with one another.

Kurt and Blaine brought up the rear of the party. Kurt had had no intentions of buying anything in the Nintendo store whatsoever, as he had never been an avid gamer in his life, but ended up buying a trinket for Finn at the last second; it was tucked away in his pocket by his phone.

Blaine had strolled through the store, not interested in anything whatsoever. He had watched Wes and David battle it out over Super Mario Bros with the twelve-year-olds, and then Cody and Thomas play against each other in Mario Kart. Nothing really interested him in the game store.

Now, as they crossed the streets, Kurt picked up the smell of steaming food. The diner they were supposed to meet up at was right across the street, and they made it to the next corner without being hit by the inconsistent traffic.

The diner was small and quaint and dimly lit. Diego marched right up to the hostess and told her they were part of another party, and when he gave her the name of the choir, she took them to the back. Four tables had been pushed up together, end to end, and half of it was filled. Lovett and her group of Easts and Wests were already seated with drinks and chips.

"We're here, Ms. Lovett," Diego declared as he pulled out a seat next to a West boy and plopped down. "All in one piece," he added under his breath.

Lovett looked up from her menu and squinted at the boys sitting down. "And I see no one has been left behind. That's always a good thing."

Kurt found an empty pair of chairs near the end with Wes and David. He pulled out a chair and sat down, the vinyl squeaking beneath him. The air reeked of tantalizing dishes and it made his stomach rumble.

Wes helped himself to a handful of chips from one of the many bowls in front of them and stuffed his face. He flashed a smile at the waitress who came to take drink orders and she hardly paid any attention to him. Minutes later, they had their drinks and everyone was giving their food orders. The three waitresses that tended to their table scurried around, frantic, making sure they didn't leave anyone out.

"This is nice," Blaine commented as soon as the girls had left and he propped one elbow against the table.

Kurt nodded and stirred his straw around in his drink. He felt Blaine's hand cover his own under the table and he gave a gentle squeeze. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine smile, faintly.

The lunch lasted nearly an hour and a half. Most of the ninety minutes was taken up by waiting for the food, and the boys scarfed down their meals within the last twenty. Kurt stabbed at his salad for the most part, not eating more than a few leaves and a handful of croutons. Every time he lifted his fork to his mouth, his stomach would take a turn and he would go back to stabbing.

Finally, Lovett paid the check and empty plates and bowls littered the table. The chairs scraped against the floor as they pushed them back into the table, and they left the diner, full and tired.

"Remember, meet back up at Radio City Music Hall by five!" Lovett called shrilly as the groups split up for the afternoon. The North and South group was already heading off in one direction, and the other group in the opposite.

"Three hours," Blaine said under his breath. "What are we going to do in three hours?"

Wes pretended to stroke an invisible beard. "I don't know, young Anderson. Let's ask all mighty Diego, and see what we should do—"

Diego whipped around and glared hotly at him. "Would you stop calling me that?" he demanded. "It's getting old, Wesley."

"Ooh, you called me 'Wesley.' Now I know you're angry with me."

"Let's just say that if you keep talking, I'll be plenty more than angry." With that, he whipped back around and stuffed his hands in his pockets, pushing past Will and Carson to get to the front of the pack.

Wes' face turned bright red from holding back laughter, and a smirk crossed David's face.

"I don't know what we're going to do," Kurt said, answering Blaine's earlier question. He sidled up to him to avoid being knocked off balance by three girls with shopping bags passing them. "We can always go shopping again."

Blaine's lips twitched into a slight smile.

Slowly the time slipped by, minute by minute, and soon, an hour was spent pacing the sidewalks and window shopping. Everyone found something interesting in the shops they passed, it seemed.

Thomas stopped at every electronics store they passed and pleaded with Diego to go inside, but was rejected; everyone knew it would take forever to drag him away from the shine and dazzle of the array of portable music players and miniature popcorn machines with five different flavors.

Cody insisted several times to go into the cooking specialty boutiques they happened to pass by, even if there were only two in all. He had his face pressed against the glass, examining a large mixer that came in an assortment of colors, and in order to keep moving, Thomas had to pick him up off the ground and sling him over his shoulder.

"Okay, okay! I'm done! Just set me down!" he squeaked and flailed his arms and legs, nearly knocking the redhead in the nose with his foot. He was set down on the ground and he straightened his shirt. "_Thank _you. Sheesh."

When they walked by a small store that specialized in photo shoots, Carson immediately grabbed Ronnie around the waist and held him firmly. Ronnie reached out for the handles of the door as a small child would, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth and his fingers curling in and out.

"Aw, you're no fun!" he complained as they tore him away from the shop. He wriggled out of Carson's grip, muttering, "Hey, buddy, don't hurt the camera."

"No, we're being safe," David told him.

"And we're saving time," Wes added. "If we actually let you go in there, we'd be here the rest of the day, and I'm pretty sure Lovett set our call time at five. Something tells me that letting you in there wouldn't work out very well."

"Safe, schmafe," he mocked. "We're in _New York, _boys. I think we can afford to be a little adventurous."

Thomas grinned and turned to face the other boys, walking backwards. "Yeah. What he said. We've got to live it up while we're here. It's not every day we get a pre-paid trip to Manhattan with the chance to do and see anything."

Blaine clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Who's up for a little ice cream?"

"Ice cream, Blaine?" Adam inquired tiredly from the back of the group. "We just ate not even an hour ago. I think the last thing any of us want is more food."

Simon narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you really a guy? Or just a girl trapped in a guy's body? Because no _guy _would turn down food."

Rolling his eyes, Adam jabbed him in the ribs.

"Well, you certainly can't get New York ice cream in Ohio, can you? And if we're not going to get it now, we're never going to get it," Blaine went on and thrust his hands in his pockets. "Who's up for some?"

Kurt and Cody smiled at one another in approval, both nodding yes.

Gradually, the group voted in favor of ice cream and went in search of a store. They turned the corner when they saw a sign hanging down from the row of awnings, wooden and painted in pastel colors. It was a sweets shop and it drew the boys in like a moth to flame.

A small bell dinged overhead when Diego pushed the door open, and a wave of icy air bit at their faces. The sweet smell of sugar and chocolate floated through the air, and Kurt's mouth watered.

The floor was patterned in black and white tiles, styled like a fifties diner, bar stools and everything. A row of coolers stood off to one side and held gallons upon gallons of ice cream; the back wall was filled from the floor to the ceiling with shelves holding buckets of candy; plastic tubs of fudge and cookies and every kind of pastry were stacked against the wall to their left.

The group broke apart and scoured the shop.

Kurt stayed in the doorway, his eyes taking in everything all at once. The smells, the sights, the sounds—they were all indescribable. He was jogged out of his reverie when he felt Blaine's hand wrap around his own and pull him forward.

"What kind of ice cream do you want? We'll split some," Blaine murmured, close in his ear, as they approached the coolers.

The ice cream was separated into sixteen bins, and each held gallons of brightly colored treat. There were several flavors to choose from, starting with plain vanilla bean to birthday cake to mint chocolate chip to raspberry.

Kurt licked his lips and felt utterly lost. "I don't have a clue. You pick," he said and pushed the boy forward with a mild nudge against the small of his back.

Blaine stared down into the coolers and stood there for five minutes, deciding between the pastel mint and the pink strawberry. His choice, however, was neither of the ones he was so focused on, and he ended up asking for a bowl of birthday cake.

"I hope that's okay with you," he said softly. He pulled out his wallet and paid the cashier. He handed Kurt the large bowl with a handful of napkins and two spoons.

Simply carrying the bowl over to one of the tables that stood against the window made his hands cold and he set it down on the table. He sat down onto one of the spinning stools and claimed a spoon.

"It looks fine to me," he said and met Blaine's eyes.

Blaine lifted a shoulder. "I thought it was clever. You know, birthday cake and it being your birthday and all."

Kurt pointed his spoon at him. "Very clever. I hadn't even thought of that," he said and cautiously spooned a bit into his mouth. He sighed delightedly at the taste; he hadn't had ice cream for years and he'd forgotten how luscious it tasted.

"I take that it tastes good?" Blaine guessed, smiling and twirling his spoon between his fingers like a baton.

"It's amazing. Have some for yourself." Kurt generously pushed the bowl across the table to him. "And thank you. How much is it? I'll pay you back for it." He set his spoon down and reached for his wallet.

"Kurt, it's your birthday," he sighed. "The least I can do is treat you to ice cream without you feeling the need to reimburse me."

Feeling a flush wash over his face, Kurt slipped his wallet back into his pocket. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Blaine ducked his head, laughing. "You don't need to apologize to me. It's only ice cream; it doesn't cost more than five dollars. I think I can spare five dollars." He paused. "And I _did _spare five dollars, so you shouldn't worry."

"Okay, then. Sor—" He covered his mouth before he ended the sentence and giggled. "Can I at least apologize for almost apologizing?"

Blaine only chuckled and ate another bite of ice cream. He turned his head to examine the rest of the shop and what everyone else was doing. Kurt followed his line of sight.

In the back, Thomas and Cody were taking turns testing candies and suckers, Thomas reaching the bins that the shorter boy wasn't able to reach. There was a ladder on a rail, like one in a library, that Cody climbed up on. He kicked the floor to push off and went skidding from one end of the store to the other, just about running over Wes. Ronnie stood beside them, snapping pictures.

Simon and Adam were splitting a handful of cookies from the left side of the store. Adam had an oatmeal cookie and when he held it up, Simon made a face, turning it down. Adam shrugged, saying something to him, and took a pleasured bite out of the cookie. Simon blew hair from his eyes and munched on a chocolate chip one.

One of the other tables was occupied by the blondes. James sat between them, intently watching them scarf down ice cream. He had his phone out and it looked like he was timing them, seeing who could finish first. Carson was shoveling it into his mouth, spoonful after spoonful. But Will was deftly picking at it, staring down at it scornfully.

"That wasn't much of a race. You didn't even try, Will," James told him as Carson polished off what was left in his bowl.

Will pursed his lips. "Eh, it's not all about winning in the end."

"Will has a weak stomach," Carson said bluntly and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "That's why he didn't scarf it down. He'd be chucking it all up right now if he did." He grinned at Will, then nudged James. "Remind me to get him in front of some horror movies. He _hates _those."

James raised an eyebrow and glanced at Will. "Really?"

"And so my secret goes," Will sighed and rested his elbows against the table. He rested his face in one hand, covering half the flush that had spread across his cheeks.

"He's just a wimp when it comes to blood. If someone does as much as gets a paper cut," Carson went on delightedly, "you might as well get him a bucket."

Will ignored him and offered the rest of the ice cream to James without a moment's hesitation. "You can have the rest, if you want."

Instead of eating it, James picked at it with a spoon. He caught Kurt looking over at their table and he smiled. Kurt smiled back and turned his head down, going back to his own bowl.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said vaguely and hopped off the stool. He left without another word and had Kurt staring after him.

Kurt decided not to question and placed his spoon in the bowl. He angled himself toward the window and looked out across the street that was filled with cars and trucks, all bumper to bumper. The stop lights flickered from green to yellow to red in a matter of seconds and everything appeared to move quickly. People crowded the sidewalks with shopping bags and some with briefcases, taking lunch breaks from work.

Everything was so surreal, being here. It sent a pang of excitement in his stomach. Soon, he would be here, living his life. That is, if his plans to apply to one of the colleges, the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts, worked out without a single flaw. He was set to send in an application in the first few months of the fall term next year.

He would get out of Ohio once and for all after high school was over. He would pack up and leave home to pursue life in New York, and hopefully Rachel Berry would be at his side. They had planned the entire thing in advance: attending college, making it big, appearing on billboards in Times Square. All of it together.

The scuffle of shoes against tile made him turn around, and he was faced with the entire group of boys, eagerly watching him with broad smiles.

"Either you're all about to stab me with a cleaver knife like they do in horror movies," he said and leaned back in his chair, "or another awful thing is about to happen. And I'm going to place a bet on the latter. Unless you really do have cleaver knives hidden behind your backs."

This made a few boys break out in laughs.

Blaine squeezed past Diego and David. "It's not awful at all. It's just a little song we pulled together in honor of your birthday," he explained nonchalantly. "It isn't every day you turn seventeen."

Kurt sighed and placed a hand over his heart. "That's all? I thought something else was going to happen…"

"Why? If you want to get stabbed, I'm pretty sure we have access to a knife," Thomas offered readily. He bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Immediately, even," Cody added.

Kurt shook his head. "Okay, no knives. I was only kidding," he said. "But really, you didn't need to do anything for me."

"Oh, be happy for a little while, Kurt," Simon said. "It's your birthday. You're one year older."

"Think of it this way: you're one year closer to being a legal adult," James added quietly.

"And you won't have to be teased about being so young compared to the rest of us," Wes said. "Because, you know, we've all been seventeen for _months _now—"

Kurt hid his face. "Alright, alright, I get it! You know, after all this talking of birthdays, I've forgotten what the whole purpose of this _thing _you guys are trying to do right now."

Blaine perked. "Right. Well, this is a little tune we pulled together on short, short notice—"

"_Very _short notice," David chipped in.

"—and we hope you like it." He counted them off and they broke into an upbeat tune.

Kurt recognized the harmony right off the bat and he covered his face to hide the scarlet that was sweeping across his cheeks.

_You say it's your birthday,_

_It's my birthday too, yeah,_

_They say it's your birthday,_

_We're gonna have a good time,_

_I'm glad it's your birthday,_

_Happy birthday to you!_

Blaine lead the group with the main vocals and the others provided the backups. With the limited space they had, all they could do dancing wise was spin in short circles. That was all it took to make Kurt burst into a fit of giggles.

_Yes, we're going to a party, party,_

_Yes, we're going to a party, party,_

_Yes, we're going to a party, party,_

_I would like you to dance (birthday),_

_Take a cha-cha-cha-chance (birthday),_

_I would like you to dance (birthday),_

_Dance!_

Blaine lunged forward to take Kurt by the wrist and bring him to his feet, spinning him around in a graceful circle.

_I would like you to dance (birthday),_

_Take a cha-cha-cha-chance (birthday),_

_I would like you to dance (birthday),_

_Dance!_

Kurt spun until everything and everyone around him was a blur of pastel colors, the smell of sugar clogging his senses. He shut his eyes momentarily, then let them flutter open, a smile appearing on his face.

_You say it's your birthday,_

_Well, it's my birthday too, yeah,_

_You say it's your birthday,_

_We're gonna have a good time,_

_I'm glad it's your birthday,_

_Happy birthday to you!_

The group finished on a lively note, ending with cheers and whistles. Kurt felt hands grab onto his shoulders, stopping him from making another rotation, and he blinked rapidly to see that Cody had stopped him. The others clapped him on the back, wishing him a happy birthday, and there was a bright flash from Ronnie's camera as he took a few shots. Blaine stood next to him.

"I hope that's better than a group of guys with cleaver knives," he said under his breath as everyone slowly moved away, going back to what they were doing before, which was scarfing down treats until they couldn't eat anything more. "No almost-rhyming intended."

Kurt took in a long breath to still his leaping heart. "It was great," he said, finally gaining the feeling in his lips. "I loved it. Thank you."

Blaine smiled and wrapped his arm around the boy's waist, giving him another quick hug. Across the shop he called, "Diego, we're going to Central Park next, right?"

The Precursor shrugged. "We can if we have the time to."

"'If we have the time to'," David mimicked in a phony voice. "We've got, like, three hours left before we have to meet up with the others."

"Then I guess we're going," he concluded and looked to Blaine.

Blaine gave him a nod in reply and it looked like someone had shocked him with electricity; he was bouncing on the balls of his feet and the smile wouldn't drop from his face.

"Why did you ask if we were going to Central Park?" Kurt wondered suspiciously as he made his way back to the table, where their melting treat sat atop the table.

"No reason." Blaine's eyes crinkled at the corners and he sat down, reaching for his spoon. "Pretty good, huh? The ice cream."

Kurt folded his hands in his lap. "Very good, actually. I can't remember the last time I've had ice cream," he admitted. "It must've been when I was younger." He paused his sentence to taste a spoonful. "But seriously, tell me the reasoning behind your wanting to go to Central Park."

"Who wouldn't want to go to Central Park?" Blaine asked after he had swallowed. "It's an amazing place. Or so I've heard, at least. It's got the best sights and the best sounds and the best everything."

"That is true," Kurt responded and set his spoon down, "but something makes me think you're behind something. Something that will ultimately end in my embarrassment."

Blaine dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I assure you, that's not the plan."

"So you _are _behind something! I knew it!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Blaine cautioned, tearing off a corner of the napkin and wadding it into a tiny ball. "It's not as grand as you might think."

Kurt bit eagerly at his lip. "It's my birthday and I totally get that, but there is no reason you should do anything else for me."

Blaine braced his elbows against the table and leaned forward so he could talk in a low voice. His hazel eyes caught the light streaming in from the windows and made them spin in shades of brown.

"It is your birthday and I'm glad you realize it. It means that I should be able to do things for you, like buy you ice cream without complaint," he started. "It also means that I should be fully able to celebrate your existence in my life. As cheesy as it sounds, it's true."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's very cheesy," he said.

"And believe me when I say, you've literally turned my entire world upside down—"

"Blaine! Kurt! We're leaving," Diego barked, passing their table.

Blaine slumped back and pulled his elbows off the table, staring hard at the boy. "I thought you said we had two hours?"

"We do, but it takes a while to get there by foot. Unless, you actually want to waste time hailing another taxi or two," Diego said and gave a fierce shudder. In the taxi earlier in the day, he had been crammed in the backseat between Wes and David, smushed into the seats.

"No, I'll pass," he mumbled and hopped off the stool.

Kurt nodded in full agreement. "That was not fun. That was the first time I've ridden in a taxi, and it certainly will be the last," he said and cleared the table, dumping their empty bowl in the trash.

He and Blaine followed the rest of the group out the door and back out onto the scorching sidewalk. The sun was high overhead and cast out waves of heat that hinted summer in the insanely near future. It was so warm that up in front, Cody had taken off his jacket and flung it over Thomas' shoulder.

Blaine eyed Kurt. "Getting warm?" he teased.

"Not at all," he said airily, though he played with the zipper on his jacket.

A beat of silence.

Then Kurt yanked down the zipper and folded the jacket over his arm. "Okay, you win. It's kind of hot."

"Oh, my bad. Maybe I shouldn't stand so close, then," he joked and took a step away from him.

"Ha ha, very funny," Kurt said, his arms crossed over his chest.

Blaine slung an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "You know I would kiss you right now," he murmured, "but with everyone here, they might start taking pictures. Well, Ronnie might start taking pictures."

Kurt sucked in a breath. "And, if you haven't noticed, there are other people around us on the street. Two boys kissing might cause a wreck."

"Well, the marriage bill is passed here, so they should get used to it." He pecked the other boy on the cheek and leaned away, leaving Kurt with pink on his cheeks.

* * *

"Wow. I never thought Central Park would be this…" Wes spread his hands in front of him. "_Big._"

David snorted at his side. "Of course it's this big. It's _Central Park_."

"I know, but still! I've never been here before, so give me a break."

Central Park was massive. It stretched farther than the eye could see, embellished with vibrant grass, shimmering ponds, and weaving pathways that connected one end to the other. The aromas of food of all sorts filled the air and made the boys' mouths water, though they'd already had lunch. Chatter filled the air as people walking dogs and pushing baby strollers maneuvered around them. Cyclists buzzed past them left and right, expertly avoiding hitting pedestrians.

Above them, there was not a cloud in the sky. The sun beamed down on them brightly and brought a certain life to everything. From somewhere in the park, music faintly thudded from speakers, followed by a barely audible round of applause from a crowd. Small venders lined the pathways and sold everything from food to trinkets to clothing; one stand, one that had a lengthy line, provided face painting for small children.

Taking a deep breath, Wes stepped forward with his hands in his pockets. Almost immediately, he jumped back, just getting out of the path of a cyclist. He flipped off the biker before Diego saw and grabbed his wrist.

"Wes," he said, annoyed, and dropped the boy's wrist, "you can't just flip people off like that! What would Lovett say if she saw you do that?"

He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, then cleared his throat. "'Now, now, Mr. Moore,'" he mocked in a surprisingly accurate impression of the director, "'stop your shenanigans this instant. Do you want us to get disqualified from the competition because of your bad choices?'" He looked flatly at Diego. "I've heard it all before, so save your breath."

Diego gaped at him as he started forward down one of the many cobblestone paths that split before them, hands in his pockets. The Precursor muttered something under his breath and turned to the others.

"Alright," he announced, "you can go wherever you want. Just make sure to meet up here. I don't want anyone dying while we're here."

"That's all you have to say to us? Don't die? That's assuring," Will piped up from the back.

Diego rolled his eyes. "Unless you'd like to, then yes. But not dying would be preferred."

"Gotcha, El Capitan." Will gave him a thumbs up as he walked past him, James and Carson trailing on his heels. The trio disappeared down a wide pathway, weaving between masses of people and children.

The group of boys started to disperse and soon, Blaine and Kurt were the only ones standing. Wes and David had gone off with Diego, and Thomas and Cody were heading in their own direction; no one else was in sight.

"Well," Blaine sighed finally, looking to Kurt, "where do you want to go?"

Kurt lifted a shoulder and pursed his lips. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad we're here in the first place."

"That's true. Why don't we just start walking?" He chuckled and he held out his hand to the other boy.

Kurt beamed and gripped his hand tightly.

* * *

"Do you think I'll need sunscreen?"

Simon narrowed his eyes at Adam curiously. He had his hands jammed in his pockets and had been staring at the sky until the other boy had said something.

"Sunscreen?" he repeated. "Why would you need sunscreen?"

Adam blinked at him. "Because obviously, the sun is out and I don't want to burn."

Covering his mouth, Simon stifled a snort. He immediately dropped his smile when he looked up to see Adam glaring at him.

"I'm serious," Adam said, slightly flustered. He paused. "But nevermind. Forget it. That was a stupid question."

"It's not a stupid question."

He looked at him. "It sort of was."

Simon pursed his lips and bumped Adam's shoulder teasingly. "Okay, yeah, it was."

After the group had split up, the two boys had taken another route, away from the others. They found themselves heading down a wide path that wrapped around a pond that was dotted by noisy ducks and lily pads that graced the surface of the water.

A few moments of silence passed between them, and then finally Simon nodded to the pond.

"Too bad we don't have any bread to feed them," he mused, watching a duck bob underwater for a split second.

"Too bad we don't have anything at all," Adam corrected without missing a beat.

Simon pulled a toothy grin onto his face that made Adam's stomach churn. "Because I would kill to see ducks fight over food."

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Adam chuckled weakly. "Yeah, too bad."

"Do you think ducks eat ice cream?" he asked teasingly, bumping his shoulder again as they walked.

"Yes, because ducks enjoy ice cream. Especially on hot, sunny days such as this." He nodded up at the sky and rolled his eyes.

Simon grinned. "Your humor has gotten better. I'm impressed."

"Well, I do spend the majority of my time with you, so I'm not surprised," he quipped.

"And it's a good thing you do spend time with me, because your humor was awful."

Adam jabbed him in the ribs. "Shut up. At least it's better."

"Yeah, it's better," Simon said, rubbing his side, "but you have to admit it was bad before."

"Yes, yes, it was bad. Can we stop talking about it?" he snapped. He stopped in the middle of the pathway and glared at him.

Simon pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded once. "Sorry."

Adam shook his head and started walking again, and Simon caught up to him.

"But seriously," Simon continued joyfully, as if there hadn't been tension between them, "we should find some bread to feed the ducks. I would love to see them fight over it."

The corner of Adam's lips twitched.

* * *

The slight breeze blew through Kurt's hair and he shut his eyes. Under him, the ground was soft, the blades of grass tickling his skin. He wound his fingers through the grass and inhaled the sweet scent. The sounds of trickling water and quacking ducks echoed in his ears, and he could hear his heartbeat thudding at a rhythmic pace.

"I love this," murmured a voice beside him.

Kurt turned his head to see Blaine lying beside him with his arms folded under his head. He had a peaceful look on his face, and the wind blew a curl of dark hair into his eyes. He talked with a smile on his face and his eyes remained shut.

"This is nice," Kurt agreed. He propped himself onto his elbows and looked down on the other boy.

Blaine pried one eye open. "What are you looking at?"

"My handsome boyfriend." He reached over with one hand to touch Blaine's hair, but he grimaced. "Why do you always wear so much gel in your hair? It takes away from it."

"It's not like you don't use gel," Blaine scoffed.

Kurt wrinkled his nose and he wiped his hand on his pants. "I do, but you use practically a bottle a day."

"That's because I basically look like Medusa without it."

"You don't look like Medusa."

Blaine squinted against the sun. "How do you know? You've never seen it."

"That's because you never _not _wear gel," Kurt said with a laugh. He gently shoved Blaine's shoulder and sat up fully, sitting with his legs crossed Indian style.

"And I will continue to never not wear gel until the day I die." He sat up and blinked.

Kurt tilted his head to the side and pouted. "Oh, come on. I'm sure you don't look that bad."

"I look terrible," he said firmly, and he glanced at the people milling around them. "And if I do, I'd rather do it when no one else can see. It's embarrassing."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled. He patted Blaine's cheek. "I'll take what I can get."

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped, his brows furrowing together. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what? All I hear are ducks," Kurt replied pointedly.

"No, I mean music. It sounds like music." He slowly got to his feet and helped Kurt up, keeping a tight grip on his hand.

Kurt waited a moment, then nodded. The faint thudding of music reached his ears and he glanced over his shoulder. What sounded like clapping accompanied the music and across the pond, people were clumped together in a mass.

"What do you think that is?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the crowd.

"I have no idea," Kurt muttered.

The two boys glanced at each other, then started walking. They paced around the wide pond and through clumps of people. Five minutes later, they stood in front of a large, makeshift stage. Dozens of people crowded around it, clapping along with the beat that erupted from the speakers. On the stage, a group of people, no older than high school age, Kurt guessed, danced and swayed with the tune, their lips moving as they sung the words.

Kurt looked back at Blaine questioningly. Before either could say a word, Diego appeared behind them, his lips set in a grimace. Wes and David followed close behind him, Cody and Thomas trailing in the back. Past the boys, Kurt saw Will, Carson, and James heading down the path toward them, obviously drawn by the boisterous music.

"What's going on?" Diego demanded and he folded his arms over his chest. His sharp eyes ran over the group on stage, dancing and twirling along with the music, wearing flashy outfits that glinted in the sun.

Blaine lifted his shoulders. "We have no idea."

"They're really flashy. Who are they?" Wes asked when he and David approached them, his eyes narrowed.

"They're singing Katy Perry, which really makes me want to know," Thomas said flatly, "but their outfits make me _not _want to know. I mean, it looks like they're all wearing tinfoil. Seriously, who wears stuff that looks like tinfoil?"

His replies were a handful of shrugs from the others, and they cautiously moved towards the stage. With each step, the music shook the ground a little bit more. Once they were at the back of the relatively small crowd that was watching, the boys were able to get a closer look.

From the gaudy panther that was painted into the background of the stage, it seemed that they were a high school group. The group was made up of girls and boys, all dancing together in sync with their lips moving, singing. The girls donned glittery silver dresses that ended in a poofy skirt, strappy heels on their feet that seemed difficult to walk in, let alone dance in; the boys wore dress shirts of the same glittery material with black pants.

"Are they really singing Katy Perry?" Diego asked after a minute of intense listening. He looked back at the rest of the group.

"At least some people have good taste," Blaine muttered. Kurt rolled his eyes teasingly at him.

The pop tune ended, and the sound was met by the applause of the crowd. Not knowing what else to do, the boys clapped uneasily; in the back, Will merely wrinkled his nose. The next song started and it immediately stood out in Kurt's ears: they were performing 'Wicked.'

A girl with bouncy blonde hair took the lead and easily belted out the lyrics to 'Defying Gravity' with such smoothness and strength that Kurt wasn't sure anyone could stand up to her, even Rachel. Her voice was unwavering and she stretched out long notes like taffy, bending and twisting them into glorious sounds.

"Well, shit," Wes muttered bitterly under his breath. Kurt looked over at him and saw that his mouth was open a little in either awe or indescribable hatred.

Diego jabbed him sharply in the ribs. "Don't say that."

"Please. You'd say it, too, if you weren't such a goody-two-shoes."

Up on the stage, the boys and girls were moving in complete synch, having changed from 'Wicked' to another pop tune, with smiles plastered on their faces. Not one of them looked exhausted in the least.

The beat of the song reverberated through the stage, through the ground, and Kurt could feel it in the soles of his shoes. He tightened his hand around Blaine's, and felt him squeeze back. From the corner of his eye, Blaine blanched.

Then, with a strong beat, the song ended and the choir was left breathless, smiling widely, hands thrust up towards the air. The small audience erupted in polite cheers and applause that the choir clearly soaked up greedily.

"They don't look like high schoolers," Diego hissed.

"Hell, they don't look _human_," Wes snapped. "I mean, who can hold a smile for that long without their faces falling off?"

David covered his mouth to stifle laughter and the other two boys rounded on him.

"This is serious stuff," Diego said quietly, pointing a finger at him to silence him. "I swear, if these people turn out to be high schoolers and they show up tomorrow at the competition, we're as good as done. Done! Do you hear me?"

"I think everyone can hear you," Blaine warned and cast a look around them.

Most of the audience that had been there moments earlier was gone, having split off now that the performance was over. Some lingered by to grab autographs from the boy with windswept hair and the bouncy blonde, who had sung the 'Wicked' solo.

The two looked over at Kurt and the boys, and identical frowns turned their lips down at the same time. Kurt felt his stomach clench and he lifted his chin a fraction.

"I think they heard you," Cody whimpered and resisted the urge to glare at the choir boy.

Diego covered his face with one hand, hiding his obvious embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something when Wes prodded him in the side.

"If you hate them both when they're on the stage, don't look now. They're within fifteen feet of us," he said snippily and stood back to cross his arms over his chest.

He was right. The boy and the blonde were making their way down from the stage, waving to the last of the audience members, and started towards them. The boy ran a hand through his hair, as if it wasn't tousled enough already, and the girl tightened her ponytail.

"Hey!" she greeted gleefully when they were in earshot. Up close, she had freckles dusting her nose and her eyes were bright. "Decided to stay, did you?"

"Sort of," Will said stiffly.

The boy smiled pleasantly. "Well, it's good to see we have at least some fans." He nudged the girl and she laughed. "I'm John."

"And I'm Melanie," the blonde added, flashing a pearly white smile.

Wes looked over his shoulder at the rest of the group as if to say _Are these people even real? _Turning around, he put on a smile that looked too big for his face.

"It's nice to meet you both," he said. "Do you, um, usually sing in the middle of Central Park like this?"

Melanie laughed again, and Kurt wanted to slap her; her laugh sounded almost like what a perfect laugh should sound like. "Oh, no. Today is our performance day," she explained.

"We're from Columbus," the boy, Jacob, interjected, "so performing in New York is a big deal to us. Like, a _really _big deal."

"Columbus?" Diego looked faint. "As in, Ohio?"

Melanie bobbed her head. "That's the one!"

"Funny," Wes said rigidly and he held his hands close by his sides. "That's where we're from. We're in a choir from Westerville."

"What school?" Jacob asked, the sun catching glints in his hair.

For a moment no one answered him immediately.

Then David coughed out, "Dalton Academy. It's a boys' school."

Jacob snapped his fingers in realization. "I've heard of it before."

"What school do you guys go to?" Blaine spoke up. Instinctively, he gripped Kurt's hand tight enough to make him wince slightly.

"Bell Graham High School," Melanie recited. "We're the Acousticats."

Diego blinked. "I'm sorry, you're the _what_?"

Jacob grinned. "The Acousticats. The mascot of Bell Graham is a panther, and so we put acoustic and cats together, and—bam. The Acousticats," he said, and he appeared delighted by the odd name.

The boys shared glances with one another, silently wondering what in the world was going on. Diego almost looked ready to faint.

"So, what brings you all the way from Ohio? Surely it wasn't just to hear us sing." Melanie smiled a toothpaste commercial smile.

Now, all the boys wanted to slap her upside the head.

"We're here for the Nationals competition tomorrow," Diego proclaimed, and his voice swelled with hope. If they were as clueless as they let on, maybe they weren't here for Nationals at all.

"Oh!" Melanie squeaked, clasping her hands together. "We've heard about that. We were going to go this year, but we got turned down."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "How can you get turned down from a competition?"

"Well, we didn't really get 'turned down,'" Jacob corrected and he made air quotes with his fingers. "We got another opportunity to perform and since that happened, the choir board wouldn't allow us to perform at Nationals."

"This year we competed with a bunch of other show choirs over in England this year. It was absolutely amazing," Melanie chattered on.

Diego blanched. "Fun."

"Of course," Jacob said, "I hope we'll be seeing you all there next year."

Kurt held back the urge to ask, _What makes you think __**you'll **__be there next year?_

"We will," Wes said, who looked a little pale himself.

"Well, we should probably get going," Melanie said happily, glancing over her shoulder. "We're on a tight schedule and we have to start another show in a few minutes. Are you boys going to stick around to watch?"

When neither Wes nor Diego spoke, Blaine shook his head. "Sorry, but we're on a schedule of our own. We should probably be leaving, too."

Disappointment flashed across Jacob's face for a moment, then he smiled. "Of course. It was nice to meet you! We hope you do well tomorrow!"

Diego nodded his head absently as Jacob and Melanie turned on their heels and started toward the stage again. Once they were out of earshot, he rolled his eyes and exclaimed quietly, "I really hate them!"

"You and everyone else," David said sadly, and patted his shoulder.

"I think I'm going to have a heart attack, David. I honestly think I'm going to have a heart attack." His jaw was clenched and he clutched his shirt, right over his heart. They started walking away from the stage. When they were a good distance away, the sounds of music exploded through the speakers behind them on the stage, and singing followed soon after.

No one turned around to watch the Acousticats perform the second time.

* * *

"Can I go back and kill them? Please? Because that would make me a very happy person," Diego rambled.

Half an hour had passed since the Acousticats' performance and Diego was still upset. Thomas and Cody were eerily silent, seeming to have no opinion about it, and Wes and David were trying to calm the Precursor.

"Killing is not allowed. I think we could get disqualified for that," Wes told him, patting his shoulder awkwardly. David nodded in agreement.

"Hands off," Diego said shortly. He glared at both of them, then stormed away. He plopped down on a nearby bench and put his head in his hands.

"Is he really that upset?" Kurt whispered to Blaine as they trailed at the back of the group.

Blaine nodded once. "He's been really into winning since the first day of freshman year. To see the Acousticats perform and to know that they're going to be at Nationals next year kind of freaks him out."

"Why would it freak him out? They're not going this year," he pointed out.

They stood to the side, hands intertwined, watching Wes, David, Cody, and Thomas attempt to console the Precursor; James and the blondes had gone off after the performance, and Adam and Simon were nowhere to be found.

Blaine shrugged. "Still. It gives him something to worry about."

"And he's a senior. He's not even going to _be here next year_."

"He's Diego. He worries. It's his job," he said simply. He absently rubbed gentle circles in the back of Kurt's hand.

Kurt licked his lips. "I know."

* * *

"I'm getting ice cream," Carson announced as they paced away from the other Warblers. "I don't know about you two, but I need sugar."

"We just had sugar an hour ago when we got cotton candy," Will pointed out, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. It felt odd to be out of the pressed navy slacks of his uniform. In fact, he felt out place wearing clothing that wasn't the slacks and blazer and tie.

"But that was an hour ago," the blonde said and steered Will and the dark haired boy to an ice cream stand along the walkway. "And plus, my energy is absolutely drained from watching those Aristocrats sing."

James rolled his eyes. "Acousticats. If you're going to insult them, make sure you know their name."

"Whatever. The point is that they were good, and they are going to Nationals next year." Carson tapped his toe as he waited in line behind a woman with a baby in a stroller.

"That's true," Will murmured. He looked to James. "He has a point, you know. The Acousticats are pretty good, I have to say, and they are going to Nationals next year."

James waved his hand. "We don't have to worry this year because they're not going. And, well, what if we don't make it to Nationals next year? Then we won't have to worry about them then."

Will hit his arm lightly. "I can't believe you would say something like that. Have you no pride for the Warblers?"

"I do, but it's starting to dwindle as we speak," he mumbled. "I mean, we barely scraped by at Regionals. I can't believe we even won that. The New Directions should have won, in my opinion."

"You are an abomination to this organization, James. Do you know that?" Carson said, half turned toward him, half turned toward the stand.

James shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, come on. Lighten up a little. You've got to be glad that we're here. We're in New York, for crying out loud," Will said. "It's the city of Broadway, and shopping, and Central Park."

He lifted his shoulders again.

"You're _hopeless_," Carson said and took his turn in line, ordering a cup of vanilla.

Will pursed his lips. "Hey, Carson. James and I are going to get started, so catch up with us when you're done," he said flatly. Before the other boy could reply, he turned and took James' arm, leading him away from the stand.

James, with his brows furrowed, pulled weakly against him, but Will's grip was firm. He followed the blonde down the wide path a good distance away from the food stands, and finally, Will let go of his arm.

"What is your problem? You don't have to drag me around like that," he demanded, rubbing his wrist.

"I just want to know what's going on with you," Will replied and he turned to face him, his glare sharp. "You've been upset this entire day, and I want to know what's wrong."

James wrinkled his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt warm under his jacket, but he didn't want to take it off.

"I'm serious, James. Tell me what's bugging you." The blonde leaned his weight to one side and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing's wrong," James snapped. He brushed past him and started down the path.

Will sighed. Then he raised his eyebrows and raced after him. When he was by the boy's side, he said in a low voice, "It's about, Kurt, isn't it?"

The dark haired boy halted, his expression almost frightened. His shoulders tensed. "What?"

"I knew it. It's about Kurt and Blaine getting back together, isn't it?" Will said knowingly. "That's why you're all moody and depressed today. It's because of that."

James bristled. "That's not it."

Will stifled a laugh. "Yeah, sure. Because the only times you're ever seriously upset are when Kurt and Blaine have some cute moment, and—"

"I hate it when you know everything," he interrupted viciously, taking a step towards him. When Will stayed silent, he went on. "I really wish you wouldn't seem so victorious in knowing that _that's _what I'm upset about, okay? For at least five minutes, I'd like to think I have a chance."

The blonde took a gratuitous step back. "Alright. I'm sorry." He paused. "But I'm right, aren't I?"

James merely glared at him. "I hate it when you're right. Stop being right."

"Can't help it," Will said with a grin. It dropped a moment later when James sighed deeply. "Look, I'm sorry that things aren't working out. You know, if you want to get Kurt's attention, maybe you should actually try talking to him—"

"I have been! Don't tell me I haven't!" he flared suddenly. "Because that's what I've been doing for months, trying to get his attention! But he doesn't get it. He doesn't get that I could make him happy, that Blaine isn't for him. Why won't he realize that I'm the one he needs, and that I need him?"

Will stared at him, frozen, for a long moment. His blood was turned to ice and all he could do was watch the other boy. Finally James sighed, irritated, and started down the path, muttering under his breath.

And Will stayed put, his expression flat and his chin tipped down to his chest.

* * *

After the group had broken apart again, Blaine and Kurt took another path, away from Wes, David, Diego, and the others. They found a wide cobblestone path that wound around a large pond with water as clear as glass.

"This is beautiful," Kurt sighed as he gazed out over the pond. Ducks bobbed at the surface, snatching bread kids were throwing in from the banks.

Blaine nodded in agreement. "What did you think of those Acousticats?"

He shuddered. "Awful. I never want to see them again."

"In that case, they better not make it to Nationals next year," he chuckled.

Kurt tore his eyes away from the ducks and looked at him. "You say that like we're going to make it next year."

"Well, we are," Blaine said simply. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, if we beat the New Directions and Chamberlin this year, what's to say we won't beat them next year?"

"But both of them were probably having off days. That's all," Kurt said airily. "Rachel told me after that the entire group was so freaked out that they could hardly perform without blubbing the lyrics, and the way Chamberlin styled their hair must have affected their show. I admire the song choices, but the hair was points off."

He stopped walking. "But don't you see? The Warblers are actually _good_. We're better than we've ever been in the years that I've been here. What's to stop us from winning next year?"

Kurt stopped with him and hung back. "But usually when a streak like this happens, we get cocky and then lose everything."

"That won't happen to us."

"How do you know?"

Blaine smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. "I just know. We're going to great next year, and tomorrow for sure. We'll beat the pants off Vocal Adrenaline." He started walking and reached for Kurt's hand.

"I can only hope," Kurt said in a long breath.

"We will," Blaine said happily, nudging the boy's shoulder lightly. "We're the Warblers. We can do anything."

A smile flickered over Kurt's face and he inhaled deeply.

Both boys were silent for a few minutes, walking along the path, passing more of the large pond, more ducks, and more people on bikes and scooters and just walking.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about something," Blaine went on casually. He stepped out of the way of a bicyclist and found Kurt staring at him. "What?"

"This doesn't sound very good," Kurt murmured. He tried to keep the worry out of his voice, and failed.

Blaine's eyes narrowed for a brief second and he touched Kurt's arm. "Why would you think that?"

He shook his head. "Well, whenever someone says 'I want to talk to you about something' it means there's a breakup, or bad news, or something awful coming in the near future," he said breathlessly; his face felt warm.

"It's nothing like that," he chuckled softly, digging his hands into his pockets. "Can we sit down for this?"

Kurt snapped his head to the side to look at the other boy. "If we have to actually sit down, it sounds very crushing. Are you sure someone hasn't died?" He paused, his eyes widened. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Why do you always assume the worst?" Blaine pulled out one of his hands and brushed it against Kurt's before taking it gently. They found one of the many wooden benches that outlined the pathways and sat down.

"Because I worry too much over everything. You and I both know that," he said and crossed his legs. He drummed the fingers of his free hand against his knee, clasping Blaine's hand with the other. "What was this big thing you wanted me to sit down for?"

Blaine pulled his hand away and folded his own in his lap. "First off, I'm not breaking up with you," he said, his voice wavering faintly.

"That's good to know," Kurt said and raised an eyebrow.

"I think we've had too much of that to deal with," Blaine commented under his breath. Louder, he said, "And no one has died recently. At least, not that I know of, at least." He shook his head. "Anyways. As you know—or you should know—it happens to be your seventeenth birthday."

Kurt clenched his jaw absently. "I don't like where this is going. I don't like it one bit."

The corners of Blaine's lips turned up at the comment. "And I know you don't like presents, or a big party, or lots of people telling you 'happy birthday', but I just want to do one thing for you."

"You've already done a million things for me, Blaine. You don't need to do anything more," he said softly. The distant breeze that washed through the air wafted over his face, bringing with it the scents of freshly mowed grass and cooked food.

Blaine reached over to take his hands. "But I want to do this. I know you're really opposed to everything, but just let me do this one thing and I won't bother you for the rest of the day."

"I'm listening."

"Kurt, when I met you, I knew—"

Kurt took his hands away to rub his face. "Okay, okay, no. You are not going to recite a rehearsed monologue to me. I don't care if you quote literature, or tell me you love me a million times. You are _not _giving me a speech."

The look on his face drooped. "Darn. You ruined everything I had already built up."

"Built up? You told me to sit down. I think that's building down."

Blaine simply smiled. "Will you let me go on?"

"As long as you skip the monologue," he remarked.

"Fine. As you wish." He paused to pull something small from his pocket and closed it inside his hands.

At the sight of this, Kurt's heart jumped into his throat. He raised an eyebrow and stared.

"What?" Blaine questioned, blinking.

"What's in your hands?" he asked cautiously, almost leaning back a little.

"Nothing."

He shook his head. "There is absolutely something in your hands, and I would like to know what it is right now."

"You'll find out if you stop talking," Blaine said patiently. By now, Kurt thought he would've gotten impatient by his many interruptions. When Kurt reluctantly quieted, he went on, "Thank you. I'm going to skip the monologue on your request, and skip to the part where I tell you how much you mean to me.

"Kurt, you are my shining light. You are everything I could've ever asked for in a boyfriend, and a best friend. You've been there for me through the worst, and through the best. You're always there for me for everything, and I would like to thank you for that." He stopped when Kurt snickered.

"Go on," Kurt said and waved a hand at him.

Blaine rolled his eyes, pink splashing across his cheekbones. "You mean the world to me, and there has never been anyone else on this planet that knows me better than you do. It was a mistake to lose you before, and I never want that to happen again. I don't think I can imagine my future without you, Kurt.

"You're a kind person, and a generous soul. I don't think there's a day when I've ever seen you yell at anyone, unless it's at Will or James." He paused for a moment. "Your voice is something I would put on a CD and listen to all day and all night, and never get tired of. I could listen to you sing one song for the rest of my life and I'd be happy because I get to hear your voice."

Kurt covered his face to hide the blush. "Skip all the mushy crap, please."

"You're also very demanding, you know that?" he asked teasingly. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, fiddling with something. "Kurt, I would like to give you something for your birthday. Don't worry, it's not a hot-air balloon ride over the city, or a big party in a hotel. It's just something I've been meaning to give you for a very long time." He extended his hands and cupped them, holding something rectangular.

Kurt stared at him hotly. "Blaine, I don't like the look of the box you're holding right now," he said, his voice escalating with anxiety. "That box does not look very promising, and—"

"Contrary to your beliefs, this box should be very promising," he said and held it out to him. "I want you to open it and tell me what you think."

Carefully he leaned forward to pluck the small rectangular box from Blaine's hands. It was a box covered in soft, white velvet that Kurt could've spend the entire day holding. He noticed Blaine's eyes watching him closely, and he flipped open the lid.

At first, Kurt dropped the box onto the bench and his hands flew to his mouth. "What in the world is that?"

Blaine laughed and scooped up the box, dusting it off and holding it out to him. "Before you say anything, it's not—"

"Please tell me it's not an engagement ring, Blaine Anderson," he said warningly. The back of his neck felt hot and he was sure it wasn't from the beaming sun. "But if it is," he added hastily, "then I completely say yes, yes, yes."

"I was just about to tell you that," Blaine finished in a long breath. "It's not an engagement ring at all. It's a promise, from me to you. I promise that I'll be there for you as much as you've been there for me, and I'll be loyal to you as long as you're loyal to me."

Kurt dropped his hands to his lap and glanced around. People bustled past them on the wide pathways, jogging or toting children with them, riding on bikes or walking with dogs on leashes, but none of it fazed him. He took a moment before shyly meeting Blaine's eager, hazel eyes.

"I love you," he said simply after sputtering for the right words, "and I will always love you, Blaine."

"Does that mean you'll wear the ring?" he asked hopefully and visibly straightened. He toyed with the box in his hands; inside something yellow caught the light, and Kurt did a double take.

Kurt nodded twice. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, nothing would come out but lame stutters and gasps. Blaine pressed the white box into his hands and he stared down at it. But Kurt tilted his head to the side.

Inside, instead of a band of silver, was a ring made of what looked like paper. There were folds and creases where the edges met, and it was topped with a small red bow. Kurt raised his head.

"Okay, I know I'm not an expert on jewelry," he said unsurely, "but I'm pretty sure that most of it's made out of metal, not paper."

Blaine ducked his chin to his chest and let out a weak laugh. "It's not paper. I made it out of, um, gum wrappers."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Gum wrappers?"

"They're all Juicy Fruit," he supplied with a smile, which started to drop on one side.

Kurt licked his lips and he felt the back of his eyes prickle. He pulled the small ring from the box carefully and he slipped it on one finger, the bow tie facing upward. He held his hand out to examine it.

"My favorite," he said softly. He glanced at Blaine.

"I'm glad you like it. For a minute, I thought you were going to say it was childish," he said with a relieved chuckle.

Kurt shook his head. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Without hesitation, Blaine tipped his head forward and brushed his lips against Kurt's. He felt Kurt's hand tighten around his own, and he placed his free hand over Kurt's knee. Kurt smiled against his lips, but pulled back.

"What's wrong?" Blaine said in a whisper, worry crossing his face.

Kurt chuckled and rested their foreheads together. "Nothing, nothing. It's just that we should probably get going. It's almost the call time and Diego will probably kill us if we don't show up on time."

Blaine let his shoulders drop and he got to his feet, brushing off his pants. He held out a hand to the other boy, his heart swelling.

Kurt gladly took his hand, reveling in the warmth of his skin, and got to his feet. He tucked the small white box in his pocket, and for a paper ring, it felt as heavy as lead.

Though the band dragged him down, suddenly prominent, he felt as though he was walking on air.

* * *

The boys met up at the entrance to the park where they came in, and Diego had to perform a roll call three times before he supposed it was "alright to leave now." Will had made another sarcastic comment, James had hit him in the ribs, and Diego had glared at them.

Now, they walked along the wide sidewalks, feeling the quick air as taxis and motorcycles whizzed by them. Kurt had his hand entwined with Blaine's for most of the time they were walking, and every so often, Blaine would give it a squeeze, and Kurt would squeeze back, and they repeated it until one of them started laughing.

They walked behind everyone else along the sidewalks, turning corners every now and then and taking in all the sights. They passed coffee shops with awnings that loomed over the windows, and music stores with carts of discount CDs sitting out in front; candy shops with jars of sweets stacked against the glass, and novelty shops.

Soon, after walking for what seemed like hours, they arrived on a wide corner. The music hall stood over them, the letters of the name large and dramatic. The entrance was made up of a set of glass double doors with ornate handles, posters covering every inch of the glass. The other half of the Warblers were waiting out in front of the doors for them, Lovett checking her watch.

For a moment, Kurt was dazed by the sight of Radio City Music Hall. It was much larger, much more extravagant, than he had seen in all the pictures. He was able to blink and have it still be in front of him, and he felt Blaine give his hand a squeeze.

"We thought you'd never get here," one of the East boys said as Diego approached, with South and North following him.

"We got caught up," Diego answered, slightly flustered still from seeing the Acousticats.

Lovett clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "At least we're all back in one piece. No one's missing?"

The Precursor checked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"Good," she sighed. "Then I guess we're all set to head back to the hotel together."

"You mean, we're not going inside?" Wes shrieked, loud enough to make everyone jump. "Why not?"

Lovett gave him a frightened look. "For the obvious reasons."

"Which are?" David asked.

"One, I'm sure school choirs are not usually allowed inside," she listed, holding up her fingers. "Two, the doors are most likely locked, and three—Wes! Get away from those doors right now!"

Wes had ventured over to the double doors and had wrapped his hand around one of the handles. He gave a short tug and it fell open easily. "Oh, come on, Ms. Lovett. We're in Manhattan only one time this year. Can't we just go inside and look around a little? Please?"

"No!" she said sternly and marched over to him. She pushed the door closed and propped her hands on her hips. "We're not going inside without official permission, and that is final."

"Ms. Lovett!" some of the boys pleaded.

She ran a hand over her ruffled hair. "I don't know what's gotten into you boys…"

"Ms. Lovett, if I may," Diego said politely. "I think everyone wants to go inside because it's Radio City Music Hall. It's obviously very famous, and an important musical icon."

"Does that mean _you _want to go in?" Wes said and jabbed a finger at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course I want to go in, but now is obviously not the time. I mean, we don't have tickets to a show and we aren't—"

"See!" Wes exclaimed and looked back at Lovett. "He wants to go in! You heard it right from the Precursor's mouth! That's good enough for me!"

Lovett wrinkled her brows together and she pinched the bridge of her nose between her index finger and her thumb. She looked irritated, yet thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Okay."

"Okay?" David echoed hopefully.

"Okay, go in. But if we get caught…" She trailed off uncertainly, almost through gritted teeth.

All at once, the group rushed the doors. Wes and David held them open as everyone quickly poured inside, air conditioning washing over them. Lovett hastily closed the doors behind them once they were all inside, and her face was nervously flushed.

The lobby of the hall was wide and grand, with doors leading to what was assumed to be an auditorium and a glass-encased ticket counter between them. Posters of all sorts covered the walls, held up by tape or staples, and potted plants decorated the corners of the room. All was silent.

Then Wes cheered, "Let's go in!"

Blaine clasped his hand over Wes' shoulder to keep him from eagerly jumping forward. "Whoa, there. One doesn't simply go in immediately."

"Oh, quiet, you," Wes said and brushed his hand off. "I don't need your Blaineisms. We're in Radio City Music Hall!"

"Actually, we're in the lobby."

He rolled his eyes. "We're still _in _the building."

"Excuse me. May I help you?"

Everyone jumped at the sound of a gruff voice. A man in a dark suit was walking toward them, a small white ID tag hanging from his breast pocket and his eyes sharp and jumping from face to face. Kurt's heart jumped into his throat.

Lovett blanched. "We are a choir from Ohio, and we're here for the Nationals competition tomorrow," she started uneasily. "We only wanted to see the inside of the building, and maybe see the stage."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"Only a minute of the inside is all we're asking," Wes piped up.

"We know that we're not really supposed to be here right now," David added.

Will cleared his throat. "But we're just kids who are only here once this year, probably once in a lifetime. We might never get to see the inside of this place unless we have tickets, which you and I both know are quiet expensive. And when are we going to get the opportunity other than right here and right now?"

The man raised his chin a fraction. "I suppose I could let you in for five minutes. There aren't any showings until tomorrow, so I'm sure five minutes wouldn't hurt."

Everyone let out a collective breath when the man turned to the auditorium doors. They all flashed grins at Lovett, who was red in the face and waved a hand at them. The man cleared his throat and gestured to the open doors. As he did, he spoke to Lovett in a low voice.

Kurt could faintly hear him asking Lovett about Dalton and their choir program, but it was drowned out by the soft gasps of everyone upon seeing the stage. It was wide and stretched from wall to wall, spotlights barely illuminating it. Hard wood was paneled across it and there were no props.

Instantly, everyone started rushing down the aisles and climbing up the stairs to the stage.

"This is so cool," Wes breathed and looked up at the soft spotlights above him. He stretched his arms out on either side of him as if he could hardly believe it was real.

Kurt gripped Blaine's hand. "This is amazing. We're actually here right now. We're actually standing on the stage in Radio City Music Hall." Before Blaine could reply, Kurt tackled him with a tight hug that almost knocked him over.

Blaine wrapped his arms around the other boy. "I know. This is insane," he murmured into his neck.

"Well?" Lovett called from the back of the auditorium.

"Well what?" Thomas called back. He sounded in a daze.

"Sing us something," the director requested, and her smile was prominent in her voice.

Cody's eyes lit up and he nodded energetically to the others. "We should! I mean, we're here. We might as well."

The boys crowded in a small circle in the middle of the stage and discussed in low voices, swapping suggestions and songs.

"We're only here once. We have to sing something good," David insisted.

Kurt smiled. "We should sing 'Wicked'."

"You always think we should sing something from 'Wicked,'" Carson sneered with an eye roll.

"Both of you, be quiet," Wes told them. "If we're going to sing something awesome, we're singing 'Rent.'"

Thomas scoffed. "How about no. 'Rent' is always too overused."

"Everyone needs to shut up," Will commanded.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, they all nodded in agreement and stepped back, beaming. They arranged a small block in the center of the stage, similar to the setup for the competition.

"And now," Blaine announced, standing at the front of the group, "the Warblers would like to present our rendition of 'You Can't Stop the Beat' from 'Hairspray'."

"This is the one and only showing of this performance, seeing as we're only going to be on this particular stage once in our lives," Wes added, "so please, no flash photography or other distractions that could otherwise screw up the entire thing. Thank you."

Lovett made an impatient sound, but laughed under her breath afterward.

Blaine cleared his throat gently and folded his hands behind his back, beginning to sing strongly. The words flowed off his lips like honey, slowly, tediously.

_You can't stop an avalanche,_

_As it races down the hill,_

_You can try to stop the seasons, _

_But you know you never will,_

_And you can try to stop my dancin' feet,_

_But I just cannot stand still_

As Blaine's voice faded, Wes lifted his chin, cool and confident and a smirk plastered on his face.

'_Cause the world keeps spinnin' round and round,_

_And my heart's keeping time to the speed of sound,_

_I was lost till I heard the drums,_

_Then I found my way 'cause you can't stop the beat_

From the back, Ronnie shouted in a high-pitched voice, "Five, six, seven, eight!"

Then, in voices that varied from high to low, they belted out the chorus, feeling the spotlights beam down on them, the darkness of the audience stretched out in front of them, never ending.

_Ever since this old world began,_

_A woman found out if she shook it, she could shake up a man,_

_And so I'm gonna shake and shimmy it the best that I can today,_

'_Cause you can't stop the motion of the ocean,_

_Or the sun in the sky,_

_You can wonder if you wanna but I never ask why,_

_If you try to hold me down,_

_I'm gonna spit in your eye and say,_

_That you can't stop the beat!_

Kurt licked his lips, feeling his heart pound wildly in his chest. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth to sing, nothing would come out, but the words fluidly dropped from his lips.

_You can't stop today as it comes speeding down the track,_

_Child, yesterday is history,_

_And it's never coming back,_

'_Cause tomorrow is a brand new day,_

_And it don't know white from black,_

_Yeah!_

As Kurt ended his stanza, he heard James' voice echo around the auditorium, sounding almost weak but consistent.

'_Cause the world keeps spinning round and round,_

_And my heart's keeping time to the speed of sound,_

_I was lost till I heard the drums,_

_Then I found my way,_

'_Cause you can't stop the beat!_

James gave a short twirl with a smile plastered to his face. His usually pale face looked flush with pink and he darted out of the way as the rest of the boys came forward, singing vibrantly.

_Ever since we first saw the light,_

_A man and woman liked to shake it on a Saturday night,_

_And so I'm gonna shake and shimmy it with all my might today,_

'_Cause you can't stop the motion of the ocean,_

_Or the rain from above,_

_They can try to stop the paradise we're dreaming of,_

_But you cannot stop the rhythm of two hearts in love to stay,_

_You can't stop the beat!_

On a strong note, the song ended. Kurt found himself sucking in air through his teeth, his head spinning. The others around him stayed silent for a full ten seconds until the sounds of Lovett and the security guard applauding broke their dazes.

Then Thomas said, "That was _sweet_."

In the audience, Lovett broke into applause. She got to her feet with a grin on her face. Beside her, the guard had his arms folded over his chest, but he looked somewhat pleased.

Kurt's chest rose and fell with quick breaths and he glanced across the stage at Blaine. He sprinted the distance and locked his arms around the other boy's neck. Blaine hugged him back, bringing him off his feet and swinging him once in a circle.

"We just performed at Radio City Music Hall," Kurt breathed excitedly. He placed his hands on either side of Blaine's face, bouncing on his feet.

Blaine was only able to nod and he smiled uncontrollably.

On the other side of the stage, Simon had one arm wrapped securely around Adam's waist, holding him close; Adam's face was bright pink, his glasses knocked sideways on his nose. Cody was bouncing up and down in front of Thomas, both of them chattering enthusiastically.

Wes and David were locked in a tight embrace while Diego stood beside them, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself; a wry smile painted his lips. Ronnie had his camera up in front of his face and was snapping pictures right and left. At the front of the stage, James was perched on the edge with Will and Carson on either side of him. James had his face in his hands, but a smile was visible.

"Is this a good birthday?" Blaine whispered, one arm around Kurt's waist.

"The best one I've had so far." Kurt leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips.

* * *

When they arrived back at the hotel, flustered from walking around the city the majority of the day and laden with trinkets, all they wanted to do was collapse and sleep until the call time the next morning. But they progressed through dinner, half shoving food into their mouths and half giving roaring yawns. Kurt was stuck somewhere in between and he stabbed lazily at the Caesar salad in front of him.

Blaine sat beside him and was toying with his phone more than he was eating, the light from the device reflecting in his brown eyes. For once, Wes and David were not fighting each other with forks or straw wrappers, and Diego looked at peace. Ronnie had his camera in his lap, with the cover over the lens, instead of snapping shots at random.

Conversation was quiet, save the occasion descriptions of where they'd gone over the course of the day, and what they did and what they bought and what they saw. Kurt caught snippets of Adam telling another East boy about Central Park and the Acousticats; he sensed Diego's scowl from across the table.

Soon, their plates were clean and their glasses were empty, melting ice at the bottoms. Kurt readied himself to stand with his bowl and glass in hand when he found most of the table looking somewhat eagerly at him.

"What?" he asked, and the blood rushed to his cheeks. "Do I have dressing on my face?"

Cody gave a delighted snort of laughter and he covered his mouth. "No, that's not it."

He looked down at himself and began twisting around, glancing at his clothing. "Then do I have anything on my shirt? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," James mused almost inaudibly and his lips turned up in a smile. He had been silent for most of the dinner, his hands folded in his lap and hardly eating more than a few leaves of salad.

"Then why am I being stared at?" Kurt demanded.

Thomas beamed. "Because. You know what day it is, don't you?"

He covered his face with both hands. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Please tell me there's nothing else birthday related. Please tell me that there isn't anything else."

Blaine nudged him in the shoulder. "Well, we _could _tell you that, but we would be lying."

"I hate all of you," Kurt said bitterly and narrowed his eyes at the boys. "What is it? Surely it's—"

But his sentence was cut off when a door to the kitchen a few tables away swung open. A man in a sleek black suit came out, one of the servers, and others followed behind him with trays of small plates and forks. Balanced in the man's hands was a rectangular sheet of cake, dressed in creamy buttercream frosting with red and blue script across it.

Kurt leaned his forehead against the table and covered his head with his arms, muttering, "No, no, no. This is not happening."

"It's happening," Blaine whispered excitedly. He pulled Kurt into a sitting position.

The server placed the large cake in the middle of the table, and Kurt was able to study it. Enormous amounts of frosting were piled high around the edges, heaping at the corners in large flower-like swirls. Exactly seventeen candles, he counted, were placed strategically. 'Happy Birthday, Kurt!' was scripted across the top in red and navy icing, the same colors as Dalton. There was even a small yellow bird with its wings outstretched in flight in the corner.

Lovett gave a nod and two servers passed out small china plates with elegant dessert forks, and the one who had held the cake pulled out a box of matches and began to light the candles. There was bright flash as Ronnie quickly captured the moment.

"Yes," he hissed happily as he stared at the picture on the screen. He looked up at Kurt. "Great reaction face."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh weakly. He gazed at the other boys, who were all poised on the edges of their seats and grinning madly.

"I hate every single one of you for doing this," he as he leaned his elbow against the table, his chin in his hand. "There is no reason to do something like this for me. I hardly even celebrate my birthday with a cake like this."

"It's red velvet," Cody chirped. He was easily the most thrilled of the group.

The corner of Kurt's lips turned up. "But seriously, there was no need to do this."

"Oh, come _on, _Kurt," Wes sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's your freaking birthday. It's not every year we have Nationals and someone's birthday in the same weekend. Enjoy it."

"Plus, the cake is under the school board's charge," David added.

Thomas licked his lips. "So hey, free cake. I wouldn't say no to that."

Kurt laughed again. Absently he reached for Blaine's hand under the table and felt the other boy's fingers wrap around his own, smooth and warm. He gave Blaine's hand a tight squeeze and saw Blaine smile from the corner of his eye.

"So, are you going to sit there, blushing your ass off, or are you going to blow out the candles to your own cake?" Will remarked smartly.

He looked up at the blonde from under long lashes. "Thanks, Will."

"Just asking. Because sooner or later, all the candle wax is going to melt into the frosting," he said back and settled back in his seat, hands playing with the cloth napkin.

"Okay, fine," Kurt said, exhaling. He started to take a deep breath when Cody interrupted him, making him cough.

"Wait! We have to sing first!" the small boy said quickly.

For the second time that day, the Warblers broke into a chorus of 'Happy Birthday', and for the millionth time that day, Kurt felt his face grow hot and surely it was bright red. After they finished singing, ending with cheers and hollers, Kurt licked his lips. He had started to inhale deeply when Ronnie pitched forward.

"Wait!" he exclaimed. He leapt up from his seat and held out his camera, snapping a few quick shots of the cake, and then some of the boys.

Wes and David made silly faces and pointed at Diego, who sat between them; Will looked like he was going to throw the fork in his hand at Ronnie, and James just about ducked under the table to get away from the lens. Adam hid his face in Simon's shoulder when the camera came to him.

"Are you done yet?" Thomas whined and pushed the palm of his hand against Ronnie's camera.

Ronnie stared down at the camera, then back up at the redhead. "I suppose I am." He pushed away Thomas' hand and sat down in his seat, and then gestured to Kurt to continue.

Kurt rubbed his face and inhaled deeply. Before anyone else could interrupt him, he blew out all seventeen candles that dotted the cake, smoke rising up in gray tendrils that faded by the time they reached the ceiling.

The boys around the table clapped while the server leaned forward to pick out the candles and slice the cake into even squares. He distributed slices to everyone until half the cake was gone and the boys and Ms. Lovett were nibbling on cake.

Kurt pushed his slice around on his plate until finally scooping a morsel onto his fork and smushing it against Blaine's cheek. Blaine had his fork halfway to his mouth and tensed when the cake hit his skin, but broke into a smile and reached for a napkin.

"I think you look better wearing the cake," Kurt commented teasingly.

Without hesitating, Blaine sliced off a corner of his cake with his hand and smeared it across Kurt's face. Kurt shrieked and leaned back.

"Likewise," Blaine commented and used the napkin to wipe the cake off his own face. Then he pulled the other boy close to him and kissed him, full on the mouth.

The thing that broke them apart was the chorus of, "Ooooh!"

Kurt pulled away, his face warm, and he grappled for a napkin, hands shaking. He wiped at his face hurriedly, and then he found a pair of jewel-like eyes staring back at him. James was twirling his fork between his slim, pale fingers, watching him. He hadn't eaten a bite of the cake on the plate in front of him, only playing with the fork.

He flashed Kurt a gentle smile, his eyes dropping down to the table. He only looked up when Will nudged him in the ribs. The blonde's eyes followed James' and landed on Kurt, and he gave a simple nod. Both looked away, and Kurt stared at his cake.

After another ten minutes of polishing off the cake—Wes and David had gotten into a contest to see who could scarf down the most in three minutes—the boys left the dining hall, full and talking and lethargic.

Kurt lingered with Blaine at the back of the group, letting their hands twine together and shoulders bump. He felt Blaine toy with the ring on his finger and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

In the elevator, David and Wes were leaning against the rails, clutching their stomachs. Blaine and Kurt joined them warily and the doors slid shut behind them.

"Oh, man, I think I'm going to get sick," Wes moaned. He let himself drop to the floor and he covered his face with his hands.

Blaine looked down at him and mentally debated on kicking him. "If you're going to get sick, please wait until we get to the room. I don't think I could handle you throwing up all over my shoes."

"That's what you get for eating the rest of my birthday cake," Kurt retorted as David laid down on the floor and clutched his stomach.

"Well, we all know that you weren't going to eat more than a couple bites of it anyway," David pointed out tiredly. "So why not? It's free cake."

"Cake, and the ice cream we got at the parlor," Blaine listed, watching the dial above the elevator count the floors, "and the pizza we had at the diner for lunch, and the pastries and stuff we had for breakfast, and then the salads we had for dinner."

Wes gave a low moan. "Don't remind me!"

The doors slid open with a cheerful ding and Wes and David immediately scrambled to their feet, though it made them dizzy. They rushed out of the elevator and raced down the hall. Kurt and Blaine watched them and shook their heads, laughing.

"What do you want to bet that they'll be puking their guts up when we get to the room?" Blaine said. He gave Kurt's hand a squeeze as they stepped into the quiet hallway. Sooner or later the other elevator would ding and bring up some of the boys, and they reveled in the silence.

"Thank you for today," Kurt said softly. He stared down at his shoes as they walked.

Blaine bumped his shoulder. "Of course. It's your birthday, and you deserve it."

"And for everything," Kurt added, his words almost drowned out by the hum of the air conditioner in the ceiling above them. He found Blaine looking curiously at him. "Honestly, I can't believe you've put up with me for so long. I mean, I've been awful to you—"

"But you forget that I've been awful to you, too," he pointed out.

"—and I just can't imagine that you still…" He trailed off as they approached their room; the door was open a crack and Wes and David could be heard groaning in the bathroom. "L-love me."

Blaine found his eyes, biting his lower lip. "I will always love you, Kurt. I've loved you from the moment I saw you on that staircase at Dalton, and I loved you, even when we were fighting. I love you now, too."

"Blaine," he said and shook his head, "I don't think I deserve you. You've come back to me, even after I was the one who ended our relationship."

"I'll always come back to you." He leaned forward to brush his lips against Kurt's, feather light. "'And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side.'"

"'Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide," Kurt whispered, smiling. He rested his hands against Blaine's broad shoulders. "'But I love you until the end of time.'"

Blaine leaned forward and pressed his lips against the other boy's, and Kurt fingers twisted the curls that rested at the nape of Blaine's neck. Kurt hummed against Blaine's lips, warm and made of velvet and inviting.

But the sound that made them pull apart was the elevator at the end of the hall opening. Diego appeared first and paced down the hall, not seeming to notice Kurt or Blaine. Adam and Simon stepped out side by side; Simon had the other's glasses in hand and was playing a small game of keep away, with Adam struggling to get them back, pink with embarrassment.

Finally, Will and Carson followed, with James close behind. The two blondes were laughing about something, but behind them, James had his arms wrapped around his waist. His fingers twitched ever so slightly, and Kurt knew he was fingering piano choirs.

Seeing that, it struck Kurt that Nationals were the next day, and his heart rate jumped.

The trio passed them and Carson dug their room key from his pocket. He slid it through the box on the door and the lights flashed green.

"Happy birthday, Kurt," James said kindly. His voice cracked at the end and he tried to bring a smile to his face, but it looked tired. After, he followed the blondes into the room, the door shutting behind him.

Kurt stayed frozen where he was, his hands tightening over Blaine's shoulders. He jumped when he heard the faucet wrench on in the bathroom and he pulled his hands to his sides. He flashed an apologetic look to Blaine, who shrugged and pushed the door open.

When they came inside, they found the bathroom door was open all the way. Wes was leaning over the toilet, clutching the sides until his knuckles turned white. David was the one running the water in the sink; he was scrubbing madly at his teeth with his toothbrush, looking a little pale.

"Are you guys okay?" Blaine asked.

"Far from it," David mumbled around the brush. He rinsed his mouth out and set aside the brush, wiping his hands on a towel. "This may sound really sick and really bad, but as soon as I finished puking, Wes suddenly threw up. It was sort of convenient, actually." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Kurt covered his eyes and walked to the bed. "TMI, David. TMI."

"Sorry," he apologized and came out into the room, slipping his shoes off by the closet. "Well, that'll teach me to never challenge Wes to a cake eating contest. That's for sure."

"You know," Blaine mused, unclipping the bow tie from around his neck, "I think Ronnie got pictures of that. Be prepared to see them in the slideshow at the banquet." He grinned teasingly and David hit him with a pillow.

Ten minutes after the three boys had changed out of their clothes and into sleepwear, Wes ambled out of the bathroom, rubbing his face. He fell face first on the bed that he and David shared and gave a long groan.

"Quiet, man," David commanded. "I can't hear the announcements for 'Idol.'"

Wes raised his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you kidding me? You never watch 'American Idol.'"

"When it's the only thing on, I do." David waved the remote at him.

"It's true. There's nothing else on that's halfway decent," Kurt said with a nod. He was curled on the second bed with his arms looped with Blaine's and his head on his shoulder.

"I hate hotel TV," Blaine said dismissively and pursed his lips.

Wes rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I hate everything."

"That's because you ate basically your weight in junk food today, and then you heaved it back up," David said and nudged his friend with his foot. Wes swatted at him and turned on his side.

'American Idol' ended soon after, with Kurt's chosen competitor winning, and they flipped to another channel with a cheesy Lifetime movie playing. It was a romance that vaguely reminded Kurt of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

David tossed the remote to Blaine, then rummaged through his suitcase for his earbuds and plugged in music. Blaine scrolled through the little channels they had with Kurt at his side.

Around nine, Lovett came knocking on all the boys' doors, calling for lights out and reminding them of the call time in the morning. Wes moaned at her loud knocking and threw a pillow at the door, but it didn't even make it that far. He gathered the energy to crawl into bed and burrowed under the covers.

Minutes later, his snores rumbled from underneath his pillow, and Blaine, David, and Kurt chuckled. David pulled the covers over him, the ones that Wes wasn't yanking over his head, and fell asleep quickly.

"I guess we should be getting to sleep, shouldn't we?" Blaine asked and quietly set down the remote on the night table. He flicked off the lamp and the room was plunged into darkness.

"Probably," Kurt answered with a yawn. He fluffed a pillow before laying down and pulling the covers up to his chin. The mattress moved a little as Blaine settled in beside him. In the darkness, the features of his face were hardly visible.

"I love you, Kurt. I hope you know that," he whispered, his breath washing over Kurt's face. His hand wrapped around his waist, and their foreheads touched.

Kurt nodded, feeling his stomach churn. "I do. And I love you. I can't express how much I love you."

He reached forward and traced underneath Kurt's eyes with his thumb, smoothing against the soft skin. The touch of his fingertips was like fire, leaving hot sparks crackling over Kurt's skin.

"I would tell you that I love you, but that would be an understatement." Blaine traced Kurt's lips before placing his own over them, sweetly. "We need to sleep. Need I remind you what's going on tomorrow?"

Kurt shuddered at the thought and brought the sheets up over his eyes. "No. I think I'll go without the reminder."

"But it looks like, from your reaction, that you're already reminded of it."

"I hate you."

There was a growl from the other side of the room. "I hate _both_ of you. You have all day tomorrow to make cutesy comments, but not while I'm trying to _sleep_. Good night."

"Good night, Wes," they said in unison. The ruffling of sheets told them that Wes had turned over, and the rumbling snores that came after said he had already fallen back into sleep.

"Go to sleep. We don't want to irritate Wes anymore," Kurt said in a near whisper. He ran his hand through the other boy's soft curls and kissed him once on the nose. He turned over on his side and snuggled underneath the covers. "Good night, Blaine."

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and pressed his face against his shoulder. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"If you're not," Kurt whispered, "then we will have some serious words about that."

Blaine merely chuckled and tightened his arm around Kurt's waist.

* * *

The middle of the night came quickly.

The lobby was desolate and soaked in dark shadows. Only one lamp was on, and that was on the corner of the manager's desk. The single, small light bathed the lobby in a light tint of gold. The manager was not sitting behind the desk like he had been after dinner. Most likely, he was dozing off in the office located behind the desk.

James tightened the tie on his thin robe out of nervousness with one hand, the other clutching a thick packet of papers, one that looked like it was printed from an entire tree. His entire body felt prickly, like he was lying across a bed of pins and needles, and he knew the sensation was from the anticipation of the competition.

Knowing they would have to perform in front of hundreds of people in less than twelve hours was extremely nerve wracking; attempting to sleep wasn't going to help the feeling, and it had forced him to get out of bed. He'd tried to not make sudden movements that would wake Will, who slept on the other side of the bed.

Even one day after they had checked in to the hotel, he was still uneasy with sleeping in the same bed as the blonde. In the beginning, he had made the offer to sleep on the floor with a pillow and Will, Carson, and Simon all thought he was being silly.

Carefully he crept past the elevators and went straight to the stairs. The loud dings the elevators emanated would certainly wake someone and he couldn't afford for that to happen. The thought of being caught by Lovett was terrifying. And what if someone from another choir heard the noise and decided to investigate? The Jesse guy Kurt knew?

James shook his head, dismissing the thought. Even if the elevator's obnoxious noises didn't wake anyone, he was more than positive the sound of his playing would.

The stairwell was barely lit by a single light and he nearly stumbled down the steep metal steps trying to make his way down to the ground floor. He made it down the last flight of steps and peeked out through the stairwell door and scanned the lobby before creeping out. He made a beeline for the creamy white grand piano that in the middle of the lobby.

The large instrument had somewhat of a romantic look to it, sitting in the dull light of the lamp. He eagerly sat down the rectangular bench and smoothed his hands over the polished surface. The sheet music he had in his hands was placed on the stand. From the day they arrived in the hotel, he knew somehow he would play it. He'd had the honor of playing the piano back at Dalton, yes, but never a white piano such as this.

Suddenly the uncanny blare of a car horn tore through the peaceful silence that had been set up, and James jumped. Outside, a taxi had laid on the horn as another car nearly cut him off. The headlights from the intersection shined through the windows and cast faint lines over the lobby.

His heart rate settling back to normal, James turned back to the piano. The paper of the sheet music he set on the stand earlier was wrinkled from being crunched in his suitcase, but the notes were still legible. He pulled it down and flipped through the various pieces until he found the solo he would play soon to accompany Kurt's feather light voice.

He didn't know why he brought it down with him. The notes were imprinted into his mind, and he could play it by heart, executing each phrase perfectly, but something about having the music in front of him was comforting.

The keys were delicate and smooth under his fingertips. He struck one of the keys lightly to hear it and its sound resonated throughout the lobby faintly. It wasn't enough to wake anyone if he played quietly, he figured, and if he used the correct pedal, and he started into the solo piece slowly. Though he didn't need to, he began to sing the words with the melody.

The music captured him and his fingers danced across the ivory keys, his foot working vigorously at the pedals. The notes sounded clearer, more whimsical, on this piano than the one back at the school. The phrases flowed together, his voice rising just above them.

He was so caught up in the music that he hardly noticed the stairwell door slowly open, the figure behind it stepping out of the shadows. The piece finished with the same trill of notes that it always ended with and his hands hovered over the keys as he listened to the sound echo throughout the lobby. Then, the softest shuffle behind him made him release the pedal.

"James? What in the world are you doing down here?"

James bolted to his feet, striking a clashing chord and knocking the bench over at the same time. Whipping around, he found Will standing a distance away, watching him. He wore a loose pair of plaid sleep pants and a white V-neck shirt, the same clothes he had changed into after dinner. His eyes, the mixture of hazel and green, practically glowed in the darkness of the lobby.

Swallowing roughly, James was frozen where he stood. "I could be asking you the same thing," he answered stiffly.

"Answer my question first," Will said, without missing a beat, and he strolled casually over to the piano. He leaned against it, watching the other boy closely. In the low lighting, his eyes seemed to glow.

"You answer mine first." James knotted his hands together and looked away. He stooped to set the bench on its feet and he sat down, his knees feeling weak.

Will crossed his arms over his chest. "I asked you first," he remarked, and a Cheshire cat grin flickered across his tired face.

The blood rushed to James' face and he averted his eyes. "In all honesty, I was hoping to play. It's such a lovely piano and we don't have one like it back at Dalton." He finished his sentence in one breath and paused to take another one. "And I wanted to practice the solo for tomorrow. If I missed anything tomorrow, I don't know what I would do. I probably would never forgive myself for it."

Will simply smiled and licked his dry lips. "You're going to do fine on it, James. You've played it so many times, you could play it in your sleep. There's nothing you should be worried about."

"Now answer my question," James ordered and reached for the packet of music, giving his hands something to do. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The blonde let out a soft sigh and sat down on the bench beside him. "I woke up, and you weren't there." He stopped and traced the closest key with his finger. "God, it scared the hell out of me. I thought you were going to you, you know"—he tapped the inside of his wrist, and James knew instantly what he was referring to—"but the bathroom light wasn't on. Then I heard someone playing and I knew it was you. And _that _is why I'm out of bed."

James had to remember to breathe. "Oh," he said and stared down at the music in his hands. He had flipped through it once already.

"Play something for me," Will requested and leaned against him to get a good look at the music.

He sucked in his breath, catching hints of lemon from the blonde's shirt. "Play what?"

Will gently picked the music packet from James' hands and he flipped through the pages. When he reached the end, he shrugged his shoulders and propped it back on the stand.

"Play anything," he said, and then looked over at the other boy.

"Anything?" James repeated.

Will folded his hands in his lap and looked over at him. "Anything."

"Even if you can't sing to it? Because every time you make me play, you sing with it," James said, a smile tugging at his lips. Already his fingers were tapping out rhythms on his knee to the song that came to mind right away.

Will nodded adamantly.

"As you wish." He placed his hands over the keys and waited a moment. From there, the music flowed from his hands to the keys and into the air.

* * *

Kurt opened his eyes and saw darkness.

The glow of the alarm clock on the table beside him said nearly three in the morning. Then what was he hearing? It was a light tune that sounded almost classical. As far as he knew, none of the boys in the room besides David had their headphones on, and he didn't listen to classical. The sound disappeared and for a moment he doubted his hearing. He shifted and the hold around his waist caught him off guard.

"Are you okay?" Blaine murmured. He tiredly propped himself on his elbows to squint at Kurt in the darkness.

Kurt nodded and slowly laid back down, pulling warm sheets up over his shoulders. "I'm fine. I thought I heard something."

For half a minute, Blaine listened with him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said and settled back down, adjusting his arm around Kurt's waist. "Go back to sleep."

Placing his hands over Blaine's, Kurt wriggled back under the comforter. Across the back of his neck he felt Blaine's lips, warm and comforting, and he fell asleep.

* * *

The last note of the piece came and overwhelmed the two boys sitting on the bench. James held the pedal to keep the sound floating and his hands froze over the keys. He moved his foot once the sound was run out.

"That was nice," Will mentioned, his voice barely above a whisper. He had kept his eyes focused on the other boy's fingers as they'd danced and skipped over keys gracefully. It had sounded like that of a digital recording, not someone playing it.

James tucked his hands in his lap. "I-I haven't played the piece in a while. It felt kind of… different to play again."

Will leaned back and braced his hands against the bench. "It was nice," he repeated. "Thank you."

"For what? It was only me playing," he said and turned his head up to look at the high ceiling.

"For playing for me. When you're famous someday, I can say I've heard you live," Will explained, brushing a lock of blonde hair from his eyes. His shoulder brushed James'.

James stared at him in awe, sapphire eyes alight. "What makes you think I'm going to be famous?"

"You're an amazing singer, and an even more talented pianist," he said and sat forward on the bench. He raised his hands to the keys and acted like he was playing, though he didn't have an idea when it came to the piano. "It's only a matter of time before someone finds you and thinks you're as good as gold."

"I'm not gold. I don't know how you got such an idea," James rejected. His fingers ran over the keys in the upper register of the keyboard.

Will bristled. "I don't know how you're not. You're too good."

"Not good enough to be famous," he mumbled and ran his hand down to the middle register.

"Well, if you're not famous, you're definitely going to be known to some extent." He shrugged and his hand drifted up until it brushed lightly against James' pale one; he withdrew it. "Is this what you want to do when you get out of Westerville? Music?"

James nodded and tucked his hands fretfully in his lap. "Julliard is my goal. I plan on sending in an application this fall."

"I bet you'll make it in," Will insisted.

He pursed his lips. "If not, then the entire world will crash down and burn and I'll have to resort to playing in hotels like this for a living," he said colorlessly.

Will pulled his hand from the keys. "Ouch. That sounds pretty harsh. Give yourself some credit. You're amazing," he said.

"You know," James mused, straightening, "you should try."

"For what?"

"For Julliard."

The blonde stared at him to the point where it made him glance away. "I am not auditioning for Julliard, James. I don't even play an instrument."

"You play the violin," he reminded him.

Will waved a hand at him to dismiss the idea, recalling the instrument case that sat on his bureau back at Dalton, gathering dust. "Hardly. I haven't played it recently—"

"Oh, don't lie to me. You've probably played—" James stammered.

"I haven't opened the case in years, let alone played it," Will shot back, his eyes sharpening.

His voice softened and he sat back. "I think you should try. Just send in a tape when I do in the fall. It couldn't hurt."

When Will rolled his eyes, James said, "What? It's not like it could hurt you to try. You can do better than that."

"And so can you," Will said quickly, watching him fervently.

There was a moment's hesitation between them, and James averted his eyes. "I think it's time we get back to bed, Will."

Something snapped, like he was only now realizing that their shoulders were pressed together. He stood up. "Of course. My bad. Have you packed yet? We leave the day after tomorrow, you know," he said, his voice resuming its casual feel.

"Have _you _packed yet?" James remarked and his lips formed a smile. He collected the music from the stand and aligned it in a neat stack. He clutched the stack to his chest.

"No," they answered at the same time, and both laughed timidly.

Together they left the lobby, cautious to not bump shoulders or linger on eye contact. When they reached the room, Will stopped with his hand stretched out towards the handle.

"You remembered to bring a room key with you, right?" he asked.

James blanched in realization. "Oh. I didn't even think of it. You didn't bring one, either, did you?"

"I'm afraid not. It slipped my mind," Will said stiffly. He approached the door and raised his hand, preparing to knock.

James jolted forward and grabbed his wrist tightly. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" He stared oddly at the boy. "Well, I'm going to knock on the door in the hopes that either Carson or Simon will be generous enough to wake up and let us in."

"Why would you do that?"

Will laughed softly and pulled his hand from James' grip. "Would you like to sleep in a bed tonight, or wait out in the hallway until Lovett comes to wake us up in the morning?"

James crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. "I'd rather wait out here than wake them up. Besides, knowing Simon, he would probably slam the door in our faces, and Carson wouldn't even bother to wake up at all."

Will took this to thought and he wrinkled his brows. "You're a really considerate person, you know that?"

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or if the lack of sleep has gotten to you," he said flatly.

"Neither," he said with a quiet cheerfulness.

James rolled his eyes and he plopped down on the floor, setting his music beside him. "I think I'll play on the safe side for now. Besides, it's only three o'clock."

"Our wakeup call is at nine, though. We've got six more hours," Will pointed out, but sat down next to him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles.

"Then I hope the floor is comfortable enough for you." Will leaned back against the wall and snuggled into his robe, curling his knees to his chest. Will decided to not speak against him and folded his arms over his chest.

In the end, the floor was comfortable enough for the both of them.

* * *

_In the next chapter: It's today. Beware of bloody noses, rude judges, and the surprise of your life._


	36. Nationals, Part 2

Hello, readers.

First of all, apologies are in order. I obviously haven't been updating as frequently as I should have been, but school is really taking a toll on me and I basically want to jump in front of a car every day of my life, but no worries, it's all good.

Second of all, this is the last full chapter for this story! Sorry, but that's the way it is. There will be an epilogue coming soon, and then I will begin writing the sequel... So many plans, so little time...

In the future of this story, I plan on the sequel being about as long as this one, if not longer. And maybe, if I'm nice, I'll add an author's note at the end of it, talking about different things that would've happened in both stories had I not changed my mind at the last second.

Anyway, thank you for any of you who are still hanging onto this story. It's been a long ride and I'm glad I've still got readers checking this story out every day.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but if I did, I wouldn't make Blaine a hypocrite and cheat on Kurt with another guy. Just saying.

* * *

**Nationals, Part 2**

* * *

**Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose. – Tom Krause**

* * *

The next morning came quickly.

The alarm clock sitting on the night table between the two beds blared angrily. There was a shuffle on the other side of the room as both David and Wes covered their heads with pillows to block out the annoying chirp. Wes recklessly reached out and took the pillow that David clutched for himself.

Kurt's eyes fluttered open. The clock's alarm was relentless and in his sleepy daze, he figured David and Wes were too lazy to get up and shut it off. He had begun to unfurl his arm from the warm blankets when he felt a tugging at his waist and looked down, his heart jumping.

Blaine had fallen asleep last night with his arm curled protectively around Kurt's waist. His face was pressed against Kurt's shoulder blade, his breathing even and slow and warm; the look on his face was peaceful. He had spent the night this way, though Kurt remembered waking up once or twice with Blaine murmuring his name.

Kurt had never had someone mumble his name in their sleep before, and hearing it made his stomach churn. He also enjoyed having someone that would wrap their arms around him, whispering good nights and pressing kisses to the back of his neck.

Now, Blaine shifted ever so slightly, just to pull Kurt closer to him. Kurt hated waking him up to shut off the clock. But he was going to wake up one way or another and Kurt decided he'd rather it not be by the clock.

Reaching out, Kurt brushed his fingers against the top of the clock. He missed the snooze button and knocked the entire device to the floor. He groaned quietly with frustration and attempted to lean over and hit it, though Blaine held him firmly, not waking.

"Oh, for God's sake. If you're not going to do it, I will," Wes moaned and tumbled out of bed. He rummaged behind the bedside table and yanked a black cord out of the wall outlet. The clock's face went black and the ringing ceased right away. He stared annoyingly at Kurt. "You and your lover," he muttered and fell face down on his bed once more.

"Sorry," Kurt whispered sympathetically, but Wes had already fallen back asleep. Kurt wriggled so that he was lying on his back and Blaine absently shifted with him. After a few minutes of staying still, Kurt peeled the other boy's arm from his waist and slid out of bed.

The air was colder than the bed was and he had half a mind to snuggle back up again. But he knew Lovett would be knocking on doors any time now and he stole into the bathroom to smooth out his hair and apply a dab of face cream.

When he came back into the room a few minutes later, Blaine was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily, while Wes and David were still fast asleep. Wes had his mouth open and drool was already tricking down his chin and onto the plush pillow.

"Good morning," Kurt greeted him and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

"You," Blaine said and stretched his arms over his head, "are too peppy already. It's the morning. You should be tired."

Kurt smiled. "What can I say? I'm a morning person."

"Too much of a morning person. And besides, you should still be in bed," he mumbled and crawled onto his knees. He came to sit at the foot and locked his arms around the other boy, pressing warm kisses against his jaw.

"But I'm not tired," Kurt said, giggling, and he covered his mouth.

"Well, I am." Blaine pulled him back so they were sprawled on their backs across the bed. Blaine reached his hand up to brush his thumb against Kurt's cheek delicately. He pulled his face close to kiss him lightly on the lips.

A groan of protest came from the opposite side of the room and they recognized Wes' voice moaning, "Wait until a little later for PDA, okay? It's too early for that stuff."

"Oh, hush," Kurt scolded jokingly and rested his hand on Blaine's chest. Under his skin, a warm heartbeat thrummed.

"What time is it, anyway?" Blaine questioned and craned his neck to look the side table. His brows furrowed when he didn't find the clock. They furrowed deeper when he found it sitting on the floor, unplugged. He looked down at Kurt suspiciously. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Wes and the alarm clock fought it out this morning," Kurt explained.

Blaine untangled his limb from Kurt and swung his legs around, letting his feet touch the floor. He plucked the clock from the carpet and set it back on the table. "And I'm guessing Wes won?"

"He used the old 'unplug' move."

"Works every time." Blaine grinned and let out a yawn. He reached over and gave Wes a shove in the shoulder, which didn't do as much as he wanted. Wes gave a grunt of disapproval and didn't move his head from the pillow. Blaine didn't try David, as he looked positively dead to the world.

"They'll wake up later, I suppose," he mused and padded lethargically to the bureau to check his phone. The light made him blink. "Kurt, it's not even nine yet." He paused to yawn. "Why are we up this early?"

Kurt shrugged both shoulders. "Like I said, I'm a morning person."

"I'm not," Blaine decided and set his phone down.

Chuckling, Kurt came to stand in front of him. He placed his hands on Blaine's shoulders and pressed his lips to his forehead. "We'll get you some coffee later, and maybe then you'll be a morning person. Come on, I want to check if any of the others are up yet."

Blaine mumbled something along the lines of, "They probably won't be, but whatever makes you happy," and followed Kurt to the door.

As soon as Kurt flipped the lock and pulled open the door silently, though, he wished he hadn't. He froze in the doorway and his muscles tightened.

Across the hallway, leaning against the wall, were Will and James. Will's hair was down and over his eyes and he had his arms folded over his chest. James was snuggled tightly in a robe and his head was nestled against Will's shoulder, his arm looped through the blonde's. Both were asleep, their chests rising and falling with even breaths. Beside James sat a small pile of papers that had music scrawled across it.

"What's wrong?" Blaine asked and he moved to one side of Kurt to see. If he wasn't awake before, he was now. Seeing the two boys asleep on the floor made his jaw set. "Oh. Okay." He took a breath before speaking again. "Part of me wants to hit one or both of them."

Kurt swatted his arm. "Don't do that."

"What are we supposed to do, then?" he asked quietly.

A door opening on the other side of the hall answered him. Carson peeked his blonde head out the door. He looked absolutely exhausted, his eyes dull and flat, and he was dressed in sweats. Running his hands through his mussed hair, he spotted Kurt and Blaine.

"Could you two be any louder? We're trying to actually sleep, believe it or not," he said snippily.

Kurt motioned down at the floor and Carson looked down curiously. He rubbed his face when he found the two sleeping boys. He ducked back into his room and he came back to the door with Simon, whose dark hair sticking up in the back. They came out into the hall and Simon watched as Carson nudged Will awake with his foot.

"Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty," he mumbled.

Will made a low noise of discomfort and he brought his hands up to cover his face. Spreading his fingers apart, he stared up at Carson. "What the hell do you want?" he murmured, voice filled with sleep.

"What do I want? I want to know why you and Elton John over here are curled up together like doves in the hallway." He pointed to James, who still hadn't woken up, though stirred and buried his face in Will's shoulder.

The blonde looked down at James and he lifted his free shoulder in uncertainty. "Well, for starters, I am a very light sleeper."

"We already know that," Simon said and waved his hand at him.

"And so last night, I heard someone playing the piano," he went on in a humorous tone.

Carson sighed dramatically. "Let me guess. It was James playing, wasn't it?"

Will's lips spread into a smile. "Looks like you already know the rest of the story, don't you?" He was faced with two blank stares. "So I went down to get him and, coincidentally, both of us forgot keycards. We decided that sleeping in the hallway would be better than risking waking Lovett and getting in trouble for being up. It's basic common sense. And besides, we would've absolutely _hated _to wake you two up."

"You could've just knocked on the door. We would've let you in," Simon said.

"No, you wouldn't have."

"Yeah, you're absolutely right," Carson said.

"Whatever," Simon said and leaned his weight over one foot. "Just… get him up and get changed. Lovett will be getting up soon for our wakeup call." He retreated back into the room and nearly shut the door, had Carson not kept it open by sticking his foot between it and the wall.

"He's a little grouchy in the mornings, isn't he?" Will asked, gesturing to Simon.

"Just wake him up," was all Carson said.

Rolling his eyes, Will gently prodded James in the side to wake him up. It didn't take much, and James was blinking. He looped his arms tighter around Will's and ducked his head back into his shoulder, hoping to go back to sleep. Will held his head up, though, by placing his fingers beneath his chin.

"What in Pete's sake are you doing? I'd like to go back to sleep," James questioned in a dull voice. Even having just woken up, his eyes were abnormally bright.

"You fell asleep on my shoulder, which to you, seems like an abnormally comfortable pillow," Will reported and crawled to his feet. He held out his hand. "Come on."

Flushing pink, James gratefully took his hand and clambered to a standing position. That was when he saw Kurt peeking out of his room, Blaine by his side. James averted his eyes to the closest person, Will. Will saw his hesitation and glanced over his shoulder.

"Good morning, guys," he offered stiffly, his cat eyes lingering on Blaine.

"Morning," Blaine said in reply and gripped the door until his knuckles turned white.

Kurt tucked a lock of loose hair behind his ear. "How long have you, um, been out here?" he asked.

"All night," Will answered shortly. He stretched his arms stiffly over his head and never took his eyes from Kurt. "And let me lend a piece of good advice: the floor is not a suitable bed. Not at all."

"I would never have guessed," Blaine said mordantly and leaned against the door frame.

Will shot him a warning glare.

"I think I'm going to go take a shower before Carson decides to hog the bathroom," James said quietly and fled into the hotel room with his head ducked.

"I think that is a good idea," Kurt murmured and inched back into his own room, sensing the uneasiness strung tightly in the air. He cast a sideways look at Blaine. "I'm going to shower and I'll be out in ten minutes." He gave Will a fleeting glance, to which Will smirked, and he disappeared.

Blaine and the blonde were left staring each other down from both sides of the hall.

"What is your deal?" Will asked nonchalantly, and he licked his dry lips.

Blaine leaned against the door frame and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know. You tell me."

Will snapped his fingers in realization. "Ah, you think…" He laughed shortly. "Do you really think I'm trying to start something?"

"Between us? No, of course not. With Kurt? As much as I'd like to not believe it, sort of," Blaine said in all seriousness.

"I don't know why you're worried about a thing, Blaine, my dear," he said with an eeriness to his voice that made a shudder run up Blaine's spine. "Kurt and I never had anything to start with. We only were only two boys paired for a duet. We sung together, and maybe we're acquaintances at this point. I don't know. But there will never be anything _romantic _between us. If I wanted to date Kurt, it would've happened already."

Blaine pushed away from the door frame and pulled the door nearly shut. Inside, he could hear the squeal as Kurt turned on the faucet, and the shifting of sheets as David and Wes moved in their bed. "For some reason, I'm having a hard time believing anything you say, Fitzroy."

"Fitzroy?" Will said in disbelief. "Since when did you decide to call me by my last name? Since you thought I was a threat to your Ken doll counter tenor? Since we broke up and you pretty much ignored me?"

"I never ignored you, Will," he said and placed emphasis on the name. "What happened between us is history, and I thought we went over that a while ago? We're never going back to what we had. We're too different."

Will suddenly broke into a grin and pushed his hair back. "You know what they say about opposites."

"I don't care if they attract or not," Blaine snapped, flushing bright scarlet. "We're too opposite."

"So does that make you and Kurt similar?" Will tilted his head to the side and propped his hands on his hips. "Because then, you'll eventually run out of new things. New things to talk about, new things to do, new everything."

Blaine stole a look quickly down the hallway to check for opening doors, or worse: Lovett. His scan proved negative and he faced the blonde once more, taking a step toward him. "We could be exactly alike, and it wouldn't matter to me. I will always love him, no matter what happens. He's everything I've ever wanted."

Then, a pained expression flashed across Will's face, though only for the briefest second. "Once upon a time, you said that about me. Look what happened." He stretched his hands out to his sides.

"That only happened because you couldn't understand what was going on in my family," he choked out through clenched teeth. "You were so used to having a perfect family, with your perfect dad and your doctor mom and your fancy house in the middle of suburban Ohio. Your life was perfect. Your parents loved you and you got everything you wanted, including me, at one time. And on my part? I had a dad who hated me, and a mom who didn't know what the hell she was doing, and a sister who was too afraid to speak up. You didn't want to deal with it."

"Blaine, we already went over this—" Will started, but was cut off.

"You didn't want to deal with anything, so you broke up with me, and you threw me away like I was a piece of trash. And now look what we have. I'm still in the same spot I was two years ago, and so are you," he finished, and the wind was knocked out of him.

Will dropped the frustrated crease between his brows. "But you have Kurt."

"Just like you have James," he muttered, his eyes fixing on the carpet as he drew circles in it with the tip of his toe.

For a moment, Will froze. He simply stared at Blaine with hard eyes, his jaw set. By his sides, his hands curled into loose fists.

Blaine spared a smile. "Don't think of lying to me, Will. I see the way you look at him every day. In fact, I saw the way you watched him just now, when we found you out here," he said softly.

The blonde snorted and turned to stare down the hallway; he shook his head. "I don't look at him any special way. It's nothing different."

"Yes, it is, Will. You look at him like you looked at me once," Blaine told him, his voice unusually quiet. "And I can tell you like him."

Again, another head shake. "Believe me when I say there's nothing going on between us. I'm only concerned for him and his health—"

"His health?" Blaine repeated doubtingly. "You sound like a freaking doctor. Actually, you sound like your mom."

"What does this matter? You don't have the same problem I do," Will snapped, his eyes suddenly blazing, and he took a step forward. "You don't have to be kept up all night with the thought that Kurt could be slicing his wrists in the bathroom, or using every opportunity to not eat, slowly killing himself. You don't have to worry that the person you care about the most is probably going to kill himself one day because he simply can't handle anything."

Blaine took a step back. "Will, I didn't mean anything like that. I'm sorry."

Will was about to open his mouth again when the click of the door behind him startled him, and both boys looked in that direction.

The door to Will's room was open, and James stuck his head out, a towel clutched in his hands. He had changed into a pair of sweats that looked two sizes too big for him. He clutched the door with a free hand when he saw Blaine still out in the hall.

"What is it, James?" Will asked, and Blaine heard the catch in his voice.

For some reason, this made James clutch the door tighter. "Carson is stealing something from your suitcase. I thought you should know."

"What is he stealing, exactly?"

"I'm not quite sure. I just saw him rummaging through your suitcase, and…" He faded and lifted both shoulders in an embarrassed shrug.

Will nodded his head and sighed lightly, a fair smile gracing his lips. "Thank you, James. I'll be in in a minute."

The dark haired boy ducked back into the room, his cheekbones flushed, and left the door cracked open.

"You do like him. I can tell," Blaine pointed out when the door was closed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Say a word to him about it and I'll toss you out a window. And I won't have the guilty conscious to persuade me otherwise, either."

Blaine held his hands up in defense. "You have my word on it."

Down the hall, a door clicked open and Lovett stepped out into the hallway, wearing a pair of silk pajamas and her hair in plastic curlers. She spotted Will and Blaine and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you two doing out here? I thought you would've been still asleep," she said, puzzled.

"Blaine was only asking me about what time we leave for the competition today, ma'am," Will said smoothly without batting an eye.

Lovett pursed her lips, caught between wanting to believe him and not, but she sighed. "Can't you just text it to each other? Or whatever it is you do?" She held up her hands and moved her thumbs to look like texting. Instead of waiting for an answer, she waved a hand at them. "Oh, whatever. Be ready for breakfast and a debriefing by ten-thirty down in the lobby," she informed them, and moved across the hall to knock on the nearest door.

"You should be thanking me," Will whispered when Lovett was too preoccupied with waking a room of boys.

"For what?" Blaine asked and started to move back to his own room.

Will smirked. "For saving your ass just now."

"You did not just save my ass," he snorted and twisted the knob, pushing the door open.

"Don't kid yourself, Blaine," Will said with a look of satisfaction. "You and I both know you can't come up with a lie to save your life."

Blaine rolled his eyes and vanished into his room, leaving the blonde standing in the hallway.

* * *

"What do you _mean, _our performance time is earlier? And what do you _mean, _I'm wrong?"

The boys looked like the "hear no evil" monkey, their hands over their ears in a futile attempt to keep out the worried tone of their director. She had her cell phone jammed to her ear and was shooting remarks back and forth with the show choir coordinator on the other end. From what Kurt could tell, there was a strong misunderstanding in their performance time.

Kurt crossed his legs and removed his hands from his ears for a second, as they had started to become sore. He sat with the rest of the Warblers in the seating area of the lobby, drinking coffee and eating the lunch the hotel's kitchen had provided. They had cooked up a mile long buffet for the handful of choirs that booked rooms that were performing in Nationals, and now the air was filled with the smell of bacon, eggs, and cereal.

As it turned out, the competition took up the entire day. Choirs started performing as early as nine that morning, with each group allotted a total of fifteen minutes to sing, and no more. The Warblers were one of the lucky groups who had a performance time later on in the afternoon. Or at least, that was what everyone had in mind.

"I thought we went on at three," Blaine whispered to Wes. He had his gaze set on Lovett, rambling away with the coordinator.

"What?" Wes said loudly, hands still over his ears.

Blaine yanked one away and said louder, "I thought we went on at three!"

Wes dug his finger in his ear in pain and shot him an irritated glare. He took a sip of the steaming coffee in his hand. "Sheesh, you didn't have to shout. And yeah, that's what Lovett told us."

"But apparently, from all the arguing going on," David chimed in, "we go on earlier than that."

"This day has taken a turn for the worst and we haven't even stepped out of the hotel yet," Kurt mused and bit into the green apple in held in his hand. He chewed and watched the hotel curiously.

Around them, choirs were meeting up. In one corner of the lobby, the girls were dressed in impossibly short red dresses that left nothing to the imagination. Their hair was piled up in dramatic buns on the tops of their heads and spirals of hair dropped elegantly down the sides of their faces. The boys looked positively airbrushed with perfectly coiffed hair, and they wore shirts in the same crimson color. They looked more ready to head off to prom than to sing for a national title.

Another choir stood by the elevators, donning coordinating outfits of purple and white. The boys donned white slacks and crisp purple dress shirts, white ties hanging from their necks. The girls wore modest dresses of the same purple with high lace necks and low heels. One of the boys caught Kurt staring and Kurt whipped around in his seat, blushing pink.

"You know, one of the things I miss about being in a choir at a public school was the creativity of the outfits," Kurt said thoughtfully as the purple choir passed behind them. "Our uniforms get a little boring, don't you think?"

But none of them seemed to think so, because no one said a peep.

Thomas glanced down at his striped tie and the yellow warbler pin on his lapel. "I guess. But at least we don't have to spend the extra money on buying outfits. I mean, stuff like that"—he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the red choir—"must cost a good chunk of money. The guys' pants look like something off the runway, and the dresses are probably two hundred a piece, at the least."

Cody nodded and cupped both hands around his mug of coffee, which was more white than brown, considering he liked milk in his drink. "I like our uniforms. We never have to change that much. The only time we do change is when Lovett decides she likes one warbler pin over another." He took a sip.

Kurt sat back in his seat, defeated. He had expected Blaine to back him up, but he didn't.

"Okay, we're all set!" Ms. Lovett said happily. "It was just a silly misunderstanding with the coordinator. I called to confirm our time and she read off a different one… But we're all set. Are you ready to head off? The buses should be here by now." The way she spoke with quick, animated movements of her hands and the bright look in her eye had the boys thinking she'd drank a little too much coffee, and definitely more than needed.

The boys clambered from their seats, finished their food and drinks, and followed her through the glass revolving doors and outside. The sun was overhead at a vibrant one o'clock in the afternoon. She took a few steps out and scanned both sides of the corner when her perky smile dropped into a flat, unamused line.

"You're kidding me. Please tell me the bus is here and they're playing one, big joke on us," Diego grumbled from the back of the group.

"For once, Mr. Blackwood, I agree with you," Ms. Lovett sighed. She dug her phone from her purse and dialed a number.

"What if the bus ditches us?" Adam asked apprehensively. He removed his glasses from his face and rubbed them against the hem of his shirt the way he did whenever his hands were too shaky to keep still. "What if we're left standing here all day and we never get to the competition? What if—"

"What if the bus is coming around the corner as we speak?" Will said and gestured to stoplight. A golden school bus sat on the other side of the intersection. Ms. Lovett hurriedly snapped her phone shut and flipped her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly.

The bus parked by the curb and they boarded, taking up no more than the first eight rows on each side. Kurt chose a seat at the front and Blaine sat down beside him. Lovett conducted a role call three times to make sure everyone was here and collapsed in the seat across the aisle from Kurt and Blaine. She gave an okay to the driver and they started off on the thirty minute drive.

Passing through the maze of buildings and cars made Kurt's anticipation level rise and he drummed his fingers on his knee. Blaine placed his hand over Kurt's, which made him jump.

"Calm down," Blaine said with a short laugh. "You look like you're about to walk to your death."

"Well, I may as well be," Kurt said snippily. "You're not the one singing the solo in front of an audience of over three hundred people. And for a national title, I might add."

Blaine considered this. "That is true, but the rest of us are doing the exact same thing. We may not be singing a solo, but we'll be out there performing the same show you are. I'm sure everyone is worried out of their minds. You know Adam is." He and Kurt peered over the top of the seat a few rows back, finding Adam with his hands over his mouth and Simon trying to calm him down, an amused expression on his face.

"I guess that makes it a little better," Kurt said evenly. "I just… I don't want to screw up and be the reason we don't make a good place. I don't think I could ever live that down."

Taking his hands, Blaine smiled. "You're going to do amazing. I know it. Kurt Hummel isn't afraid of singing a little solo. He's going to get up there and kill it. The judges are going to love you, Kurt. I know I do." He pulled Kurt closer and kissed him on the cheek.

Kurt smiled warmly and leaned his head against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Of course. Anything to make you feel better," he smiled, and kept an arm around him.

* * *

The thirty minutes passed quickly and soon, the bus was pulling up in front a grand building that was swarmed with cars, buses, and groups of kids milling around. Kurt plastered his face to the window to get a better look.

The performance hall was several stories tall with a wide flight of stone steps leading up to the front doors. Like the hotel, it had a fountain spurting out water at the front. The marquee by the stairs declared _National Show Choir Competition, 5/29 from eight to four _in blocky plastic letters.

Some of the choirs were at the same hotel they were and most were not. The bus slowed to a stop and dropped the Warblers off at the curb, where they spilled out. Blaine gave Kurt's hand a reassuring squeeze as they moved past other groups, then let go. Kurt wasn't offended by the action; he had a feeling the other choirs would frown upon two boys holding hands in a public setting.

It took a total of fifteen minutes to check in. In that time, the boys studied the lobby of the performance hall. The ceiling was so high that it completely disappeared and the scent of varnish was in the air. Beyond the auditorium doors, Kurt could hear outrageous cheering for a choir that had just finished. He hoped that they would receive as much applause after they performed.

"Hello, Kurt. I'm glad to see you and your flock arrived safely."

Kurt spun around on his heel when he heard his name, and found himself face to face with a pair of sharp brown eyes and hair so slicked, the light gleamed off the curls. His heart leapt into his throat.

"Jesse," he said stiffly. "It's good to see you here, as well."

Jesse St. James merely chuckled and glanced down at his nails before shining them against the lapel of his leather jacket. He casually leaned his weight on one foot and scanned the rest of the Warblers, making small faces when he saw Blaine and Wes, and particularly, Diego.

Behind him stood Vocal Adrenaline. Their faces were flushed pink, their chins raised triumphantly. The girls donned strapless dresses in a dazzling blue, accented with black here and there. The boys wore plain black slacks and blue dress shirts.

"Is there anything we can help you with?" Kurt asked, drawing his attention after a minute of silence between them.

Jesse shook his head. "Oh, no. We were just wanting to say hello and good luck," he said coolly.

Wes stepped forward, beside Kurt. He waved a hand delicately at him. "Well, you've said your hellos, and now it's time to say your goodbyes. Don't you have a show to perform?"

"We performed half an hour ago, if you hadn't read the bulletin yet," Jesse answered snippily without so much as a gap between the end of Wes' sentence and the start of his own. "We were going to stay and watch the rest of the choirs perform. Good luck out there."

"Thanks," Thomas said facetiously. "Now, why don't you scurry along inside to watch the rest of the choirs perform? And don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Jesse faltered, mostly taken aback by Thomas' height; Kurt guessed he hadn't seen anyone as tall as the redhead since Finn. "We're going inside the auditorium. We're not leaving."

"But you're _leaving _the lobby," Diego pointed out smartly. His eyes were somewhere else, and it looked like he was speaking to no one in particular.

"So in theory," Blaine added with a smirk, "don't let the door hit you on the way _out_."

Jesse flattened his lips into a line so tight, it was hardly even there. He set his jaw and turned on his heel, spinning away from the Warblers and stalking in the direction of the auditorium. Vocal Adrenaline, in all their electric blue and black glory, followed in suit.

"I hope the judges score them so poorly, they run home crying," Wes muttered bitterly, eyeing Jesse's retreating figure.

Thomas nodded. "I hope they sucked in their show and that they didn't place as well as they thought they did."

"They all look like Smurfs to me," Cody decided promptly. This silenced everyone, who had been murmuring excitedly about Vocal Adrenaline, and they turned in his direction. "What? I mean, did you see all the blue they were wearing? They have more blue than Smurfs themselves!"

Simon shook his head in laughter. "Blue is definitely not their color."

Ms. Lovett chose that moment to collect her boys. Following a stage hand, she took them through the lobby and around down a hallway lined with rooms. The stage hand showed them to a green room where they were to wait for half an hour. At fifteen until their scheduled performance time, they would gather backstage.

In the green room, they went under a brief run through to warm up their voices. Kurt sung a few bars of his solo by himself to make sure he could hit all the notes without cracking them, and James kept his hands tucked away in his pockets to keep them warm so his fingers remained flexible. They patched up a few parts in each song and stretched to prepare for the intricate dance routines that went along with each tune.

Will and Carson were stretching in the corner of the room. Almost everyone had seemed to have forgotten about the routine they had planned for the closing number of the show; Kurt had thought they were joking when they'd offered the idea to perform a gymnastic-like number. They climbed into simple handstands and headstands and whatever else they could come up with. Kurt watched them, intrigued, and found that most of the boys were watching them as well.

The thirty minute clock quickly ran itself out, and the stage hand knocked on their door to bring them to the stage. Every step they took might as well have been their last, in their minds. Now that the moment to perform was looming over them, it donned on them that this was the real deal. There were no restarts. They had one chance to impress the judges, and that one chance was coming up in fifteen minutes.

They were guided backstage, where from there, the music from the group ahead of them shook the floorboards with energy. No one was up to talking; they were all muttering the words under their breaths to make sure they remembered the lyrics.

When Kurt looked over, James was tapping out the notes to the solo in the air, his eyes sharp with concentration and practically glowing in the dark. He was playing it memorized, despite the fact that he brought the sheet music with him on the bus, and Kurt had a feeling he could pull it off successfully.

Ms. Lovett inhaled sharply through her nose and clutched her clipboard tightly to her chest. She bit her lip as she looked out at the stage, at the group performing.

The final note echoed throughout the auditorium and the performers froze with their hands stretched up toward the ceiling. A round of applause broke out and the group left the stage. The curtains gradually fell down and the stage hand gestured to them.

"Okay, boys. Let's go," she said, her voice an anxious whisper.

In unison, the boys nodded. Blaine was the first one to hesitantly step forward, the first to take the plunge. His hands were curled at his sides as he paced forward. The rest of the group followed suit and Lovett positioned them in their proper set up on stage.

She was going into a frantic mode, trying to decide which set up she preferred. She was in the process of switching Simon and Ronnie when the stage hand tapped her shoulder, telling her they were starting soon. Her eyes went wide and she turned back to the group.

"Look, I don't care if everyone cracks notes and falls on their faces," she told them in all seriousness. "As long as each and every one of you feel proud at the end of the day, no matter the outcome, then this entire thing was worth it. Sweeping both Sectionals and Regionals with the chance to come here and show New York what we've got. The whole nine yards. It's… amazing. I know…"

But her pep talk was cut short by the tears welling in her eyes. She uttered a quick, "Kick ass out there," and fled the stage.

From the corner of his eye, Blaine noticed the time clock hanging from the stage hand's clipboard. From what it read, there was a total of three minutes until the curtains pulled back. Heart jumping, he leapt from his spot and stood before the group.

"Just to cover what she said," he started, "do your best. I don't care if we win it all or come in last place. As long as we had fun doing it, then it's not a complete waste. We're all going to go out there and make mistakes, yeah, but what matters is how we feel at the end." His eyes drifted over Kurt briefly, and he received a smile in return. "Okay, boys? It's show time, and we're going show everyone what we've got."

Will, with his hands clasped behind his back, came down from the top row of stairs and joined Blaine. He looked eerily calm for someone who was set to perform in front of hundreds for a national title in two minutes and less.

"Like Blaine said. Do your best," he said, his cat eyes sweeping the group. "This is our stage. Not anyone else's. Yes, it may be owned officially by some big company, but in theory, this is our stage. No other group here tonight owns it. Leave it all out here. No regrets."

Wes cracked a grin. "Just love."

"Right. No matter how cheesy that song is, just love." Breaking into a smile, the blonde nodded and licked his lips, turning to Blaine. "Have anything else you'd like to add before our time is up?"

"Nothing," Blaine said effortlessly.

Before he could say anything more, the stage hand announced a gruff, "Thirty seconds."

Blaine and Will shared a look before they returned to their respective places in the block.

The anticipation began to build up and Kurt felt it running like electricity under his skin. All the energy pent up made him want to run a marathon, and maybe a second one if he had enough left over. He turned his head to look past Ronnie at Blaine and smiled the tiniest bit.

When Blaine smiled back, Kurt's stomach turned. Suddenly he nudged Ronnie out of the way and closed a fistful of Blaine's blazer sleeve in his hand. Kurt yanked the other boy toward him and kissed him, full on the mouth. He felt Blaine tense, startled, and the start of the countdown from five made him jerk away.

"Good luck," Kurt whispered breathlessly as he scooted past Ronnie, who was staring at them, baffled, to his place. When he looked back at Blaine, he found him flushed in the cheeks, staring with a haze over his eyes, lips parted slightly.

"Good luck," Blaine said back, but only his lips moved, and the corners of them twitched into a smile.

There was the countdown of, "Three, two, one."

And the curtains flew up.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a voice boomed over the loudspeaker that made the stage almost vibrate. "Next, joining us all the way from Westerville, Ohio, please welcome the Dalton Academy Warblers!"

_And here we go._

* * *

The announcer paused as there was a slight bit of clapping. Just this made Kurt's heart flutter in his chest. "You may now begin your finals performance in the 2011 National Show Choir competition!"

They put on their best smiles and when the music started, it fell easily into place, Blaine taking the lead. He looked somewhat shaky on his feet, most likely from the kiss.

_The person that you were has died,_

_You've lost the sparkle in your eyes,_

_You fell for life into its trap,_

_Now you wanna bridge the gaps, now you wanna bridge the gaps,_

_Now you want that person back_

The music echoed against the walls and bounded back to them, making it a tad difficult to keep in time with each other. Blaine's small solo finished and he stepped back to let Will take over. They shared a brief look and continued on.

_And all your ammunition's gone, run out of fuel to carry on,_

_You don't know what you wanna do,_

_Cause what you want does not want you,_

_If what you want does not want you,_

_And you've got no pull to pull you through_

The chorus sounded and everyone sung in harmony, swaying and dancing to the beat.

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am wonderful'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am wonderful'_

Shakily, Kurt broke out from the group, squinting against the bright lights. His voice cracked the slightest bit when he opened his mouth.

_If what you've lost cannot be found and the weight of the world weighs you down,_

_No longer with the will to fly,_

_You stop to let it pass you by,_

_Don't stop to let it pass you by,_

_You've got to look yourself in the eye,_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am wonderful'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am'_

_Say 'I am wonderful'_

By the time Kurt finished, his head was spinning insanely and he couldn't seem to catch his breath quick enough. Before he knew it, the last lyrics of the song were being belted, and applause replaced the fading music.

As rehearsed, ten seconds were the transition between the first song and the second.

Kurt made his way to the front of the stage carefully and he felt that if he perched too close on the edge, he would topple onto the judges' table that sat in the pit. But he kept steady and heard the shuffling of shoes behind him as the others set into position. He ducked his head to his chest, his knees shaking, and waited for the ever-present piano melody to count him off.

_Slow down, you crazy child,_

_You're so ambitious for a juvenile,_

_But then if you're so smart tell me why are you still so afraid?_

_Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?_

_You better cool it off before you burn it out,_

_You got so much to do and only so many hours in day_

The words slipped easily from his lips and that assured him; he had been afraid of not remembering any of the lyrics. His head lifted, he turned on his heels to face the group, who had their hands clasped in front of them, heads down. They hummed the melody, but not loud enough to cover the string of notes flooding from the piano that sat off to the side of the stage.

_But you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or can just get old,_

_You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through,_

_When will you realize… Vienna waits for you?_

_Slow down, you're doing fine,_

_You can't be everything you want to be before your time,_

_Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight, tonight,_

_Too bad but it's the life you lead_

When Kurt turned, he instantly searched for the piano, but didn't have to look far. The grand piano sat on the left of the stage, the lid up, positioned so that the player could face the audience. The gleaming lights above reflected on the open lid. James was too engrossed in the keys to glance up, and Kurt continued on.

_You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need,_

_Though you can see when you're wrong, you know you can't always see when you're right, you're right,_

_You got your passion, you got your pride,_

_But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?_

_Dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true,_

_When will you realize… Vienna waits for you?_

Kurt paced the stage and sat down on the bench beside the pianist. Startled, James snapped his head up and his fingers skipped a few keys to make a sour chord. Biting his lip, he hastily got back on track and offered him a relieved smile. His fingers worked like clockwork over the ivory keys and his lips moved faintly as he mouthed the words. Kurt thought he could hear him singing for a second and he almost wanted to stop just to hear him.

_Slow down, you crazy child,_

_Take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile,_

_It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two,_

_When will you realize… Vienna waits for you?_

Standing, Kurt cast a glance to the rest of the boys, who had been providing background vocals. As he scanned their faces, he found Ronnie's eager puppy dog expression, Blaine looking calm and confident.

And then there was Will, who had his eyes locked on Kurt intently. The cat eyes glowed and Kurt nearly lost track of where he was in the song, his tongue getting caught over words. He turned back to face the audience and found the words.

_And you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you can just get old,_

_You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through,_

_Why don't you realize… Vienna waits for you?_

_When will you realize… Vienna waits for you?_

The song finished in a flourish of notes and Kurt was able to catch his breath. Bright spots danced in front of his eyes. The crowd broke into an appropriate applause and that was all it took for him to want to stay on stage, right in that moment.

It was all he wanted: the warmth of the lights, people cheering for him, the thrill of just performing.

But then the sounding notes of the final song caught him and he hurried reluctantly out of the spotlight.

_Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time,_

_I feel alive and the world I'm turning inside out, yeah,_

_I'm floating around in ecstasy, so don't stop me now, don't stop me,_

'_Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time!_

The beginning lyrics were taken up by Simon. He flashed Kurt a wink as they passed each other. Kurt smiled tiredly back at him and took an empty spot in the group near the back.

_I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky, like a tiger defying the laws of gravity,_

_I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva,_

_I'm gonna, go, go, go,_

_There's no stopping me,_

_I'm burning through the sky, yeah!_

_Two hundred degrees! That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit!_

_I'm traveling at the speed of light!_

_I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!_

Kurt felt the beat in his shoes and danced and swayed with the rest of the group, the smile on his face growing. The only thing that was going through his mind was trying not to trip. Incidentally, as he thought about this, he fumbled over his feet but stayed standing.

Every set of lyrics, they traded off. Simon took the first, and Thomas belted out the second in a surprisingly tasteful if people found it pleasing, they didn't show it. Carson and Will's mini-show taking place at the front of the stage stole everyone's attentions from the redhead.

The two blondes performed a series of flips and gymnastic routines that involved cartwheels and handstands. It was a blur of navy and red and Kurt could hardly believe their actions didn't split the seams of their slacks or their blazers. Some of the moves were similar to swing dancing, and others were gymnast material, flipping one over the other. Then, with striped ties flapping in their faces, they balanced on their hands and pitched their feet forward to make an arch.

As part of it, Thomas strode under their legs, having to duck his head, and pretended to brush lint from his shoulder. One by one, the group ran under the arch until the blondes' faces were as red as the piping on their uniforms. They kicked back onto their feet and clasped hands, bowing deeply yet quickly in the wave of clapping that erupted.

_I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars on a collision course,_

_I am a satellite, I'm out of control,_

_I'm a sex machine ready to reload,_

_Like an atom bomb about to oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, explode!_

_I'm burning through the sky, yeah!_

_Two hundred degrees! That's why the call me Mister Fahrenheit!_

_I'm traveling at the speed of light,_

_I wanna make a supersonic woman out of you!_

In unison, they all paused and pointed directly into the audience, which got a few faint smiles from the judges sitting in the pit below. Adrenaline rushed through them, making them spring across the stage. Blaine took over as lead and the others followed.

_Don't stop me, don't stop me, don't stop me,_

_Hey, hey, hey!_

_Don't stop me, don't stop me,_

_Ohoo, ooh, ooh, I like it!_

_Don't stop me, have a good time, good time,_

_Don't stop me, don't stop me!_

_Ooh, ooh alright!_

There were a few moments of just music, and no one sung. The choreography Lovett had set up for them paid off and they danced almost in sync. Everything felt easy and second nature.

But then, as they spread across the stage, all havoc struck.

All Kurt heard was a group gasp from the crowd and a loud clutter of paper, and he whipped around. Ronnie had tumbled off the side of the stage and toppled headfirst onto the judges' table. The lamp that had been perched with care on the corner of the table was now on the floor and papers were scattered in a mess around them. The looks on the judges' faces would have been downright hilarious if they weren't in the middle of a performance.

The majority of the group hesitated for half a second before continuing on. It was David and Carson who leapt down from the stage in a heartbeat to drag Ronnie off the table and get him on his feet. From what Kurt could see between spinning in circles and passing behind others, he had knocked his nose hard enough to cause bleeding.

_Don't stop me now, 'cause I'm having such a good time,_

_Don't stop me now, yes, I'm having a good time,_

_I don't wanna stop at all,_

_La la la la la,_

_La la la la la la,_

_La la la la la la la,_

_La la la la la la la la,_

_Hey!_

It ended on a sharp note and the boys remaining on the stage struck a pose, hands clasped in front of them and heads ducked down to their chests. The crowd roared in applause, although a good portion was still obsessing over Ronnie, who was being led out of the auditorium with Carson and David holding him up on either side.

It was false to say that the rest of the group was fixed on soaking up their recognition. Every pair of eyes was glued to the three figures leaving the auditorium.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the loudspeaker voice boomed, which made them all jump, "let's give the Warblers another round of applause!"

And all of a sudden the applause was thunderous, like it was foreign and none of them had ever heard it before. No one was concerned anymore with the performance now that it was over. All that mattered was getting the hell off the stage and they all but ran to the stairs. Like birds they flocked to the doors and broke into the lobby.

"Wait, what happened? I didn't see," Wes panted.

"Ronnie fell off the stage," Will answered breathlessly and craned his neck to look farther down the wide corridor.

Thomas slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh, boy. If he broke something—"

"I'm sure he didn't break anything," Simon assured him calmly, his breaths somewhat ragged.

Cody chewed furiously on the inside of his cheek and stayed close by Kurt. "Oh, I hope he's alright—"

"Boys!" Ms. Lovett strode toward them. Her dark hair was a violet cloud around her and her eyes were murderous as they passed over each member of her choir. "What is the meaning of this? All I see is David and Carson jumping off the stage at the end of the performance—_while _you were all singing, for crying out loud—and then you all bolt as soon as the announcements are done! That was—it was all—you acted extremely unprofessional!"

Her voice shot like ice shards at them and they soaked up the reprimand graciously. After she was finished ranting, she pulled her hair away from her face and propped her hands on her hips.

"Well? Say something. Anything, so I know you all aren't suddenly mute," she snapped viciously.

"Ronnie may have possibly broken his nose," Wes reported as calmly as possible, "and we were all so concerned about him that the performance didn't matter to us anymore. We just wanted to find him as quick as possible."

Their director deflated and she let out a sigh. "Oh. Well, then. That changes everything. Where is the boy?"

Blaine shrugged his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. "Last time we saw him, David and Carson had him. We don't know where they went, though."

"Great. Absolutely wonderful," Ms. Lovett drawled. "Listen, you boys stay here, alright? Don't move. I'm going to see if I can find them. Surely a boy with a bloody nose in a prep school uniform isn't too hard to spot…" She trailed off and started away from them.

"No promises," Will muttered when she was out of earshot, with arms knit tightly over his chest.

Kurt pursed his lips and looked up at the high ceiling. The lobby was barely crowded, what with most everyone packed into the auditorium. The only people who were out there were a few choirs on the other side of the lobby and the ticket vendors, looking bored out of their minds. Half his mind was alert for Ronnie, David, and Carson, and the other was busy taking in the sights of the lobby, even though it was just a lobby.

Then, he saw them.

With a wad of tissues pressed to his nose, Ronnie emerged from the bathroom looking quite beaten up. Carson and David followed him out, both of them exhausted as well. The tissues Ronnie held were starting to saturate with crimson and David placed another crumpled wad in his hand. The three of them sat down on the bench outside the bathrooms.

"I found them!" Cody squeaked, seeing them at the same moment as Kurt, and they raced over to the trio.

"Relax, guys. It's just a little break. Nothing to worry about," Ronnie said and held up his hand. His voice was stuffy and he wore a smile on his face, despite bleeding profusely.

Cody nearly fainted. "Nothing to worry about? You might as well have taken a knife and slashed at your nose with it! It looks awful."

"Gee, thanks, Cody. I always knew I had something redeeming about my facial features."

Will pushed past everyone to the front. "It does look pretty bad, Starr," he mumbled. He turned to Carson. "Is it actually broken?"

Carson gave a halfhearted shrug. "I don't know. I'm not the doctor's son, here."

Will gave a short shrug. "It looks pretty broken to me," he concluded after examining Ronnie's nose. "I think it would have at least a little bit of damage if it was bleeding like this." He gestured to Ronnie, who was switching out his sodden tissues for another wad that David handed him.

"So how do you think the judges took that? Do you think I got blood all over their comment sheets?" Ronnie grinned widely and leaned back against the wall. He noticed everyone staring at him wondrously. "What? A few special effects never hurt anyone."

"They hurt you, didn't they?" James piped up and instantly everyone fell silent. He hadn't spoken a word all day and it was odd hearing him speak now. The only one who responded to this was Will, who snickered into his hand, but stopped abruptly when he found Blaine glaring murderously at him.

Ronnie lifted one shoulder and all but stuffed the tissues up his nose to dwindle the blood flow. It worked and it came out less like Niagara Falls and more like a trickle.

For a few minutes, no one really said anything pertaining to the performance. Everyone knew that Ronnie had experienced the stumble of all stumbles and it wasn't repeated for his sake.

But even if someone had repeated it, he most likely wouldn't have cared. He laughed at his own mistakes and admitted that he hoped someone in the audience had gotten it on camera.

Performance wise, nothing was said. It went well, Kurt supposed. The music fell perfectly into place, despite the little catches in the singing.

The double doors opening made the boys look up. The final performance must've have finished because people began to swarm into the lobby from the dark auditorium. The lobby was filled with the hum of talking.

"There you boys are!" came the shrill voice of Ms. Lovett. She stormed toward them and pushed through the group to stop dead in front of Ronnie. She took one look at him and his collection of red, clammy makeshift bandages and closed her eyes, nauseated. "Oh, dear. Ronnie, honey, are you feeling alright?"

"Swell!" he cheered and lifted both hands above his head in celebration. When he did, everyone caught sight of the bruising that had begun to form along the bridge of his nose. It looked twisted out of alignment and Kurt's stomach jumped into his throat.

"Yes, your nose is swollen," she commented and helped him to his feet. "We're going to take you to a doctor, okay? They have them on site for emergencies like this. Mr. White, Mr. Rivers, if you'll grab him and follow me."

She tossed her cloud of hair over her shoulder and turned, but caught herself. "Oh, and boys? The results will be announced in one hour. Please don't leave the building. If you do and people see, we'll be disqualified." She flashed them a hopeful smile and disappeared into the crowd, the three other boys following suit.

Kurt watched them until they completely vanished from his sight. He took in a calming breath and sat down on the bench where Ronnie had sat only moments earlier. He leaned back against the wall and covered his eyes with his hands.

One hour. What were they supposed to do for one entire hour? They couldn't simply sit around to wait for the results to be posted. An hour was far too long. He imagined them all dying of either impatience or boredom or possibly both.

What seemed liked years later, someone sat down beside him and Kurt lifted a hand from his eyes. When he saw James twiddling his thumbs next to him, he covered his face again.

"What?" he said in a monotone.

"You did well today on your solo," James said quietly, not looking at him. He fixed his gaze on a spot on the floor. "In all honesty, I'm glad you got the solo. You did a far better job than I would've done, had I gotten it."

Kurt lifted his hands and placed them in his lap. He blinked and found the remainder of the group milling around the lobby.

Blaine was the first one he saw, posing outside the doors to the auditorium as if to sneak in and see the results before anyone else had the chance to. Wes paced back and forth in front of him, looking lost without David to talk to. The rest were either mingling with other choirs that had come from backstage or talking amongst themselves.

"Thank you, James. I appreciate that. Let's only hope it was good enough to place us," he said, tearing his eyes away from the rest. Frankly he was too exasperated to care about James' head-over-heels crush, and it seemed that James was, too. There was no sense of discomfort between them for once. "And thank you," he continued, "for accompanying the solo. I have to admit, I got goose bumps." He smiled.

James rubbed the back of his neck. "It was no problem. It was an honor, actually. You gave me my first real chance to perform in front of hundreds of people today. I know I've played for twice that many in a classical recital, but I got more out of this than I ever have just playing by myself. It was nice."

Kurt nodded his head. "This will sound kind of awful, but I'm glad it's over," he sighed and crossed his legs. "It was amazing and thrilling to be up there, but I'm glad it's over. No more stress."

"Until next year, of course," he said and nudged him in the shoulder.

"Until next year," Kurt repeated, his voice dropping. He surveyed the crowd, on the lookout for anyone he recognized—Ronnie, in the case of his nose; his parents, if they had decided to fly out. He found neither, but saw a tall, lanky figure standing out amongst the rest. Kurt tilted his head to the side to get a better look.

James must've seen him as well, because he commented, "That guy is really tall. Do you see him?"

Kurt popped his lips and stood up to get a better look. "Yes, I see him. That guy is my _brother_."

Without waiting to see what kind of reaction James would have, he made his way through the crowd. He spotted the tall boy leaning against the wall by the main doors and he pushed past a clump of people.

"Finn?" he said questioningly when he reached the boy.

The lanky boy broke into a goofy grin. "Oh, hey, Kurt. You did really good—"

"Kurt! Oh, I'm so happy to see you! You did so well in your performance!" said the cheerful brunette at his side. She fluffed her hair importantly, flashing Kurt a knowing smile.

He laughed shortly with disbelief. "Rachel? What in the world are you doing here?"

Rachel Berry, in all her brightly-colored clothes and matching shoes, flounced forward to throw her arms around his neck tightly. "I couldn't miss my best friend's performance at a national competition, could I?" she asked happily.

"Actually, you could've," he said to her and pulled back, "but it's nice to see you here."

"You should actually be thanking your brother for my presence here. He was the one who offered the extra plane ticket to me," she said and looked up at Finn. She smiled prettily at him and his face turned red in response.

Kurt stared at him. "Extra plane ticket?"

"Carole couldn't come. Some work thing she couldn't skip out on," Finn shrugged sadly.

"What work thing?" Kurt tilted his head to the side. Even after Burt had married Finn's mother last fall, he couldn't remember her occupation for the life of him.

Finn gave him a wondrous look. "She's in that cooking society thing, remember? It's like this group of women who cook and stuff. I think it's called the Awesome Cooks, or something."

"It's the Pampered Chef, Finn," Rachel reminded him kindly.

"If she's not here, does that mean Dad's here?" Kurt brightened and stood a foot taller.

Finn nodded. "Should be, anyway. He probably got lost somewhere…"

"He's here," Rachel assured and touched his arm lovingly. "Now, until your dad gets here, I would like to compliment you on your solo!" She paused to squeal and a few people around them turned to look at her. "You completely killed Billy Joel! I loved it! It completely knocked my socks off."

"She teared up a little," Finn added.

She brushed her finger beneath her eyes to simulate wiping away tears. "It was glorious. Though at the end, when you missed a word—"

Kurt held up a hand. "Please, don't remind me. I just want that moment to go _away. _If it's the reason we didn't place well…" He trailed off and shuddered.

"You probably got first place," Rachel said. "I mean, did you see any other choirs doing acrobatic routines?" She looked over her shoulder at Finn for confirmation.

"Oh, yeah, no one else did that," he stuttered after a moment's hesitation and smiled.

"No, no one else did that," Rachel went on. "Please, give my compliments to…" She faded and snapped her fingers.

Kurt smiled. "That was Will up there, and one of the others."

She smiled cheerfully, eyes sparkling with recognition as she remembered Will. "Then give my compliments to them. They're much more flexible than I could ever be," she said and tossed her hair over her shoulder to give her hand something to do.

Kurt chuckled. "Thanks, guys. It means the world to me that you were here to see it," he said, grateful. He decided against mentioning Vocal Adrenaline's appearance for Rachel's sake. Knowing her, she would demand the whereabouts of Jesse and hunt him down.

Rachel beamed broadly.

"Well, look who I found here," said a gruff voice behind them.

Burt Hummel approached them, wearing his standard jeans, flannel shirt, and baseball cap. He wasn't alone; held captive under his heavy arm was Blaine, who looked like he didn't know quite what to do.

Burt smiled lightly at his son. "Kurt, you did great. I'm glad these two kids convinced me to come with them." He jerked a thumb at Rachel and Finn. "I mean, not that I didn't want to come, but I had a bunch of stuff going on at the shop, and it was hard to work around it. You know how it is."

"But you're here at all," Kurt sighed. "That's all that matters."

Burt nodded once. "Anyway, while I was looking for you kids, I found Blaine here hanging around the doors over there. For a second I thought he didn't recognize me." He clapped Blaine on the shoulder and chuckled.

Blaine smiled with him and politely picked himself from Burt's arm. He stepped toward Kurt absentmindedly and tucked his hands behind his back.

"Rachel," he greeted the brunette. "How did you like our performance?"

"Hello, Blaine. Well, it was good, for starters," she said analytically, "but the theme was vague. I couldn't tell if it was about life in general or realizing one's self confidence to rise above anything that life throws at you, even the worst of all obstacles."

Blaine tore his eyes from the brunette to look at Kurt for help, and Kurt couldn't do more than shrug.

"I'm going to go with the latter," he decided.

Rachel snapped her fingers. "That's what I thought it was about."

"And how is that guy who fell off the stage at the end? He looked pretty beat up," Finn interjected, pushing away from the wall.

Kurt puckered his lips. "I'm not sure. How is Ronnie now, Blaine? Have you heard anything?"

Smoothing his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, Blaine gave another shrug. "I don't know, to be honest. We're pretty sure he broke his nose, but we're waiting for more information."

Rachel wrinkled her nose with disgust. "That was simply awful. I hope he's okay. Did you see the blood that got onto the judges' papers? I hope they don't take off points for that."

"He really got blood on their comment sheets?" Kurt asked and raised his eyebrows in delight. Rachel nodded, half-frightened by his happy reply. "Ronnie will certainly be pleased to hear that."

"So this boy you're talking about," Burt said, "made a plan to fall off the stage and get blood everywhere?" The expression across his face was indescribable.

Blaine chuckled warmly. "No, sir. It was sort of a joke that we made earlier. We told each other over and over to not trip, and I guess Ronnie didn't listen," he said. When Burt showed no signs of humor, Blaine cleared his throat. "He didn't mean to at all. It was an accident."

"Either way, I hope he's alright," Rachel said worriedly and nibbled on one of her manicured nails.

Burt grunted in agreement and pulled up his sleeve to check the bulky watch on his wrist. "Hey, Finn, what time did you say our flight leaves?"

"In one hour and thirty nine minutes," Rachel told him before Finn had the chance to reply.

"I guess that means we should get going if we don't want to miss it," Burt said and straightened the cap on his head. He stepped forward to wrap Kurt in a tight embrace. "It was good seeing you sing, kiddo. Really, it was. It was the best damn show I've seen all day. I know Carole'll regret her cooking thing. She'd be proud, Kurt."

Kurt let a smile slip onto his face. He leaned into his father's embrace and took in the prominent odor of motor oil and gasoline. He'd tried to clean up for the event, Kurt could tell, but even his best shirts could not escape the smell of the shop.

Burt gave Kurt one last squeeze and pulled back. "Don't get in too much trouble the rest of the semester, you hear me?"

"We've only got a week left."

He stared at him pointedly.

"Completely, Dad. Clear as mud," Kurt corrected, smiling.

Mr. Hummel smiled, proud of his son. Rachel adjusted the scarf around her neck and looped her arm through Finn's. She cast one last pearly white grin at Kurt and Blaine. Finn did the same and followed Rachel out to the main doors.

"Oh, and Kurt?" Rachel called, last second. "Call me with the results when you get them! If you don't I'll be very upset with you!"

Kurt nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

Almost like it was the last thing on his mind, Burt clapped Blaine on the shoulder and they shook hands. He caught up with Rachel and Finn and they were out of sight.

"For some reason, your dad doesn't seem to like me very much," Blaine mused when the three were out of earshot. He took Burt's place and stood in front of Kurt, his eyes watching the doors.

"Oh, please," Kurt said uneasily, "he likes you. He just… has a funny way of showing things. He likes you, trust me." Reaching forward, he took both of Blaine's hands. "He does, Blaine. I promise. Don't give me that look."

Blaine sighed. "I believe you. But he doesn't seem very fond of me. I don't know," he said and rubbed his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand in slow circles.

"I don't think he's used to the idea of us… being together," Kurt finished lamely. "I've never been in a relationship and he wants to make sure I'm not throwing myself around. That I'm not with the wrong person." He caught Blaine raise his eyebrows skeptically. "You're the right person. I know it."

The other boy's lips turned up at the corners and he turned his head to hide the pink creeping onto his cheekbones. He seemed lost for words.

Kurt took a step toward him. "And I hope I'm the right person for you," he said quietly, timidly.

"You are, you are. You're the only one I'd ever want to be with. I thought we went over this," Blaine said and looked up at him. His face was pink everywhere and he narrowed his eyes when Kurt stifled a laugh. Giving Kurt's hands a tender squeeze, he started to lean his head forward.

Then, "Hey, guys! Ronnie's back!"

Blaine rocked back on his heels with his lips in a tight line. He dropped Kurt's hands and looked over his shoulder at Wes, who had called out to them. He stood in front of a cluster of navy and beckoned to the two boys.

"Mood officially ruined," Blaine commented under his breath as he and Kurt started to walk in the group's direction.

Kurt nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "We'll have some time later, when we're back at the hotel. But right now, I really do want to see what Ronnie's nose looks like now."

Ronnie stood amongst the Warblers with both hands guarding his nose. Both Carson and David stood to the side with amused expressions on their faces. It was odd seeing them stand by one another; they never talked or were beside each other during rehearsals.

"It's only my nose, guys," Ronnie was saying. "It's nothing big. It's not even broken."

"It's not?" Wes said, astounded.

Will scoffed, "I thought it would have. Did you see that fall? Right off the stage and a perfect face plant on the judges' table."

"I'd say it was a perfect ten," Carson commented and high-fived Will.

"It's not the Olympics, Mr. White," Ms. Lovett snapped at him and handed something white and wrapped in a plastic bag to Ronnie. "How would you like it if you had been the one to nearly break your nose, and then for others to judge you numerically on your fall?"

The blondes fell into silence.

"When do we get the results?" Cody asked a moment later. He touched the tips of his fingers together out of nervousness.

"About half an hour," she told him, sweetly compared to the vile tone she used for Will. "I think you can wait thirty minutes. Actually, I think everyone can wait thirty minutes."

"Except Will. He has the patience level of a toddler," James quipped and for one of the first times that day, he cracked a smile. Will jabbed him in the ribs and wore a foul grimace, though it was clear he was trying to not laugh himself.

Thirty minutes was not so easily spent. Kurt split that time between clutching Blaine's hand until he cut off circulation and bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. The choirs that mingled around them stood on pins and needles as they waited for the panel of judges to bring out the results.

"Why can't we see the damn results and go home?" Wes questioned irritably to no one in particular. He parted his lips to say more when something caught his eye and he broke away from the group in a hurry.

Lovett was about to go after him to keep him from running off, but she saw him hugging a middle-aged woman, his face lit up with a smile, and she stopped. As soon as he let go from the woman, who was assumed to be his mom, he scooped a small boy from his feet and swung him around in a circle. The boy let out a fit of laughter. Wes set the boy back on the floor and ruffled his choppy black hair.

David tilted his head as he watched the family interact and a peaceful look washed over his face. It was full minute before he went over to them. The woman's face lit up when she saw him, and she welcomed him into the conversation.

"I can't believe you're actually here right now!" Wes exclaimed breathlessly. He threaded his fingers through his hair. "I thought you wouldn't have enough—" He choked on the words.

His mother reached out and patted his arm gently. "In the beginning, we really didn't. Thank David and your friends for doing this, Wesley."

"What?" He froze and turned to stare at David, who smiled pleasantly.

"Me and Gabe," she said, clasping the younger brother's hand to keep him from straying, "didn't have enough to come see you perform. But your friends gave me a call and said, 'Okay, this is what we're going to do' and they sent us enough for two plane tickets."

Wes dropped his jaw in disbelief and his eyes were wide. He pointed a finger at David. "Okay, you did _not _do that!"

"We did," David insisted and held up his hands in defense. "It's was actually Kurt's idea, so you might want to thank him first before you thank me and everyone else—"

But Wes was already gone. He darted through the crowd skillfully until he reached where Kurt stood with Blaine and the others. Without warning, he slung his arms around Kurt's neck and brought him into a tight hug. Kurt squeaked, startled.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthan kyou!" he chanted endlessly, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. Kurt, realizing it was only Wes, smiled and patted his back.

"I think he found out," Blaine said happily, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Wes extracted his arms from Kurt's neck and attacked Blaine next, almost toppling the boy to the floor. In Blaine's ear, he muttered, "Thanks, man. Thanks for doing this."

"It wasn't a problem. We thought your mom and Gabe needed to come," Blaine said back, and he pulled away with a smile.

Wes was flushed in the face and his hair stuck up in different places, but he looked happy. He clasped his hands together and looked at both of them, saying, "Thank you."

With that, he turned to the rest of the group and pulled the nearest boy, Nick, into a hug. He almost hugged Will, but was careful enough to notice and they shared a simple handshake, even if they both wore sharp glares. The last one Wes thanked was Ms. Lovett, and he didn't stop himself from hugging her, too.

He said a few final words to the group that Kurt and Blaine couldn't hear, and then he disappeared in the crowd, going to find his mom and Gabe and David.

Adam looked away from Wes as he pushed back through the crowd. He tugged at the knot of his tie and straightened his glasses on his nose after Wes had knocked them askew with his hug. "I hate this waiting," he whined.

Simon watched him curiously. "Oh, relax. We're going to do fine. I don't know why you're so worried."

Adam stared at him flatly. "I don't know how you can say that. It's impossible to be as calm as you are now."

"It's not like it's life or death. It's only a competition," he said and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He studied the choir standing next to them, whose girls were dressed in neon green dresses with feathers in their hair. He wrinkled his nose, as their outfits faintly reminded him of peacocks.

Adam removed his glasses from his face again and rubbed them against the hem of his shirt. He rolled his eyes at Simon's response and was ready to make a smart remark when a pair of arms latched around his neck from behind. He let out a squeak and nearly dropped his glasses.

"I swear," he said loudly, "this is the second hug I've had today. I would appreciate whoever has their arms around me to stop!"

"You've got a little company, I see." Simon chuckled at the sight of Marissa Harvey, who had her arms thrown around her brother's neck and was grinning gleefully.

When he turned his head and saw his sister, Adam didn't know what to feel. Instead of saying anything, he wriggled out of her hold, jammed his glasses back on his face, and hugged her back.

"Marissa!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled by her hair. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"You're really asking me that? There was no way in hell I'd miss my own brother sing," she told him and buried her face in his neck happily.

"Aw, Marissa, you stole my line," complained a low voice, one that belonged to Caleb Dougray. He waltzed up to them with pitch black hair hanging in front of his eyes. He greeted his brother by bumping his shoulder. "Hey, bro."

Simon licked his lips. "Glad to see you both could make it. Are Mom and Dad here?" he asked.

"Of course. They're in the auditorium," the older brother replied. "I don't think they would bear to miss it, either."

"Adaaaam. I didn't know you were this excited to see me," Marissa drawled. He still had his arms locked around her neck and so far, he hadn't budged. She had dropped her arms by her sides and waited for his reply. When he said nothing, she pried his arms away.

Adam had this excited air to him and he couldn't keep from bouncing on his feet. "I-I just didn't know you'd be here—and it means so much to me that you're here—and I can't even _believe _you're here in the first place—! How did you get Mom and Dad to let you come?"

She grinned deviously. "I borrowed the neighbor's car since Dad put a boot on mine, drove to the airport at two in the morning, flew to Pennsylvania, caught a ride with the Dougrays, and here I am." She gestured to herself. "Any more questions?"

He raised his hand. "Actually, just one more, if you don't mind—"

"Marissa!"

Rushing up to them, Thomas swept her off her feet and into his arms. It had been weeks since he had offered so much as a positive remark, and now he smiled from ear to ear. He swung her around in a full circle and when she gave a cry of protest, he swung her around once more.

"Hello to you, too," Marissa giggled as her feet finally touched the floor. She let her arm linger around his waist. Though she stood taller than most girls her age, Thomas still towered over her like a tree.

"I missed you so much," he said contently and rested his chin atop her head.

Simon choked back his laughter. "You won't believe how much he missed you. He's moped around for weeks. Someone might as well have run over his cat with a semi."

Thomas turned as red as his hair and he hid his face in her shiny blonde locks. "That is not true," he mumbled.

"There, there. You won't have to be so sad anymore, Mr. Jolly Green Giant," Marissa laughed and she patted him on the back. She placed her fingers under his chin and raised his head. She pulled his head down and kissed him, full on the mouth.

Immediately Adam slapped his hands over his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, gross! Sister PDA! Sister PDA!"

Marissa smiled against Thomas' lips and broke their kiss; she slung her arm around his neck. "Relax, bro. It's not like we're going to makeout whenever we happen to be around you. I'll promise you that."

"I won't," Thomas said with a smug look. He kissed her on the cheek for emphasis, and she beamed.

"Knowing you, you probably won't let me out of your sight for the rest of the day," she said.

And Thomas could only smile and hug her closer.

"Mr. Reid! Come along. The results are going to be out soon," Ms. Lovett snapped at him as she passed by. The rest of the group followed behind her, eager to see how they placed. Thomas lifted his head and started to go with the rest of the group, but came back and collected Marissa, who giggled. Simon and Adam said goodbye to Caleb to see the results.

Kurt thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest at that moment, it was beating so hard. He grasped Blaine's hand, low and out of sight, and smoothed his thumb over the back of his hand.

"Oh, I hope we did alright," he murmured, worried out of his mind.

"Relax," Blaine said airily. "I bet we did amazing."

"How can you be so calm about this? We're getting our rank in the national show choir competition!" Kurt exclaimed. "Surely you must be a little worried."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I guess I am…"

Kurt was about to say more when Ms. Lovett clapped her hands twice over her head to gather attention. Behind her, several choirs were grouped around something, which was assumed to be the results board.

One choir wearing bright blue screamed in delight and hoisted a short girl onto their shoulders. Kurt recognized them as Vocal Adrenaline and swallowed, hard. Jesse pumped his fist in the air happily. The choir standing next to them, all wearing black and green, gazed at them with longing and hatred.

Whoever they were, they hadn't made the top ten.

"Okay, boys," the director called, "I want you all to be good sports about this when you see the results. I don't want any whining or complaining or sucker punching another choir's director in the face." She angled her head over at Will and he merely stared back, but Carson was having difficulty stifling a laugh.

"He punched another choir director?" Kurt hissed in Blaine's ear.

"Two years ago, Sectionals," Blaine reported and glanced over at the blonde. "Not a good choice for him. Shattered the director's cheekbone and dislocated a few bones in his hand. He was going to be expelled but didn't, as his mom backed him up on it."

"But she's a doctor. She doesn't have any influence in the school board," Kurt pointed out and his brows knitted together.

"That's what I thought, but apparently, she pulled a few strings with some people who knew some people on the board, and he was able to stay." Blaine shook his head. "I don't even understand what happened."

"Got it? I want nothing of the sort," Lovett told them. They all gave semi-nods and she huffed. "Alright, anyone want to do the honors?"

Silence swept the group.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair and twisted one of her earrings around in circle. "Fine. Since you're all being wimpy, I'll do it." And she disappeared between choirs and approached the results board.

"Wimpy?" James muttered in question.

"That's not the worst she's called us," Carson replied, and beside him, Will held back a laugh.

"To be honest, I've never been more scared in my life," Cody whimpered and covered his face with his hands.

"It's been nice knowing you guys," Adam said sadly and tucked his face into Simon's shoulder.

The blondes had their jaws set and stood on either side of James, who was chewing on his nail to the point of taking the whole thing off; Will absently reached up to pull James' hand away from his mouth. Wes and David had their pinkies linked in good luck and tried to get Diego to do it with them, but the Precursor was more focused on keeping a close eye on Lovett as she came back from the board. He was practically jumping up and down to see over the crowd.

Kurt curled his toes in his shoes anxiously.

"Well? Did we make the top ten?" Ronnie burst out when she came into view. The jerky movement he made caused him to wince and he slapped his hands over his bandaged nose.

Her face was a clean slate, calm and expressionless. "Do you want what was on that board?"

"What else could there possibly be besides what's already on it to begin with?" Diego stammered out of nerves. He uttered another string of words that couldn't be made out because it sounded like he was swallowing cotton balls.

She ignored the North Precursor and faced the rest of the group. "We didn't make the top ten. I'm so sorry, boys."

"Not to be rude, but you're kidding me," Simon grumbled and marched to the board, pushing past a boy in a sleek leather jacket and a choir director with a bad perm. He came back not more than a second later and he blanched. "Yeah, she's right," he reported glumly and took his place beside Adam once more.

"This is so awful!" Cody wailed and leaned against Kurt for support. He looked just about to burst into tears. "I've never been so disappointed in my entire life."

"It's like we did all of this for nothing," Wes said. He looked like he had taken a shot of the numbing gel they use at the dentist's when they didn't want you to feel them working painfully inside your mouth. David puckered his lips and remained silent.

Ms. Lovett, who was usually so upbeat and encouraging about everything they did, appeared troubled. She blinked over and over and shook her head, making her tangled hair bounce everywhere.

"What do we do now?" Blaine spoke up. Kurt was surprised to hear his voice crack, dry and solemn.

The director took in a deep breath. "I have to check us out and pick up the comment sheets, but I guess we can go back to the hotel now. We don't have anything else to do besides pack and get ready to go home tomorrow." She ushered them outside and onto the bus, then went back inside to grab the comment sheets.

"I can't believe it!" Wes shouted when the bus doors folded shut. He saw everyone staring at him, even the bus driver, who was watching him cautiously in the mirror.

David placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and led him to their seat in silence.

"Well, that was a disappointment," Kurt mumbled and plopped down in his seat. He slumped down, almost to the point of slipping off the seat. He raised his head when Blaine sat down beside him.

Blaine did not look happy, either. "Yeah, it was. I mean, we worked for weeks on that program."

"And I freaked out over my solo for nothing," Kurt moaned and covered his eyes. "I spent weeks worrying over that, and we didn't win. I don't even know what place we got."

"We didn't get in the top ten, if that narrows it down." Blaine placed his hand over Kurt's. "It'll be alright. We always have next year to kick butt."

This made Kurt sit up and smile. He leaned against Blaine. "That is true. Next year should be pretty exciting, shouldn't it?"

"Definitely," Blaine said softly and held Kurt's hand between his own. "We've got senior year to look forward to. We'll be sending in college applications, and we'll hopefully have another shot at Nationals again. And don't forget the alum trip."

Kurt perked and stared at him. "What alum trip?"

Blaine grinned from ear to ear. "Once in a while, a group of alums pulls together enough money to send us somewhere. In my freshman year, we went to London for a week and saw the sights, ate the food, and shopped for Brits clothing," he chuckled.

"Where are we going next year?" Kurt asked eagerly.

He shrugged. "I have no clue. But I'm pretty sure it'll be within the United States. The trip out of the country cost a good chunk of money and I don't think the alums are willing to spend that much again."

Kurt nodded. "But wherever we go, I'm sure it will be great."

The doors on the bus folded open with a loud smack and Lovett trudged up the stairs. She held a roll of colored papers in her hand and she sat down in her seat across the aisle from Kurt and Blaine. She muttered a word to the driver and the bus lurched away from the performance hall.

* * *

Dinner that night was eerily silent.

The boys ate in one of the large rooms the hotel offered, taking up three circular tables draped with elegant cloth. Though food was in front of them and steaming, no one ate anything. Their throats were too closed up to swallow, and their stomachs were churning too much to hold anything down. Even Ms. Lovett was pushing food around on her plate, bored.

"I think it's about time to read the comment sheets," she decided and pushed her plate away from her gladly.

After hearing that, Kurt pushed his plate in front of him. He hadn't taken a bite of anything but the bread. Sitting beside him, Blaine hadn't touched his bread. In fact, he didn't even touch any part of his meal. He sat there with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on a point on the wall.

Across the table, Will was still grumbling about the mathematical errors that were committed in calculating the top ten results. He had been too busy complaining to notice that Carson had picked his plate of his roll and the chicken breast that was served. James, on the other hand, zipped his lips shut and offered his food to Carson without a moment's hesitation. He rested his chin in his hands and gazed across the table at Kurt.

Kurt met his eyes for as long as he could bear it, then looked down at his hands.

Ms. Lovett pulled a chair to the front of the room and sat down, legs crossed, and perched reading glasses on her nose. She held a bundle of papers in her hands and flipped to a pink-tinted one.

"This is from the first judge, Mr. Byron—" she started.

"The one with the funny handlebar mustache?" Ronnie said with his hand halfway raised in the air.

She bored a hole in his forehead with her stare.

"Yes, Ronnie. The one with the mustache. Anyway, he comments that he liked our musical selections, but wasn't too fond of the decade jump. Present, to the seventies, then up to the nineties. 'Keep in at least in the same period of time' he says. 'And as for the boy falling off the stage, make sure he doesn't do it again. I don't think you'll score very high if you keep doing that.'" She made a disdainful noise and moved on to the next judge without seeing what else Mr. Byron had to say.

Ronnie smiled cockily.

The next judge wasn't much better.

"Clean up your musical appearance. Make sure dancing is in time and not as choppy," she read off from a green sheet, which Kurt noticed was dotted with red. He caught Ronnie grinning like crazy. "Liked the idea of having different paced songs in the program, but wasn't fond of the piano solo in the middle." She looked at James over the top of her glasses.

James scoffed and pettily said, "His loss."

Kurt couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth turn up.

"And finally," Lovett read from a yellow comment sheet, "your last judge found your performance positively flawless. She enjoyed the opener, fell in love with the piano solo"—James and Kurt shared a brief smile—"and adored the closer. Actually, she thought Ronnie collapsing on the judges' table was quite hilarious."

She paused to give a smile to the boy with the camera. "She had you marked down as first place in the top ten." She straightened the papers and placed them in her lap. "Well? Any comments?"

Wes leaned over the back of his chair. "The rest of the panel should have followed that last judge, in my opinion. Clearly, she was in the right mind."

"As much as I agree with you, Wesley," Ms. Lovett said, "we got this panel for a reason. And everyone else was judged by this panel as well."

"Then maybe something was wrong with the music we picked," David said thoughtfully, and he rested his elbow on the table.

"All in favor of singing Justin Bieber and appealing to the female population of the panel next time?" Thomas asked jokingly, which got a few laughs out of everyone.

Will grinned. "And instead of our uniforms, we can wear all white and stereo headsets."

"Bieber fever, man," Simon laughed.

Lovett spared a laugh and tucked the comment sheets in her knapsack. "Alright. I'm glad you're all feeling better about today. Let's all go to bed and get some sleep for the flight tomorrow. Wake up time is eight and we check out at nine. The plane leaves at eleven-thirty."

Kurt got to his feet and stretched. He left the meeting room with Blaine, Wes, and David. The hotel lobby was dim and empty, save for the manager who was dozing off in the chair behind the front desk. The pianist was long gone and the lid was down on the instrument. They took the elevators up to their floor and parted to their own rooms.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Wes picked up a pillow from his bed and hurled it at the wall.

"There," he panted and brushed his hands together. "I just had to get that out of my system. What?"

"Nothing." David blinked and fell down tiredly on the bed. "Just don't hit me in the face while I'm sleeping and we're good."

* * *

The night was slow, never ending.

The room was pitch black. Every light was off, even the small one in the bathroom. The only light that penetrated the darkness was the glow of the alarm clock sitting on the bed side table. The numbers beamed brightly and Kurt threw one hand over his eyes.

Sleep had not come easy to him whatsoever. He envied the three other boys in his room who had all fallen asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. On one side of the room, Wes had his head buried under a pillow and David snored lightly, the vibrations humming in his chest. Both were fast asleep. On the other side of the bed, Blaine had one arm folded under his head, nestled under three layers of blankets.

Kurt was not tired whatsoever. The adrenaline from Nationals was still pumping through his veins and he felt the urge to run, to jump, to do anything that would get rid of this excess energy. But he knew that if he stayed put, sleep would eventually capture him and he wouldn't be so tired on the flight home.

He turned his head to the side to stare at the numbers on the clock again. It was nearing one in the morning. He rolled onto his back and licked his lips that had become dry over the past few hours.

It was difficult for him to go back to sleep. At first, he had drifted off within minutes, but the haunting thoughts of not making it in the top ten at Nationals instantly woke him hours later. Now, he was positive there would be no way to fall asleep for the rest of the night. He expected to lay in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, until morning came.

Kurt buried his face in his pillow and pulled the sheets up over his shoulders, his thoughts wandering to the performance. Ronnie's nose pains had subsided by the time Lovett had knocked on their doors, telling them it was time for lights out, and the swelling had gone down significantly. He still had to keep ice on it, though, to keep away the pain.

Diego was strung up with stress the last time Kurt had seen him, right before bed. He had been muttering under his breath about the flight times and the call times and everything that ensured a safe and painless trip home.

He was a senior and was never going to do this again, Kurt realized with a sudden pang of guilt. In fact, none of the seniors were ever going to compete in Nationals with the Warblers ever again. Kurt let out a soft whimper of irritation. They could've done better in sake of the seniors. They could've placed higher in the ranks, and—

Just then, there was the lightest of raps on the door, so faint he wasn't sure he had imagined it or not.

Instantly Kurt bolted into a sitting position. His mind went straight to wondering who it would be at this time of morning, and then fell to not waking Blaine up with his jerky movements. He peered through the darkness and sighed, seeing Blaine's chest rise and fall slowly with uninterrupted sleep.

Warily, Kurt crept from the bed and grabbed his robe that was spread across the foot. He wrapped it snuggly around himself and tiptoed across the room the door. Squinting through the peep hole, he saw a dark haired figure standing on the other side, looking hesitant. He raised his fist to knock one more time.

Kurt yanked it open a few inches before hitting the chain, and it produced a sharp metal clang. He winced inwardly and checked back to see if the others had stirred; they hadn't, and he turned to stick his head out the door.

"James?" he said questioningly, his voice breathy. "What are you doing out here? It's one in the morning, and you should be asleep—"

"You should, too, but you look wide awake." The little quip made Kurt stop. "And I want to talk to you, if that's alright."

Kurt licked his lips. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"But it is morning." He tilted his head to the side, bewildered.

He smiled, but barely. "Morning to me is after the sun has gotten above the horizon."

"Oh. But I just want to talk to you right now," he persisted and trained his sapphire eyes on Kurt, pleading and bright blue. "It won't take too long, I promise."

"Okay, fine," Kurt sighed.

He unlaced the chain and stepped out into the hall and shut the door as far as it would go without it clicking and locking. He followed James down the hall with his arms wrapped around his torso. He didn't ask where they were going as they padded past the door-lined walls.

In front of him, James kept his chin touching his chest. His dark hair caught the dim light and a handful of elegant curls hung down by his ears. He only looked up when they had reached the end of the hallway and he approached the dormant elevator.

"James, what are you doing?" Kurt asked in a whisper, afraid that if he raised his voice any louder, someone would hear him.

But James merely pressed one of the direction arrows and waited until the doors fluidly slid open with a cheerful ding. The sound made Kurt wince and he self-consciously glanced over his shoulder. James stepped into the elevator and placed his hand over the doors to keep them from closing. He beckoned Kurt forward with the wave of his other hand.

"Are you going insane?" Kurt couldn't help but ask. He took a tentative step forward.

"I like to think I've already gone insane," James said, "but that's just me. Now, come here."

Kurt took in a breath but followed and as soon as he took a step into the elevator, James removed his hand. The doors slid shut and Kurt stiffened. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Okay, what is it?" he asked, starting to worry. He fretted specifically over Blaine and his reaction if he happened to wake and find Kurt not there.

James sat down on the other side of the elevator and crossed his legs, Indian style. He patted the floor next to him and looked up invitingly at Kurt, not saying a single word.

Kurt chewed on the inside of his lip though he complied and made himself comfortable on the floor. He tilted his head back and stared at their reflections in the mirrored ceiling.

"What happens if someone tries to use the elevator?" he wondered. "They'd get an odd surprise, seeing us here."

"But it's one in the morning, like you pointed out a few minutes ago," James said and folded his hands in his lap. He picked at his cuticles, which looked dry enough to start bleeding. His hands were pale, his fingers slim. "So I don't think anyone will have the need to use an elevator."

Kurt shrugged his shoulder as if to say _you have a point. _"You know, the last time we were in an elevator was back at Dalton. We were chasing Pavarotti and we got stuck in the faulty one, and then I found out that you cut yourself."

The dark haired boy stiffened. "I remember that. I don't think I could forget."

"That was awful," Kurt murmured and he pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. Then he turned his head and pressed his cheek to his knees to look at the other boy. "So what is it this time?"

"What do you mean?" James was transfixed with his reflection in the ceiling. He kept poking at his curls, trying to force one down, but was unsuccessful.

"What's your secret this time?" Kurt clarified. He reached over and tenderly pushed a clump of curls behind James' ear in an absent motion, and he felt the boy freeze under his touch. That was his sign to withdraw his hand.

James pursed his pale lips. "There's no new secret. I mean, I'm a human being who finds males extremely attractive and I sing in a high school choir that's named after a species of bird." He finally looked away, back at Kurt. "I don't think any of those are secrets."

Kurt spared a smile. "Is there anything else? Anything that you're keeping from me? And be serious, here."

"I'm always serious," he said, presenting a perfect poker face that made Kurt bite his lip to keep back laughter. "But no, there's nothing new. Unless you want to hear again that I cut myself and I'm emotionally distressed teenager."

Kurt shook his head. "No, I think I know that already. I mean, something I don't know."

The boy tilted his head to the side in thought. "There's nothing you don't know."

"Then why I am here?" Kurt asked bluntly. "You pull me out of bed in the middle of the night and drag me into an elevator. What for?"

"I wanted to talk about today," he said slowly. "About Nationals."

Kurt let out a long sigh. "Is this what this is about? The performance?"

He nodded sadly and for once, did not try to meet Kurt's gaze. "I was so sure we were going to win today. Or at least make it in the top ten," he said under his breath, so softly that Kurt had to lean forward to hear him.

"I think everyone wanted that, James," Kurt said gently and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

The dark haired boy shook his head. He got to his feet and started to pace back and forth in the small space. "I know. I know you and the rest are so used to the idea of competing like that, but I have never gone through that. I mean, I went through it at Regionals and we won that." He stopped and licked his lips.

"It's alright that we didn't win today," Kurt told him and stood up as well. He leaned back against the gold hand rail.

"To me, it feels like we just threw it all away, all the hard work, all the preparation," James mumbled. He ran his hands through his hair, which was thin, not as thick as it had been. "I know I'm probably expecting too much, seeing as we won Regionals, but I can't help but think we should've won today." He peeked up at Kurt past his long lashes.

Kurt sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. He blinked to keep awake. "I know how you feel. But I think we did kick ass today."

"But apparently we didn't kick enough to get a good enough rating," James remarked smartly, and he smiled. But it dropped as soon as it appeared and he clasped his hands anxiously.

Biting his lip, Kurt stood in front of him and stopped his frantic pacing. He rested on hand on the boy's elbow. "We'll always have next year to do well, James. This wasn't the last chance to do something like this."

"As true as that statement is," he said, worry flooding his tone, "I just can't think of any other opportunities we could have. Everything was all set up perfectly this year. We won Regionals and we had a good shot today. What if next year we don't make it past Regionals? Or even past Sectionals?"

"Don't say that," Kurt said. "We'll definitely get past Sectionals next year. I think we're good enough to do at least that." He smiled in hopes the other boy would do the same, but he couldn't help remember his own doubts about the competitions next year.

James looked doubtful, and the fluorescent lighting cast shadows over his face. "I hope we do."

"We'll do just fine," Kurt assured him. He removed his hand from his elbow and took the boy's hands instead. He felt the coarse texture of the lines running across his palms and resisted the urge to step away. "Because of today, did you…?"

"No," James said hastily and he immediately snatched his hands away, locking his eyes on the doors.

"James." Kurt felt his throat close a little and he stared intently at the other boy. "James, please tell me you didn't."

Shrugging one shoulder, he crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes away from Kurt's. "It's not so bad."

"'Not so bad'?" Kurt repeated, his voice rigid.

James finally looked at him, his eyes wide and abnormally blue. "Not as bad as you think."

"Let me see," Kurt demanded quietly and he held out his hand. He raised one eyebrow expectantly. When the dark haired boy hesitated, Kurt lowered his voice, if that was possible. "James, let me see."

With his lips pursed into a tight line, James slowly brought his right hand forward. Kurt took a step forward and gently pushed up his sleeve. His wrist was bound in a loose bandage, red spotting it. When his fingers drifted over the underside of his wrist, James winced.

Without warning James took a step back and coiled his arms around his torso. "I'm sorry, it just…" He looked sheepish, almost young, his eyes glassy. "It hurts."

Kurt said nothing more. He let his hands reside at his sides and his gaze fell on the floor. Beats of silence passed between them, sounding like drums in both of their ears.

"I'm keeping you, aren't I? From sleeping, I mean," James finally blurted.

Kurt waved a hand at him. "I'm fine. If I can get a few hours of sleep before we need to get up, then I'll be fine."

James did not reply. All he did was look down at his sock-covered feet. He fiddled with the tie of his robe for a long second, untying it and tying it again. He nibbled on his lower lip before finally stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Kurt's neck.

The feeling of the boy's arms around his neck surprised Kurt, and he froze where he was. He inhaled the thick smell of something sweet, close to vanilla and sugar, that was washed into the fabric of James' robe. Kurt found the feeling in his arms and returned the embrace.

"Thank you, Kurt," James muttered into Kurt's neck, and his voice sounded broken. "For everything you've done for me this year."

"I haven't done anything for you," Kurt said to him. He had to stretch a little on the tips of his toes, as James was taller than he was.

He shook his head. "You've done more for me than you could ever imagine." He peeled his arms from Kurt's neck and stepped back. When he did, Kurt saw that his face was pink and he looked flustered. He started poking buttons on the wall.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Kurt wondered and crossed his arms over his chest. It felt odd not having anything to wrap them around and the empty space between them felt like miles; Kurt's heart beat erratically in his chest.

"Working on that," James said under his breath and hit the button for the floor below theirs.

The elevator grumbled to life and it shuddered, giving a cheerful ding. It started moving and Kurt was nearly thrown from his feet. He had been used to the stillness of it that the movement was foreign. His stomach churned like he was taking a drop at the top of a roller coaster.

They stopped ten seconds later and the doors spread. James hit their floor number and stood back. He waited for the doors to shut and for the machine to begin moving again.

When it finally stopped on their floor and opened its doors, James was the first to step into the hallway. He waited for Kurt and they quietly padded down the hallway. Kurt had a foreboding feeling looming over him and he expected for Lovett or any of the boys to catch them. The idea made him quicken his pace.

"Thank you again, Kurt. I'm sorry for keeping you awake," James whispered as they came upon their doors. He drifted to one side of the hall and wrapped his slim fingers around the door handle.

Kurt shook his head and spared a smile. "It wasn't any trouble. I hope you sleep well, James."

"I hope I sleep at all," he sighed and pushed the door open. And with that, he closed the door behind him, clicking it shut.

Kurt waited. After a few seconds, a light flicked on from the inside; it lit the slit at the bottom of the door. He could hear the muffled voice of someone in the room, a voice that sounded almost like Will's, but could have been Carson's, or even Simon's.

Kurt held his breath until the murmuring ceased and the light turned off before he turned back to his door. He was thankful that the door was still a crack open, the way he had left it earlier. He pushed it open and stepped into the room. What frightened him the most was seeing the golden glow of a lamp radiate against the walls. His heart leapt into his throat.

But he shut the door behind him and tiptoed into the room. He peered around the wall vigilantly.

Blaine sat on the bed they shared. He was sitting on top of the covers with his arms folded comfortably over his broad chest. His eyes were half shut and he leaned against the headboard. With that, Kurt knew he was in trouble, and he flattened himself against the door.

He hadn't even taken another step before Blaine's eyes fluttered open. He spotted Kurt and pushed himself into an alert position.

"What happened?" he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down for Wes and David, who were completely buried under their covers.

"What do you mean?" Kurt stammered and made his way to the side of the bed. His cheeks were flaming and he assumed they were bright red.

Blaine blinked, as if he was rethinking something. "I woke up and you were gone. You were gone for about twenty minutes, actually, and I started to get worried," he admitted.

"You don't have to worry anymore," Kurt said happily and nudged him to scoot over, "because now I'm here, and we can all go back to sleep." Before Blaine had a chance to protest, he flipped off the lamp, sucking the light out of the room.

Kurt pulled back the covers on the bed and slid in, pulling them back up to his shoulders. He turned on his side, facing the bed Wes and David slept in. As he expected, he felt Blaine's warm arm wrap protectively around his waist.

"Where did go you?" Blaine whispered against the back of his neck.

Kurt faltered. "James wanted to talk to me. You didn't hear the knock on the door?"

"No, I didn't," he answered. "What did he want to talk to you about?"

He didn't have to see Blaine's face to know that he was wrinkling his brows and pushing his lips into a thin, barely there, line.

"Nationals. Today's performance," Kurt whispered back to him, snuggling deeper into the covers. He suddenly felt exhausted again. "He was really upset that we didn't win."

"I think everyone's a little upset we didn't win."

Kurt wracked his brain. "That's true, but he told me that… he just really wanted to win."

"Did he hurt himself?" Blaine questioned and for once, there was a slight break in his voice.

"Yes." His answer came out in a breath. "But he's fine. It wasn't anything that could kill him."

Blaine nodded. He pressed his face against Kurt's shoulder and murmured, "At least he's alright. Let's go back to sleep, okay? There is no way I'm falling asleep on that plane tomorrow because I didn't get enough tonight."

Smirking, Kurt turned onto his other side so that he was face-to-face with him. In the darkness, he could almost see the features of the boy's face, the curve of his nose, the shape of his lips, the pupils of his eyes.

When he spoke, his lips brushed against Blaine's. "Why are you afraid of that?"

"Wes and David drew on my face with Sharpies the last time, which was on the way to Europe for our alum trip," Blaine explained and tightened his arm on Kurt's waist. "It was awful. So now you see my dilemma."

"I do," Kurt whispered. "We should probably get to sleep. So you can, you know, avoid getting a Sharpie facial tomorrow."

Blaine nuzzled his nose against his. "Sounds good to me. I love you, Kurt."

"I love you, too," Kurt said and kissed him briefly. He pulled away, despite Blaine's protest to kiss him a little longer, and then he buried his face in the pillow.

With the warmth of Blaine's arm around his waist, he fell back into sleep until the morning.

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_In the epilogue: What's a better way to celebrate eleventh place at Nationals than a party in the choir room with cake and sparkling cider?_

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_Reviews would be amazing!_


	37. Long Live

Hello, readers.

Okay, I lied. _This _is the last chapter. The epilogue is soon to come.

Right now, this is basically the only time I have to update this story because of band. I had a competition yesterday and we moved on from our Area competition to the State competition, so this should get very, very interesting.

In other news, I got into a car wreck and my car's in the shop for two weeks. So my dad has to tote me around which is embarrassing because I am seventeen-freaking-years-old, not a toddler. Ugh.

That's pretty much it.

Reviews would be lovely.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but if I did, I would have never taken Sebastian off the show. I mean, have you _seen _him?

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**Long Live**

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**Live not for the battles won,**

**Live not for the-end-of-song,**

**Live in the along.**

**- Gwendolyn Brooks**

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"And so, boys, this is what we get for making eleventh place at a national competition." Ms. Lovett raised her small wineglass, which was filled with a bubbly sort of liquid, and smiled cheerfully.

"Cake and drinks. I can go for that," Blaine commented and took a sip of his own sparkling cider. He leaned against the side wall, against the windows, and watched the cake being cut. At his side, Kurt nodded in agreement.

The cake was a large sheet, slathered in buttercream frosting and decorated with navy and red around the edges. The image in the center was of a vibrant yellow bird composed of icing and M&M's made up the two eyes. It was a warbler caught in flight with its wings stretched out. Inside, the cake was half-and-half, with more buttercream caught between the two layers of cake.

The delicacy had been Cody's work, and he leaned over the desk as he watched his director cut it down the middle. Kurt saw a flash of pain on his face when she brought the knife through the bird's body, but he didn't say a word to object. He only handed plates to the boys that surrounded them with a smile.

Thomas stood close by his friend's side. He had also helped in making the cake; by 'helping', he had only read off the recipe and licked the spoon afterward, but nonetheless, he had helped. Now, he tipped back his cup of cider to drink what was the left, his free hand resting on the hip of the young blonde girl that stood beside him.

Marissa Harvey had been permitted on campus for the remainder of the day, and no more. She was under not-so-good terms with the Dean, therefore she wasn't very welcome. But Lovett had convinced Markus to let her stay for the party and he had finally agreed, so long as she didn't cause any trouble or wreck the school.

Currently, she was balancing a paper plate with a generous slice of cake on it and her drink. She nudged Thomas in the ribs to get him to hold her cup, and she forked a chunk of cake in her mouth. He nudged her back and opened his mouth. She gave him a funny look before nodding and lifting a forkful of cake to his lips. At the last second she smeared it against his face and, with the drinks in his hands, he couldn't do much of anything to stop her.

Marissa let out a girlish giggle and she covered her mouth. Thomas' face turned bright red when some of the boys turned to look at them. He ignored them and pressed a sugary kiss to her cheek, leaving traces of frosting. She swatted at him playfully and took back her drink. She said something to him, but it was drowned out by the conversations jumping back and forth around the room.

The other Harvey, Adam, stood the farthest he possibly could from her. There was something about being near his sister while she had a 'moment' with what was assumed to now be her 'boyfriend' that made him wrinkle his nose. He lingered by Simon and picked at his piece of cake, eventually handing it off to the other boy. Simon took it gladly and ate a bite. He smiled at Adam, who smiled back.

As the cake was distributed and drinks were poured, music played from the director's sound system on the coffee table. Wes had plugged in his iPod at the beginning of the party and it was playing tasteful pop music. Streamers were looped lazily around the room from the crown molding and a banner hung from the door frame, declaring, "Congrats on eleventh place, Warblers!"

The party was, all in all, not as big as everyone had expected. Kurt had imagined music so loud that it shook the floor boards, drinks of all kinds and junk food galore, and wild behavior. But instead, the music was low and he recognized some of the music they had sung over the course of the year. The only drinks there were water, soda, and sparkling cider, and instead of hanging-from-the-ceiling-like behavior, most everyone was content with talking.

It was something to reward the boys after the three days in New York. Though the competition hadn't turned out like everyone hoped, it was something to look back on. Cody had made the cake and collected snacks and drinks, Wes supplied the music, Thomas and Adam had set up the balloons and streamers, and Diego had picked up the custom banner that hung over the door.

Now, Kurt turned his cup in his hands as he watched everyone talk and sing along with the music. He took a sip of his drink and when he pulled his cup away from his face, he found Blaine standing in front of him with a plate of cake in his outstretched hands.

"Does it taste good?" Kurt inquired, indicating the cake.

Blaine gave a shrug. "I don't know. I was hoping you would tell me," he said and held out the fork to Kurt.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but took the fork and sectioned of a small piece. The frosting was incredibly sweet, the cake moist. He sighed delightedly and handed the fork back to the other boy.

"Good?" Blaine asked and looked down at the plate.

"Well, let's just say it's not laced with poison," Kurt told him and swallowed more of his drink. "It tastes too good to have poison in it."

"I don't know why it would have poison in it," he murmured and carefully cut off a piece for himself.

Kurt licked his lips, tasting traces of the frosting. "Maybe Cody can't wait for senior year to be rid of us all," he suggested. "Who knows?"

Blaine gave him a smile and chewed. When he swallowed, his smile grew bigger. "This is really good. Someday, when he becomes a world-renowned chef, we can say we've had his cooking before, before he was famous."

"That, or he'll be a baseball player for the Yankees," Kurt went on, "and we can say we've seen him play before. Before anyone knew he would be such a big hit."

Blaine snorted and almost choked on a bite of cake. "Punny," he said and wiped his mouth. "Very punny."

"I try," Kurt said, and smiled. He reached forward and scraped off a bit of frosting with his finger. "And you can have the rest of the cake. I'm getting a cavity just looking at it."

"Same here." Blaine leaned against the wall beside Kurt. Setting the plate on the windowsill beside him, he sighed. "So, this year's practically over. Just a week of final exams and we're free."

"For the summer, at least. Then we have to come back in September," Kurt corrected.

"And then we have to come back in September. I almost forgot."

Kurt titled his head to the side and looked fondly at him. "Surely you can't forget that we have one more year here, and then we're done. Then we can go off to college and pursue our dreams and do whatever we want. We can move out and travel the country and… have fun."

Blaine stayed silent for a minute. He had his arms folded over his chest, watching David and Wes split up a Lifehouse song, belting it out tastefully in the center of the room. He pinched his lips in thought.

"Have fun," he stated, tasting the words. "You make me wish it was the end of senior year already."

"Sorry. But, you know, for Diego, it is." He gestured to the North Precursor, who was leaning against the bookshelf behind Lovett and watching her cut up the cake. He looked somewhat at peace, not having to deal with keeping anyone under control, and contented smile crossed his face.

"You're right. This is his last year," Blaine said faintly. "Now I sort of feel bad. We didn't win Nationals, and it was his last year to go. We haven't won Nationals since we started competing, and I know it would have meant the world to him if we'd made it in the top ten this year."

Kurt ran his finger along the lip of his cup. "Now you're making me feel bad. If I hadn't messed up the solo, I bet we would've gotten a better score."

"You didn't mess up the solo," Blaine sighed, exasperated.

"I almost forgot the lyrics. That's messing up."

Blaine looked at him kindly. "You did fine. You didn't mess up at all. And even if you had, your solo wouldn't have been the problem. I guess we simply didn't put in the right amount of effort overall to get a good score," he said analytically. "It was us as a whole, not you as an individual."

Kurt nodded sheepishly. "But still. If I hadn't blown it, we probably would have gotten a few points higher."

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh and bumped Kurt in the shoulder. "You did fine. Actually, you did better than fine. You were amazing. Stupendous. Mind-blowingly awesome. Need I continue?"

"It would raise my self-esteem up a good bit," he said, "but then it would make me seem to cocky. I think you should stop there."

"Because it was a flawless performance, after all," Blaine went on, seeming to not have heard Kurt say anything at all. "It was so good, in fact, that it probably would have made Billy Joel weep tears of joy."

Kurt punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Stop. I get it. You don't need to go on and on like it was the greatest thing you'd ever heard."

"But it was," he said persistently and he looked at Kurt now, hazel eyes blazing. "I actually think I forgot what to do at some point. All I was focused on was you. You, under the spotlights, and your flawless voice. It was like angels singing. Scratch that, it was _better _than angels singing, and—"

He couldn't finish the rest of his sentence because Kurt had his hand pressed over his mouth. His eyes widened questioningly at Kurt and for a few seconds, all he did was stare at him. Finally Kurt dropped his hand.

"I preferred you when you were talking," he said, narrowing his eyes, "over you staring at me. It was slightly creepy."

Blaine parted his lips in a smile. "You know you love it."

Kurt let out a long sigh. He brought his hand up and absently adjusted Blaine's tie, running his fingers over his lapels, and straightening the little yellow bird pin. He cocked his head to the side. "You're right. I kind of do like it."

The other boy watched him pleasantly. Then, he said, "So, do you think Diego will be spending his summer out on the road, or what?"

Ducking his head, Kurt laughed shortly. As he moved his head down, he caught a glimpse of two figures perched on the couch closest to the doors. James, with his unmistakably dark hair, and Will, his grin devious.

Will had a slice of cake on a paper plate in his hands, a plastic fork with it, and he had his hands outstretched towards the other boy. James shook his head politely as to say _No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer. _Will gave him a doubtful look and proceeded to cut off a corner of the cake and held the fork out to him, trying to feed him. James chuckled and shook his head again, gently pushing the boy's hand away.

Kurt let his smile fade just a tad. He watched as Will gave up and placed the cake on the table, staring curiously at the dark haired boy. Then Carson passed them, leaning over the back of the couch to tell Will something, and Kurt snapped his gaze back to Blaine.

"They're certainly an interesting sight to see, aren't they?" Blaine murmured. His eyes were still locked on Kurt's face, yet somehow he knew Kurt was watching the two South boys.

"What do you mean by that?" Kurt asked in reply. He folded his hands together in front of them.

Blaine lifted a shoulder. He turned his head just as Wes and David transitioned to a Lady Antebellum song. "Will's a prince charming and James is a damsel in distress. Doesn't that make you think…?"

Kurt watched him. "Think what?"

"Nothing," Blaine said and shook his head dismissively.

"No, what were you going to—"

"Look, Lovett's making a few more announcements." Blaine nudged him and had him turn to face the desk at the front of the room.

Lovett had her glass raised in the air and her eyes swept the room, waiting for silence to take over. Someone had to bump Wes to get his attention and he fumbled with the stereo system before shutting it off completely.

"Thank you," she said in her regal tone. "Now, I would like to run a few details by all of you concerning the banquet. It is this weekend, as you know…"

They listened to her drone on about the banquet, which was a yearly event that took place at the end of the spring semester. It consisted of the Warblers gathering with family and friends in the dining hall of the school, dining and talking and watching a skillfully assembled slideshow.

The slideshow would be of pictures and videos taken over the course of the year; there would be senior videos, which were short clips pulled together by the eldest members. The final video would be of the Nationals performance.

At the sound of all this, Ronnie grinned deviously and several people stared at him more than they did Lovett.

When the director was finished speaking, she took a sip from her cup and waved her hand at Wes to resume playing music. He gladly hit a button and sound exploded through the speakers.

Kurt leaned back against the wall, watching as Wes and David argued over what song to play. Their bickering overpowered the music, surprisingly. He glanced over at Blaine.

"They're probably going to start—" he started.

"Alright, boys! It's time for a little singing! Who's up first?" Wes cheered, carefully stepping up onto the table.

Blaine rubbed his face. "—the karaoke."

"What's wrong with singing? In fact, we are in a choir. Singing is not so uncommon," Kurt pointed out as Wes scanned the room.

Wes pointed at the North Precursor, who was lounging by the desk where Lovett sat, picking idly at a piece of cake. "Come on, Diego! Get up here," he egged with a grin.

Diego blandly looked back at him. "How about you pick someone else? I'm not really in the mood to sing."

"Diego," David whined and crossed his arms. "It's your senior year and you aren't going to sing for us? What's with that?"

"Yeah, you haven't sung solo for us all year!" Wes said.

Finally, after murmurs and encouraging from the others in the room, the boy with the dark hair set his plate down with a huff and straightened his shoulders. "Okay, fine. I'll sing. But I'm not going to sing some stupid pop song."

Wes broke into a wide grin and he jumped fluidly down from the table. "Awesome!"

Sighing, Diego pushed past he and David to the sound system and took the music player, scrolling through it for what seemed like hours. Then he stopped and connected it back to the speaker, clearing his throat.

As the quick music started to play, he nudged the two boys.

"But on one condition: you're singing it with me," he said, and his lips turned up at the corners. The music filled the room with an infectious beat that made Kurt tap his toe, and the boys began to sing.

_Woke up in London yesterday,_

_Found myself in the city near Piccadilly,_

_Don't really know how I got here,_

_I got some pictures on my phone_

The Precursor's voice was low and smooth, but it faded when he turned the music over to David, who picked it up without missing a beat.

_New names and numbers that I don't know,_

_Address to places like Abbey Road,_

_Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want,_

_We're young enough to say_

Then, Wes took the next lyrics, and clicked the volume on the speakers up.

_Oh, this has gotta be the good life,_

_This has gotta be the good life,_

_This could really be a good life, good life,_

_I say, "Oh, got this feeling that you can't fight"_

_Like this city is on fire tonight,_

_This could really be a good life, a good, good life_

Instead of Wes, David, and Diego taking over once more, the rest of the boys began to sing, filling the room with a mixture of warm voices that covered up the sounds coming from the speakers.

The song continued on at a steady pace, and Kurt found himself tapping his foot to the beat. At his side, Blaine was singing with a smile across his face.

_To my friends in New York, I say hello,_

_My friends in LA, they don't know,_

_Where I've been for the past few years of so,_

_Paris to China to Colorado,_

_Sometimes there's airplanes I can't jump out,_

_Sometimes there's bullsh— that don't work now,_

_We are God of stories, but please tell me,_

_What there is to complain about?_

Will stood up from his place on the couch and stared up at Wes, hands on his hips, and started to sing the last lines to the other boy's disdain. It was only his voice echoing around the room and Wes rolled his eyes, jumping down from the table.

Turning around, his eyes found Kurt and he narrowed them slightly.

"You," he said, pointing at the countertenor, "are going to sing."

"Me?" Kurt squeaked, and his hands tightened around his cup instinctively.

Wes nodded happily and wiggled his finger at him in a _come hither _motion. "Yes, you, Mr. Broadest Vocal Range in the Entire Choir. Get up here and sing us something."

Kurt shook his head quickly and said, "Oh, no. I'm fine. I'd rather not."

"Yes, you need to get up here," David said and pushed to the edge of the room, pulling Kurt back into the center. "Here, you don't even have to choose the song. We've already got one picked out for you." He grinned deviously as he thumbed through the small music player's collection.

Kurt stared at him and felt the nape of his neck flush bright red. He knew the rest of the room was watching him closely, and without looking, he felt James' sapphire eyes locked on him.

"But I'd rather choose the song," Kurt protested, setting his cup down on the table, "so that I know what I'm getting myself into, David."

"Nope!" Wes said cheerfully and plugged the music player back into the speaker, hitting a few buttons. An upbeat tune started loudly, and he scrambled to turn down the volume to a suitable level.

Kurt shook his head repeatedly as he recognized the tune. "Have you lost your mind?" he demanded. "I'm not singing this! Get Blaine to sing it." His eyes flitted to the curly haired boy by the windows pleadingly.

"Ah, ah, ah!" David said and nudged him. "No playing the boyfriend card." He cast a wink in Blaine's direction, and Blaine waved at him, pushing through to the middle of the room.

Wes prodded Kurt in the shoulder. "Come on, your cue is coming up. It's now or never, dude."

"But I don't sing country! It's cheesy," he protested.

The two boys merely grinned like Cheshire cats at him.

Kurt made a show of rolling his eyes dramatically, licking his lips. Then he began to sing.

_Well, life's like a road that you travel on,_

_There's one day here and the next day gone,_

_Sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand,_

_Sometimes you turn your back to the wind,_

_There's a world outside every darkened door,_

_Where blues won't haunt you anymore,_

_For the brave are free and lovers soar,_

_Come ride with me to the distant shore,_

_We won't hesitate to break down the guarding gate,_

_There's not much time left today_

He felt the beat in the soles of his shoes, began rocking back and forth on his heels. Turning, he found Wes and David grinning approvingly. Blaine was perched on the armrest of one of the couches, smiling at him softly in a way that made his heart slam against his chest.

_Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long,_

_If you're going my way, I wanna drive it all night long,_

_Through all these cities and all these towns, _

_It's in my blood and it's all around,_

_I love you now like I loved you then,_

_This is the road and these are the hands,_

_From Mozambique to those Memphis nights,_

_The Kyber Pass to Vancouver's lights_

Smiling broadly, he turned. The first boy he locked eyes with was Wes, then David. They were both tapping their feet to the obvious beat, singing the harmony. He moved past them, to the small boy who sat on one of the couches, legs curled under him.

Kurt took Cody by the hand and pulled him to his feet, giving him a small twirl. Cody let out a snort and covered his mouth, flushing, and started to sing with Wes and David.

_They knock me down and back up again,_

_You're in my blood, I'm not a lonely man,_

_There's no load that I can't hold,_

_The road's so rough, this I know,_

_I'll be there when the light comes in,_

_Just tell 'em we're survivors,_

_Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long,_

_If you're going my way, I wanna drive it all night long_

By the near end of the song, the entire room was on their feet, singing along with the too-familiar lyrics. Even when some of the boys stood on the couches, Ms. Lovett made no move to tell them off; she was singing quietly to herself, too busy to reprimand them.

_There was a distance between you and I,_

_A misunderstanding once,_

_But now, we look it in the eye,_

_There ain't no load that I can't hold,_

_The road's so rough, this I know,_

_I'll be there when the light comes in,_

_Just tell 'em we're survivors,_

_Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long, _

_If you're going my way, I wanna drive it all night long_

Throwing his hands over his head, Kurt beamed, belting out the final notes. The song ended on a cheerful note and the music was replaced by a roomful of cheers. The smile on Kurt's face was not removable, and he felt that if he smiled any larger, his cheeks would be sore.

A hand latched onto his sleeve and pulled him off to the side, and then warm lips were pressed against his, a hand curling at the nape of his neck. Startled, Kurt froze, but soon realized that Blaine was holding him close. He wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist and kissed him back.

The sudden parade of party poppers broke the two apart, and they turned to see Wes and David starting the shower of confetti. Wes was throwing a handful of the glittered paper at the South couch, to which Will and Carson were furious and covered their heads. Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's and sighed.

"You're cute when you sing," Blaine murmured quietly, not taking his eyes away from Wes and David and the blondes.

"You say that all the time." The corner of Kurt's lips turned up slightly.

He grinned. "Only because it's true."

Kurt couldn't help but kiss him again. "So, what happens now?"

"Now, we get through finals, have fun at the Warblers banquet this weekend, and finish out the year with a bang," he answered, pulse pounding in his ears. He turned to look at Kurt. "Does that sound good to you?"

"As long as I get to go through it with you, that sounds fine to me."


	38. Epilogue

Hello, readers.

Okay, _this_ is the epilogue and the final installment of this story. I know I don't have many people reading this story, but I'm glad for the ones that have stuck around. It means the world to me to actually have people reading what I write, what I think. And it means even more to have replies and comments and criticism on my work._  
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So thank you. Thank you for helping me get through almost forty chapters of Warbling and Other Dalton Mishaps.

As for this story, there will be a sequel, which picks up for Kurt's senior year at Dalton. As for who the story will center around, it's mainly Kurt. About a fourth will focus on Kurt, a fourth on James, a fourth on Adam, and a fourth on Blaine. It'll be different from the direction Warbling was going.

So thank you, and I hope you continue to read my other works.

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**"Everything has to come to an end, sometime." - L. Frank Baum, The Marvelous Land of Oz**

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"Thank you all, parents, friends, and family, for coming. It means the world to have everyone with us this evening."

A squeal erupted from the microphone on stage that made many people wince. Ms. Lovett hurried tapped on it, which only made the sound worse. Finally, a figure pushed away from his table and joined her on stage to fix it. She gave Adam Harvey a quick thanks as he scurried back to his table, and she resumed her speech.

"As you know," she went on, "we recently returned from the Nationals competition in New York. The other groups that performed with us were absolutely incredible and they put their best forward. It was certainly a battle to fight out, one that we unfortunately couldn't push through. In the end we took eleventh place." She paused for a deep breath.

"Oh, no," whispered a feathery voice, "please tell me she isn't going to cry. She hasn't even gotten through the introduction yet."

"Will," replied another voice, this one softer, "stop talking."

Kurt glanced briefly at his shoulder behind him, at the table South had claimed. Will was sitting backwards in his chair with his arms resting along its back. James sat in the chair next to him, looking like he would blow a gasket if Will spoke out of turn again. His fingers were at one temple and he had both eyes shut. One opened barely and he caught sight of Kurt.

A look passed between them, and a gentle smile tugged on James' lips. The action was supposed to be warm, but Kurt felt a shudder rip up his spine. He tried to reciprocate the gesture, failed, and twisted back around in his chair; he felt his face grow warm.

Back on stage, it was obvious Ms. Lovett was trying not to cry. She kept dabbing at her eyes with her wrist until someone, a mom in the front, handed her a tissue. She thanked her and stood behind the microphone again.

"I'm sorry," she said thickly and cleared her throat. "I promise I didn't cry this much last year. Well, we didn't make it to Nationals last year, but losing Regionals was still tear-inducing. As I was saying, I want to thank you all for coming. These boys deserve all the credit they got. They are simply amazing young men, in academics and in the choir room. Without the determination they presented this year, we wouldn't have gotten past Sectionals." There were a few murmurs of agreement throughout the boys.

Originally, the banquet had been set to take place in the main dining hall at Dalton. Catering and decorations had been planned for, as well as renting one dozen tables with chairs, but everything was cancelled when Will's father generously reserved a ballroom at the nearest Marriott hotel.

When faced with curious looks, Will had given a simple shrug and crossed his arms over his chest.

Now, Kurt glanced around at the room while Lovett continued on. He couldn't get over the high, ornate ceilings and the chandeliers that dripped crystals. Round tables dotted the ballroom, covered in extravagant tablecloths. In the middle of each table was a small cardboard cut-out of a warbler, its beak open in singing. Now that the meal—which had been some kind of chicken marinated in a flavored sauce, with bread on the side—was out of the way, Kurt had a good view of the bird.

A large screen hung on the wall behind Ms. Lovett; she intended on using it to display pictures and videos from over the year, Nationals snapshots, and the final performance video. If she could work out the disc player properly, that is.

Kurt looked to the right at the other tables. He recognized a few faces but found his dad's easily. Carole sat right next to him, with Finn at her side, peeking down at his phone in his hand. She was too engrossed with Ms. Lovett's speech that she didn't notice. According to his slouching posture and lack of attention, Finn did not want to come to the banquet at all. He had planned a date with Rachel already and didn't want to stand her up. In the end, Rachel was all for Finn going ("I mean, what kind of brother would you be if you _didn't _go to his banquet?") and she set up a date later that weekend.

Kurt tore his eyes away from Finn and scanned the room. The ballroom had been divided between Warblers and parents. The boys preferred to sit together in wings, though some chose to disregard that, and the parents piled in on the other side. Most he did not know. He turned back to his table.

Sitting directly across the table from him were Adam and Marissa. Marissa donned her typical attire, skinny jeans and bracelets and a band shirt. She sat between Adam and Thomas, who was unable to stop staring at her. Adam looked nervous in his uniform, as he kept tugging incessantly at his tie and sending sideways glances at his sister.

Simon Dougray took the seat on Adam's other side and he snickered when Adam accidentally knocked over his water glass, making him turn a healthy shade of pink. Simon nudged Adam in the ribs teasingly, their head ducked close. Adam sneered at him and sat back in his chair, making Simon laugh harder.

Cody sat to Kurt's left, and the next spot was taken by Madeline. Cody had his chin in one hand, the other holding Madeline's under the table. She had come with her parents and Cody's. She wore a simple purple dress and a headband in her hair, and she seemed content, though watching Ms. Lovett cry her way through her speech bored the rest of the boys.

A few seats over, Wes and David were sitting beside each other, snickering behind their hand. Every time Lovett paused to wipe their eyes, they both cracked up in silent laughter.

And of course, Ronnie had his camera. It hung around his neck like a long necklace and bumped against his chest as he stealthily got to his feet. He weaved between tables before stopping at the base of the stage. Pulling the camera up, he snapped as many as he could before Ms. Lovett got tired of the blinding flash and threw tissues at him. Most of the room laughed as he retreated to his seat, his camera clutched in one hand. Disgusted, he flung one of tissues that had landed in his hair onto the table.

Finally, Kurt's gaze came to rest on the boy seated beside him. Blaine paid the upmost attention to their director, unlike most of the boys.

At Kurt's earlier request, his hair was free of any styling product. Several soft curls sprung out from his head and Kurt felt the urge to smooth them down right there, but he held his hands tightly in his lap. Still, after months of seeing him on a day to day basis, he couldn't help by sigh inwardly. There was no humanly possible way a single human being could be as attractive as him. It was absolutely impossible—

"And again, I thank you. Here we are: your Dalton Academy Warblers of 2010-2011." Ms. Lovett finished talking there with a shaky laugh, jostling Kurt.

She gestured to Adam to help her with the disc player and he quickly hurried to the front of the room. He tinkered with it for a moment and then the screen was filled with blue, then an image. The lights fell until it was dark, the glow of the screen providing the only light. From his spot in the room, Kurt could see Finn's phone shining. It disappeared as Carole snatched it away.

The first thing that started off the night was a montage of photos that must've been taken at the beginning of the year, from August to October or November. Kurt felt a little like he was intruding on everything because he hadn't transferred until late November, but the other part was intrigued with what the boys did before he came.

There was a group shot of the Warblers on what he figured was the first day of rehearsal. The boys were crowded on the familiar desk in the choir room, Wes stretched out in front on the floor because he couldn't fit with the rest. Blaine had his arm around David's shoulders, and Thomas was lifting Cody in his arms, bridal style. On the opposite side of the group, Carson and Will struck poses, in the middle of winking; Will's hair was longer and unusually messy in this picture, and his bangs swept well past his eyes, compared to where it was now, with it neatly cut. They all wore their uniforms and broad smiles.

Ronnie certainly had his work cut out for him. The rest of the slideshow was mainly pictures, but there were short clips stuck in there. One picture was of Will sliding down the banister of the main staircase, and the next was of Wes pushing him forward when he reached the end. The third was of the Dean scolding them both. Blaine was popular amongst the snapshots and he seemed to be Ronnie's favorite subject: he was in every group shot and almost every other picture. Kurt found himself smiling and reached for Blaine's hand under the table.

Photos from Sectionals came next. Kurt was almost shocked to see himself with the rest of the boys, heading into the greenroom, heading back out to backstage, taking seats in the crowd to watch the next group. Kurt panned the pictures for glimpses of the New Directions and found Rachel's left leg, or Santana singing her solo. There was one of Lovett holding the trophy they'd won, and that was all he saw before Sectionals ended and moved on.

From there, all the photos were taken around campus. Dex and Leo were in a few of them, especially the ones when Ronnie caught them on the way to the Dean's office after practically destroying the South wing. They weren't in the choir, but hung around so much that one could assume they were singers. Carson and Will were captured during several of their track meets, and Cody was caught baking something in the kitchen, a serious look on his face.

Then there was a shot of the kitchen floor. Most of the boys muttered questioningly and glanced around at one another. The next picture frozen on the screen depicted the inside of the North kitchen and the view was from ground level. Kurt and Blaine tensed at the same time and looked at each other in fright. They looked back at Ronnie, who was picking at his camera, but had a sly smile on his face.

The following video was eerily familiar to both Blaine and Kurt. They knew what was coming up, and Kurt sunk back in his seat a little. It was the snippets of the night Kurt had met Ronnie, while he and Blaine had been making cookies for the Brunch. Ronnie's voice started off the clip, using a nature documentary tone, and the video bumped along as it captured footage of the kitchen floor. Then the legs of the table appeared and finally Kurt and Blaine were shown sitting in two of the chairs with cookies and frosting in front of them. Kurt flushed as he watched and he heard a cloud of snickering behind him. He knew it was Will and Carson without even turning around, and a second later, James shushed them.

The video ended with Blaine complaining that he needed to "shut off the damn camera already", and the screen went black before it moved to the next shot. Kurt sighed and he looked up at Blaine, who was red in the face and glaring at Ronnie. Then he stiffened when the next set of pictures and videos were of the Valentine's brunch.

The majority were of the various performances, taken from backstage. Blaine was shown with his guitar and Kurt gave his hand a squeeze under the table.

The Brunch ended quickly. Next up were various baseball games featuring James and Cody, both clad in uniforms. Some of the Warblers had come to support and were sitting in the stands. Cody wore his bulky gear that seemed too big for him, glove on his hand and his arm wheeled back in midtoss. James perched on the pitcher's mound with the ball. There was one of him standing there, then one of him throwing, then one of him jumping for a ball.

The remaining shots were of Regionals and the tall trophy that sat on the desk in the choir room. Several boys gave whoops and cheers when it came on screen. Ronnie had also taken pictures of the Warblers during cram sessions in preparation for final exams.

The last handful of videos and pictures were the ones the group was most eager to see. It was the collection from Nationals. The room filled with excited murmurs as the first video took off. Wes and David nudged each other with giddy smiles.

A hallway appeared on the screen with boys sticking their heads out of their rooms. Wes flew down the hall, attempting to throw water balloons behind him. Shouting echoed down the hall as Will appeared, chasing Wes and David. Kurt was off to the side, looking pale, and Blaine had a puckered expression.

Kurt pursed his lips together to stifle a laugh, but Wes and David were howling. Behind them, Will and Carson ducked their heads in their arms, while James was pinching the bridge of his nose. Lovett rubbed her temple and switched the videos off.

"And now," she said, reaching for the microphone, "is the moment you've all been waiting for. Introducing your Dalton Academy Warblers!" She hit a few buttons and the screen went blank, but the image of a stage appeared a moment later. Kurt held his breath, and then the familiar music began.

Kurt and the rest of the boys sat through their Nationals performance, mouthing the words and laughing when Ronnie toppled off the stage. Most of the parents gasped in shock at that, but Ronnie stood up and pumped his fist happily.

As the video came to a close, some of the parents stood up to applaud, and finally, the rest of the boys did, too. On the screen, the boys looked frightened, nervous, and they scattered from the stage.

"That was great!" Blaine cheered in Kurt's ear over the applause.

Kurt nodded like a bobble head, his hands feeling numb from clapping. At his side, Blaine stopped clapping, his eyebrows raised. Kurt followed his line of sight and saw Thomas with his lips pressed to Marissa's, her hands wound in his flaming hair.

"That's… lovely," Kurt finished lamely.

Blaine looked thoughtful and his eyes flickered behind him briefly. "Well, when in Rome…"

With that, he reached out and took Kurt's face in his hands, their lips crashing together. Kurt stiffened abruptly, but placed his hands on Blaine's elbows. He felt his skin catch on fire and the applause and the noise around them melted into white noise.

Then Blaine pulled back, keeping his face close. "I love you," he said, "so, so much."

"I love you, too," Kurt hummed, smiling faintly.

Blaine dropped his hands to his side with a smile, and turned when Wes and David tapped him on the shoulder. Kurt wrapped his arms around his waist, watching at the parents mingled with the boys, and he felt his ears burn. He glanced over his shoulder, only to see James watching him with dull blue eyes.

"James," Kurt started.

The boy shook his head once and darted between the chairs, heading to where Will and Carson stood, talking to who seemed to be Will's parents: a short, blonde woman and a tall man who looked almost like Will, hazel cat eyes included. James fit between the two blonde boys, linking his arm through Will's. He almost looked like a black sheep amongst white, his inky hair standing out amongst the blonde.

Kurt stood there for what seemed like an hour before he felt Cody prod his side, beaming.

"Hey, Kurt, we're going to cut the cake," he said, but cut off a moment later when he saw Kurt's flat look. "You okay?"

Kurt blinked, then put his back to the blondes. His eyes met Blaine's, who stood on the other side of the table, talking with Wes and David. Wes waved cheerfully and David grinned. Thomas had his arm hooked around Marissa and stood by them; Adam was busy elbowing Simon in the ribs, smiling sheepishly.

Kurt nodded definitely, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Yeah, sure. Let's do this."


	39. Just a Note

Hello, readers!

Just so everyone knows, I've posted the sequel to this story. It's in progress and it's called Flying and the Final Dalton Flukes. It takes off at the start of Kurt's senior year and covers the entire year, up to graduation.

I hope everyone who likes this story will take the time to read the sequel!

Also, I've written an OC fic in the Dalton!verse, but without Kurt and the gang. It's called Boxing the Stars, and it involves mostly OC characters.

Thank you!


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